Hot Historicals Bundle with An Invitation to Sin, The Naked Baron, When His Kiss Is Wicked, & Mastering the Marquess

by Jo Beverley

At half-past ten, Lady Featherstone declared that it was time for her daughters to get their beauty sleep and they obligingly went to their bedrooms.

  Martha came and went, Anna was officially in bed, and at last the adventure could begin. Even if the earl were dead, there was a mystery to be solved. She needed to do some research, and the library of number 10 was the place to do it. Anna had persuaded her conscience that if she didn’t take the books away it was not very naughty, and so she slipped through into the next house. Once there, she crept quickly, carefully, down the stairs to the library.

  Safely behind the closed door, she placed her candle on the marquetry table and surveyed the bound copies of magazines and journals. Somewhere among them would be mention of the incident.

  She looked first at the yearly report called The Annual Register. It did not take her long to find a reference, though it was frustratingly brief.

  May 25, 1809. On this night a great uproar was heard in the handsome environs of Carne Terrace, when a lady of gentle birth and fine family was found to have done away with herself by means of laudanum. This tragic event was made bewildering because the lady, wife of Viscount D******y, died not in her own bed, but in the bed of her neighbor, the Earl of C****.

  Heavens! That certainly would have set the cat among the pigeons.

  The noble earl, however, was not in residence at the time, being at his estate in Norfolk.

  And that must certainly have saddened the scandal mongers. Still, many had clearly deduced that the lady was his mistress.

  Unless it had been well-known before.

  The circumstances were made yet more mysterious by the fact that the earl’s heir, Lord M********le, was hosting a bachelor party on a lower floor. Neither he, his well-born guests, nor the servants saw the lady enter in her nightgown. A doctor was summoned, but life had long since departed.

  Anna stopped to ponder that. Who was the present earl? The one whose bed the lady had chosen to die in, or the heir carousing downstairs? She suspected the latter, and a glance at Burke’s confirmed it. The current earl was now thirty years old and there was no Lord Manderville. What was more startling was that the earl had acceded to the title in May 1809, only days after Lady Delabury’s death.

  Anna returned the Burke’s to the shelf and searched other publications for more details. She had almost given up when she found more in the London Report.

  The account of the event was similar to that in The Annual Register, but this one continued to cover the inquest.

  … a doctor brought in by the lady’s grieving husband stated that certain bruises on the arms suggested that the lady could have been compelled to consume the cause of her death, but since it was equally impossible that a murderer sneak into the house, and as Lord M********le and his friends all vouched for one another, that none had left the room during the evening, and in view of the fact that the lady was found clutching a farewell note to her poor bereaved husband, a judgment of suicide was made.

  Anna closed the book. No wonder people thought the worst of the current earl, the then Lord Manderville. The death had been suspicious, and it was more than likely that he and his cronies would stick together.

  What puzzled her was that no one seemed to know about the secret door or they would not wonder how Lady Delabury gained access to this house. It was particularly strange that Lord Delabury not know of it. Could he, in fact, have been the murderer?

  She would dearly like to know what was in that note. What reason had the beautiful, talented young woman given for taking her life? Guilt because she was Lord Manderville’s mistress?

  But why had a recently married woman sought a lover? Anna assumed Lord Manderville was the young man of the portrait, so she could see the appeal, but it did seem strange behavior, even for London. It suggested that her husband must have been a monster beneath his charming exterior.

  But what of Lord Manderville, the prime suspect? Anna could believe that the young man of the portrait—a few years older—would have taken a neighbor’s wife as lover. She could believe he had spent an evening carousing with his friends. She could not believe that he would have callously forced his mistress to drink laudanum.

  She sat at the table, chin on hands, to ponder it all. What else might have happened? If Lady Delabury had been Lord Manderville’s mistress, then she might have been at his party. Had it been some kind of orgy? Anna had read enough ancient history to know about orgies. She understood that quite sensible people could be carried into extremes of vice and passion.

