by Darcy Burke
Praise for Her Wicked Ways
“A bad girl heroine steals both the show and a highwayman's heart in Darcy Burke's deliciously wicked debut.”
–Courtney Milan, New York Times Bestselling Author
"Captivating and romantic. Miranda is my favorite kind of heroine--witty, resourceful, and a little bit wicked--and I loved Fox for loving her as I much as I did."
–Jackie Barbosa, Award-Winning Author
“…a delightful romance mixed with humor, tenderness and love.”
–Rogues Under the Covers
Also by Darcy Burke
His Wicked Heart (June 2012)
To Seduce a Scoundrel (July 2012)
HER WICKED WAYS
By Darcy Burke
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 Darcy Burke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0985455802
ISBN-13: 978-0-9854558-0-4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book design © Darcy Burke.
Cover design © Hot Damn Designs.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
For my sweet Quinn and awesome Zane.
You make every day such a joy.
And for Steve. My partner in…everything.
Acknowledgements
I can’t convey the tremendous gratitude and love I have for my dear friends and critique partners Erica Ridley, Lacey Kaye, and Janice Goodfellow. I would not be the writer—or the person—I am today without your unflinching support and assistance. The ways in which you’ve helped are too great to count and the effect immeasurable. So many people have encouraged and guided me and none more than Jackie Barbosa, Courtney Milan, Kristina McMorris, Rachel Grant, Elisabeth Naughton, Leigh LaValle, Elyssa Papa, and Inara Scott. I am indebted and can only hope to give you a fraction of what you’ve given me. Thank you also to Sara Ramsey, who has been a wealth of information. And thank you to my spectacular beta reader, Kayla MacAfee, who shares my deep love of historical romance novels by Judith McNaught. Knowing I have you to read my draft makes me write that much faster. I also want to thank the Pixies. I’ve learned so much from your wealth of knowledge and experience, and you’re all so incredibly generous.
Mom, thank you for being my number one fan—not just in this but in everything. I love you so much.
Finally, I want to thank my agent, the wonderful Jim McCarthy of Dystel & Goderich Literary Management. Your optimism in this crazy, ever-changing publishing industry and unwavering faith in me has made all the difference. Thank you.
Her Wicked Ways
Chapter One
June 1816, Wiltshire
“STAND and deliver!” Montgomery Foxcroft demanded a second time as he and the other four members of his band stepped out from the trees lining the rutted and muddy road. They’d scouted the two coaches for the last quarter mile. Each had a coachman at the reins and a footman on the back. The footman on the rear coach crouched low as both vehicles rumbled to a halt.
“You there, stand away!” Fox stalked toward the second coach, training his pistol on the man’s chest. The servant stared, wide-eyed in the milky light offered by the half moon. Sweat trickled down Fox’s back as he waited for the footman to obey. An eternity seemed to pass before the man jumped from the back of the dark blue lacquered coach, his arms spread. Fox let out his pent up breath.
They hadn’t prepared for two coaches, but Fox’s steward, Robert Knott, had come up with a plan to direct the four retainers to a single location. Rob came abreast of him and shouted, “Move between the coaches, and keep yer hands where I can see them!”
Fox resisted the urge to tug his mask further down his face. The rough, black fabric covered everything but his mouth. Surely that wouldn’t be enough to spark recognition.
Hugh Carmody, landowner and retired MP, opened the door of the lead coach and thrust out his nearly bald head. “What is the meaning of this?”
Rob pointed his pistol at the man’s face and was answered with a decidedly unmasculine shriek, followed by a thud.
“Wife!” Carmody retreated.
Rob murmured the question that had been plaguing Fox since they’d sighted their quarry. “Why two coaches?”
Carmody owned just one, and it wasn’t the fancy, lacquered coach in the rear. He also didn’t employ that many footmen. Someone had to be traveling with them. Someone wealthy.
The door of the expensive coach flew open. Pale hair glistened in the moonlight as a female head poked forth and glanced down at where the step would have been if the footman had pulled it out. She raised her face, and Fox’s jaw loosened. He just managed to keep it from unhinging entirely. She was beautiful. No, that word didn’t do her justice. She was incomparable.
Her heart-shaped countenance was perfectly proportioned with delicious bow lips set above a strong chin. A delicate nose turned up at the end in a rather saucy fashion. Softly angled cheekbones were accentuated by her annoyance. Eyes of an indiscernible color tilted at the outside. His heart took a decidedly different rhythm as his body reacted to her instead of the robbery.
“Are you here to steal our money or gape?” She jumped from the coach, scattering a spray of mud as she landed in the lane. The young woman looked down at the dark spots now marring the lower skirt of her dress. He’d no notion of its construction, but the rich fabric and sparkling decoration bespoke extravagance. She raised her gaze to Fox’s once more and again, the impact of her beauty hit him like a bludgeon.
Rob coughed loudly.
Fox silently cursed his distraction. He nodded toward the first coach. “We’re here to steal his money.” He considered her gown again, the luxuriousness of her equipage, and the gold-trimmed livery worn by her retainers. “Though I’m happy to take yours as well.”