  Perhaps the young man had gone into exile out of grief and guilt because his wild party had turned into fatal disaster—especially if the events had led to the death of his father, perhaps from shame …

  The candle was shrinking and it was time for Anna to return to her own room. She replaced the books thoughtfully, informed but dissatisfied. There was surely a great deal more to the incident but she was no longer sure what questions to ask.

  Before leaving, she turned to the shelf of novels, wondering if there might be answers there. There clearly was some connection between Forbidden Affections and the unfortunate death, since the author had caused that room to be made.

  Anna opened the glass door and hesitated. She would have to take the volumes back to her room to study them, and that was the line she had drawn for herself—she would not remove anything from the house.

  But she needed to know the truth. She reached out for the first volume of Forbidden Affections—

  With a click, the door behind her opened.

  Anna froze, wondering in wild irrationality whether staying very still would make her invisible. But it wouldn’t, so she turned slowly to stare, appalled, at the man staring back at her.

  She was caught.

  And surely she was caught by the wicked earl himself. Tall, dark, and authoritative, it was the young man in the picture some ten or more years older.

  The astonished silence stretched, and then the earl closed the door and approached. “I was not aware that the Murchi-sons had hired staff. You do know you are likely to be on the street in the morning, girl?”

  He thought her a servant intruding where she had no business to be. “Beg pardon, sir,” Anna mumbled, thinking furiously. If she could just get out of this room without revealing her identity, he might never know who she was.

  She was going to die of embarrassment if this got back to her parents!

  He came closer, and her heart raced with even more immediate fears. Gracious, but he was tall and broad. Of course, that could be the effect of his heavily caped greatcoat. But then he shrugged it off and dropped it on a chair and was still tall and broad. His dark jacket and leather riding breeches did not soften him one bit.

  She remembered the portrait wistfully. That young man had seemed a friend, but this person was entirely different. There was no laughter in those blue eyes now and the lines of his face spoke of experience and ruthless ways. He even bore a scar down one cheek. Wicked or not, Anna feared the earl was most certainly a dangerous man.

  Was he a murderer, though?

  If he discovered that she had been looking into the death of Lady Delabury, would he kill again?

  Anna was not of a nervous temperament, but she liked to think she knew when it was reasonable to be afraid.

  She was afraid now.

  He sat in a winged chair, stretched his legs as if he owned the place, and eyed her thoughtfully.

  He does own the place! Anna told her mind, which was turning giddy with fear. Think. Think. We have to get out of here!

  She considered running for the door but had no doubt that he could stop her. If she was to conceal her identity, she had to persuade him to let her leave peaceably.

  He slowly pulled off his black leather gloves, watching her every minute. “Since you’re here, girl, you can make yourself useful. Pour me some brandy.” When she did not move, he added, “I suppose it’s to your credit that you don’t know where it is. In that table there. Raise the lid and ther
e should be glasses and a full decanter unless my orders have been ignored.”

  Anna swallowed and went to the table to do as he said. Other reasons for fear were occurring to her. She was here alone with a gentleman—a wicked gentleman—in her nightgown. With not a stitch under it! Even though it was of thick cotton, high-necked and long-sleeved, she felt as if he must feel her nakedness as she did, open to the breeze of her movements across the room. He would know from her bare feet that she wore no stockings.

  Just see what a bramble-patch your curiosity has led you to, Anna Featherstone! And you knew all along it was wrong and foolish.

  Anna’s hands shook as she opened the table to lift the heavy-based tumbler and the cut-glass decanter. She managed to pour the brandy without spilling any, then put the decanter down and turned.

  His brows were raised. “Do you think you’re serving a dowager? Fill it up, girl!”

  Anna looked at the glass, at the modest amount she had poured, the amount her father would drink. A full glass would surely deprive a man of his wits. But that might be good. She filled it almost to the brim.

  Then she had to take it to him. She wished her arms would suddenly become ten feet long, but they didn’t and so she had to walk over to stand by his chair.

  She waited, but he made no attempt to reach for the glass, and so she had to press against his stretched legs to put it in his right hand. His boots rubbed against her calves through the cotton and something—almost an emanation—set her nerves jumping with panic. As soon as he took the glass she stepped back but his left hand shot out to seize the front of her nightdress.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. What’s your name?”

  Anna leaned back, desperate that his hand not brush her body. “Maggie!” she gasped, plucking the first name that came to mind.

  He gathered in more of the cotton, pulling her closer, bringing her body close to his fist. “Well, Maggie, were you going to steal the books, or can you actually read?”

  “I can read, sir!”

  He drank from the glass in his right hand. “My lord,” he corrected. A glint in his eye told her he knew just how uncomfortable she was.

  “Sorry, milord,” she muttered, though she wanted to do the wretch a very painful physical injury. What right had he to tease a poor maid this way, even if he had found her in his library? And more to the point, what were his true intentions? Anna knew how the wicked part of the world behaved.

  “You’ll have to prove it,” he said.

  Anna jumped. “Prove what, milord?”

  He abruptly released her. “That you can read. Choose one of those revolting novels and read me a passage.”

  Anna thought again of running, but knew it was pointless. Instead she accepted the test. Once he saw she was in here in search of reading material, perhaps he would let her go even if he did intend to dismiss her in the morning. Once she was out of this room unescorted, she could be back in her bed in moments.

  She returned to the shelf. Avoiding Forbidden Affections, she chose Cruel Matrimony.

  When she opened it, she realized with surprise that it had never been read. The pages weren’t even cut. She could read the first page, however.

  “Was any woman so profoundly miserable as beautiful Melisande de La Fleur when the dreadful news descended upon her? She was to wed the dread lord of Breadalbane? Never!”

  “Enough,” said the earl disdainfully, swallowing more brandy. “So you can read, and with an educated accent, too. Who the devil are you?”

  Anna cursed her carelessness in letting her servant’s tones drop, and knew she was turning red with guilt. “I was raised gently, yes, my lord, but have no choice now but service.”

  “Plunged into dire poverty, are you?” His voice gentled as he said, “Perhaps we can find you an alternative to base service, my dear. Loose your hair.”

  It took a moment for Anna to guess his meaning, but then her breath caught. “No. Please, my lord—”

  “Obey me.” It was said without great emphasis, yet it chilled her protests.

  Anna heard a whimper, and knew it was her own. She should scream, but who would hear?

  What would happen if she told him who she was? Would the wicked Earl of Carne continue his vile seduction when he knew she was the gently bred daughter of his neighbor?

  If he did, said the logical part of her, then he’d care as much later as now. Perhaps he was just playing with her and would let her go in a little while. After all, she was hardly the sort of girl to drive men wild, especially a man like this.

  So Anna took off her ribbon and fingered her dark hair loose, knowing her naturally rosy cheeks were apple red.

  He eyed her over the rim of the glass, studying her dispassionately from tousled head to naked toes. “Very pretty. How old are you?”

  “But sixteen, milord.”

  “There’s no use putting on that servant’s burr again, sweetheart. Sixteen’s a good age.” He drained the glass and placed it on a table by his elbow. “Come here.”

  The slight slur in his voice alarmed her. She suspected he’d not been entirely sober when he came in, and was now worse. Any belief that he would be rational was weakening and she glanced around in search of a weapon. There wasn’t so much as a penknife.

  “Please, my lord, let me go. I’m sorry for having intruded—”

  “But having done so, you must pay the toll.” His eyes were hooded. “A kiss,” he said with wicked softness. “No more, Maggie, or not yet. My word on it. Come here.”

  Anna discovered that her feet simply wouldn’t carry her over to him. “I can’t …”

  He raised his brows. “I could threaten to dismiss you tomorrow. Yet why do I feel that wouldn’t sway you? So, I’ll make another threat. If you don’t come here and be kissed, my sweet mysterious Maggie, I’ll come to you and do much worse. And you have my word on that, too.”