A second chit stuck her head out of the window of the fancy coach. Fox recognized the young woman’s dark hair and narrow face. “We don’t have any money!” Beatrice Carmody squealed.
Fox found that hard to believe. He motioned toward the rich girl. “This one’s got money to burn.” He tightened his grip on the pistol. What he wouldn’t give for a surplus of money. Hell, what he wouldn’t give for just enough money.
The beauty pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, I do not.”
Lying brat. He didn’t believe her declaration of poverty for a trice. She had to possess something of value—that dress for instance. Christ, would he stoop to stripping a girl of her clothing to support the orphanage? He immediately imagined her pale flesh exposed to the moonlight, her radiant blond hair sweeping her shoulders, her breasts. Dammit. His first foray into criminal behavior, and he was already a blackguard.
An enigmatic smile lit her face, thankfully interrupting his thoughts. “Instead of coin, might I offer you something else?”
He relaxed a bit, glad she’d decided to be accommodating with whatever valuables she had in the coach. Perhaps this night’s endeavor would reap a larger bounty than he’d anticipated. Feeling lighter than he had all evening, he waved Rob toward the first coach. “Get the money from the gent. I’ll take care of these two.”
Fox kept the pistol in his right hand as he moved toward the beauty, his boots squelching in the wet earth. She tried to shake the mud from her hem, clearly unaware Wiltshire dirt was a bloody, clinging nuisance. He considered offering assistance, but she raised her head
and he judged such chivalry to be pointless. Her stare was direct, and she elevated her delightfully pert chin. Her regard all but dared him to come closer. And so he did.
Up close, she was even more stunning. Impossibly so. She smelled of orange and clove. Spicy. Completely feminine.
Fox wanted to knock his head against a tree. This wasn’t like him. Mentally undressing hapless females whilst he stole their valuables. He had to keep his wits about him. Rob and so many others counted on his success tonight. “What do you have for me?”
She stepped toward him until they stood a mere hand’s width apart. “I have nothing, save a kiss.”
His jaw did drop then. Brazen enchantress. He willed his brain to think of his charges. Edward needed medicine. Dora needed shoes. They all needed a secure place to live that didn’t leak.
He couldn’t believe he was going to refuse her—his body certainly didn’t agree. “I don’t need a kiss. I need money.”
She sighed, a sound of deep regret. “I told you, I have no money.”
“You’re lying. You reek of wealth.” Fox sniffed loudly to punctuate his statement and got a nose full of her alluring scent for his trouble.
“I know.” Her lips curved into a small, almost seductive smile. It stole his breath. Literally. When he finally remembered to take air, he did so quite audibly. Her mouth widened then, and her face shone like the sun on the brightest summer day.
What the hell kind of highwayman fixated on some chit like a cheap Byron impostor?
Fox reined in his wayward lust. “You must have something of value. A piece of jewelry? A quizzing glass?”
She arched a brow. “What do you take me for? A doddering dowager?”
Good God, no. Never that. If they’d been anywhere else, he would’ve laughed.
Instead, he called out to Rob, as much to distract himself from her as to determine his steward’s progress. “How are you doing over there?” He was careful to lower his voice lest Carmody determine his identity. Highway robbery shouldn’t be this bloody complicated.
“Coming along. Gent’s being quite accommodating.”
He returned his attention to the girl, disappointed she hadn’t sprouted a wart in the last few seconds. “I don’t have time to discuss the finer points of your doddering or lack thereof. Return to the carriage and retrieve whatever it is you have of value. I’d hate to have to use my pistol.”
Her gaze flicked downward. “Your pistol?”
Hell’s teeth, had she just looked at his crotch?
“You’re not even pointing it at me.”
She was quite maddeningly correct. The weapon hung from his fingers, forgotten amidst her beauty and the tormenting effect of her nearness.
Unwelcome desire charged through him despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. “Yes, my pistol. I’d prefer not to harm you, but if you do not procure your valuables immediately, I shall be forced to do so.”
A pouch splattered in the mud near their feet. Both of them looked down.
“Here!” Beatrice called from the coach. “That’s everything we have. She’s not lying to you. Her parents have exiled her to Wiltshire and gave her nothing of value as punishment. She doesn’t even have her maid.”
The beauty threw a glare at the coach.
Fox’s lips quirked beneath his mask. A spoiled Society chit then. “Pick up the pouch and put it in my cloak.” Perhaps it was foolish of him to invite her even closer, but he reasoned he couldn’t very well pick up the pouch and leave himself vulnerable.
She contemplated him, her bow-shaped lips pressing together. He still couldn’t detect the hue of her eyes, but imagined them to be the color of the sea—not blue, not green, but something just between.
With a huff, she bent and plucked the purse from the ground. She straightened and raised her right brow again. “Do you have a pocket?”
Fox held the left side of his black cloak open. “Here.”