  After a moment, he added, “That trembling innocence, the hands over the mouth, the eyes wide with panic, will not sway me. It’s actually quite arousing, you know. We men are such perverse creatures. You’d do better to appear bold and willing. I ’d probably dismiss you on the instant.”

  Anna realized she was reacting exactly as he said, but she was a trembling innocent. “I wouldn’t kn … know how to act bold, m … my lord,” she stammered. “Have mercy.”

  “Damnation, girl,” he said without heat, “it’s a kiss I’m demanding, not a life of sin. You’ll be the better for getting over these nervous tremors. Come here.”

  The snapped authority in the last words had Anna walking toward him before she thought. He caught her nightgown before she could retreat and pulled her onto his lap. She did scream then, and struggled, but it did no good. He just laughed. “Squirm away, Maggie. It’s quite interesting, and in moments your legs will be naked as the day you were born.”

  Anna went very, very still.

  “Wise girl,” he said, and even smoothed her nightgown back around her legs—a touch that sent a jolt right through her.

  He ignored it, and spoke soothingly. “There, see, the heavens haven’t fallen. Satan hasn’t appeared to drag you off to hell. Kissing is not a cardinal sin. You might even enjoy it. I suspect I will.” He caught her chin, smiling as a thumb rubbed along her jaw.

  Anna twitched. “My lord!”

  “Oh, do stop my lording me, girl! If we’re to share a kiss I’ll make you free of my name for a while. It’s Roland.”

  “Roland?” Astonishment temporarily overwhelmed even fear.

  He continued to rub along her jaw, gently, confusingly. “Why the amazement, sweetheart? Perhaps my parents had high hopes of me.”

  “It … it’s an unusual name, my lord. You are called for Charlemagne’s hero?”

  He grinned. “No. I’m called for a rich great-uncle who obligingly left me his all.” His finger was tracing the edge of her lips now, as if learning of them.

  Or perhaps he knew the extraordinary effect it could have on a woman …

&n
bsp; “Roland was a noble character, though, my lord,” Anna said desperately. In a moment she was going to have to tell him who she was. “Roland est preux …”

  “She speaks French, too! Chérie, you are wasted in the kitchens. Let us proceed with your metamorphosis to a higher order.” He deftly moved her more intimately to his body and dropped a light kiss on her tingling lips. “You’re as tasty as a rosy apple, sweetheart. I think I’ll call you Pippin.”

  At that use of her father’s pet name, it was as if he were here, witness to her shame.

  Anna burst into tears.

  The earl froze, but did not let her go. To her astonishment, after a moment he held her closer and even rocked her a little. “Hush, Pippin. What the devil’s the matter with you? We’re talking a kiss here. It’ll go no further today if you’re not of a mind to it. I’m no rapist and we’ve plenty of time …”

  His very reasonable and rather bemused tone calmed Anna’s worst fears. She peeped up at him cautiously, sniffing.

  But perhaps seducers always behaved like this …

  “That’s better,” he said soothingly, thumbing tears from beneath her eyes and stroking strands of hair off her face. “Just a kiss, a taste, Pippin. And then I’ll let you leave. This time.”

  Heart pounding, Anna held on to that. One kiss and she could go.

  And she would never come back here again!

  But when his lips brushed over hers—a gentle, brandy-flavored roughness—she flinched away instinctively. He was ready for it and trapped her head, preventing all effort to avoid the deepening of the kiss.

  Anna tried to protest, but since her mouth was now covered by his, it came out as only a mewling sound. Her hands were trapped against his body and she truly feared that if she squirmed she would reveal all.

  God help her, what would happen if her parents ever found out about this?

  He ignored her struggles and protests, but released her mouth long enough to say, “You’ve the sweetest-tasting mouth I’ve known in a long time, Pippin.”

  “My lord, please—”

  But then he was kissing her again, pushing her mouth open, touching her tongue with his so she squeaked and struggled violently. But then, abruptly, like a wave crashing over her, Anna realized there was pleasure in it.