She reached inside and fumbled for a moment. The back of her hand—she wore no gloves—grazed the front of his waistcoat. Sensation leapt from the intimate contact. He was torn between rebuttal and encouragement.
Upon locating the pocket he’d had sewn solely for the purpose of this robbery, she deposited the purse. She pulled her hand back, but he grabbed her fingers, bare against the leather of his glove. Her gaze met his, and her lips parted in silent invitation.
Later he would chastise himself for his poor judgment, but now…now he would surrender.
Fox lowered his head and put his mouth on hers. The jolt of sensation flooded him with warmth, made him forget time and place and purpose. Soft lips moved beneath his in delicious response, as if this kiss were the reason for their meeting. With his free hand, he caressed her waist, pulling her closer. Her form fit against his with astonishing precision. His senses screamed for more.
Her tongue flicked against his mouth. Her tongue?
After her behavior thus far, he shouldn’t have been surprised by her shocking display of experience. She was obviously not married, given her exile, but someone had taught her how to kiss. Someone he’d like to thrash.
Then her tongue slid into his mouth, and conscious thought evaded him completely. With a groan, he tugged her harder against his chest and wrapped his arms around her back. Her hands crept up and pulled his shoulders closer while her head angled beneath his.
He lost himself in the kiss, for once surrendering to his most primal needs, prioritizing them instead of everyone else’s. He tipped his head to stroke deeper into her mouth, unable to get enough of her. This moment was for him, and he meant to indulge.
The swell of her breasts strained against him, echoing the insistent pressure of her palms driving him nearer. He was overwhelmed by her touch, her scent, her taste. He worked his free hand up to the back of her neck, his fingers caressing her warm flesh. Like silk…
“Christ! What’re you doing out here?” Rob’s booming voice crashed into their embrace like a pistol cocked against Fox’s temple. Fox pulled away guiltily, feeling like a green lad instead of a grown man of eight and twenty.
She stared at him, her eyes wide. As if, like him, she couldn’t quite believe what had just transpired. Despite the fact she’d been the instigator.
He smiled slowly, fixated on her kiss-reddened lips. “Siren.”
She arched her brow again, and he couldn’t tell if she was an innocent girl or an accomplished seductress. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t the time for either complication.
Rob came to his side and elbowed him in the ribs.
Fox lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Did you get enough?”
The answering snort clearly said, Is there ever enough?
“Sorry, stupid question,” Fox muttered.
Fox turned a wary eye on the beauty. She stood stock still, her chin thrust out, whether in pride or insubordination, he didn’t know. The man foolish enough to court her was destined for agony.
He patted his cloak. “I got a bit of blunt from those two as well.” He hoped it was enough for their immediate needs. He preferred not to play the highwayman again.
Rob called, “Let’s go, lads.” He led the other two members of their motley band into the trees where their horses waited. They’d meet up at the manor and tally the profit.
Fox should have followed directly on their heels, but he couldn’t resist a final glance at the beauty who kissed too well. Her lips curved into that devastating smile, and for a brief moment, Fox pondered risking the hangman and sweeping her into his keeping. He shook the madness from his head and offered a slight wave.
She raised her hand in response. “Until next time, then?”
Fox chuckled. Incomparable. “Pray, my lady, there isn’t a next time.”
She dropped her fingers to her lips, touching them briefly before letting her arm swing down. “I shall do no such thing.”
Beatrice gasped, drawing his attention. One of the footmen was reaching toward the back of the first coach, per
haps for a weapon. Fox refused to stay to find out. With a quick turn, he dashed into the trees. Out of sight but not out of hearing.
“What in God’s name are you about, Miranda? Your father won’t be pleased to hear this!” Carmody wasted no time berating the lovely siren for her imprudent behavior.
Miranda.
After the man’s tirade faded behind him, Fox approached his horse and mounted. The evening’s tension drained from him under the pleasant memory of Miranda’s kiss.
Before setting Icarus to a walk, he retrieved the velvet purse. With a tug, the drawstring came loose and he emptied the contents into his hand. Hairpins and a couple of biscuits. Biscuits?
The tension returned, with a shock of irritation. Why hadn’t he checked the purse in the road? Fool.
Because he’d been too confounded. He cursed in self-recrimination.
He couldn’t repair a leaky roof with biscuits and hairpins, which meant he’d likely have to do this again. For all his bravado, tonight’s lawlessness hadn’t come easy. Only the desperation of his tenants and his orphans had forced his hand. For them, he’d sell his soul.
AT Bassett Manor, Fox dumped the contents of Rob’s bag on his two-hundred year-old desk. Coins clinked and rolled about, forming a not-too-impressive pile atop the scuffed and scratched mahogany.
Rob dropped his mask next to the money. “It’s not as much as we’d hoped, but it’s enough to start work on the orphanage roof.”
Circling behind the desk, Fox sank into his rickety chair. One day the wood and leather would crumble to the floor in a worthless heap, but thankfully not tonight.
Rob held up an empty, chipped glass in question. Fox nodded in response. The brandy wasn’t very good, but it was liquor and it was readily available.
