by Mara
“Hugh?” she murmured in a daze.
“What do you plan to do with me?”
“I’ve something on my mind,” he said, setting her on his bed, following her down. As he leaned above her, his dark hungry gaze flickered over her, and his voice broke low. “Something I need tae see.”
He rubbed an unsteady hand over his mouth, looking like a man in agony. His body seemed to thrum with tension. Frowning, she brought her palms up to cup his face, but he groaned and shuddered, even at that slight touch. What was happening here?
For all the books she’d read, for all that she’d heard from her cousins and learned in London, she’d never imagined a man behaving like this—as though he were about to die from desire, pained with a need so great he could scarcely speak and could barely stand to be touched.
Hugh slowly reached forward to brush her nightdress straps down her shoulders, then dipped a kiss to her collarbone. Just as she felt cool air on her breasts and belly, he hissed something in Gaelic, and sank back on his haunches to stare. She felt his gaze on her bared skin like a touch and arched her back for him.
Leaning forward once more, lowering his head, he rasped,“Mercy….”
Acclaim for Kresley Cole!
“One of romance’s fastest rising stars!”
—Romantic TimesMagazine
“With a captivating brand of passion all her own, Kresley Cole is destined to be a star of this genre!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
And praise for her novels…
IF YOU DARE
“Filled with heated passion and wonderful repartee.”
—Romantic TimesMagazine
(Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner)
“Cole’s voice is powerful and gripping, andIf You Dare is her steamiest yet!”
—New York Timesbestselling author Linda Lael Miller
“A deliciously entertaining read that kept the sexual tension high!”
—Romance Designs
THE PRICE OF PLEASURE
“A splendid read! The sexual tension grips you from beginning to end.”
—New York Timesbestselling author Virginia Henley
“Sexy and original! Sensual island heat that is not to be missed.”
—New York Timesbestselling author Heather Graham
“Savor this marvelous, unforgettable, highly romantic novel by a fresh voice.”
—Romantic TimesMagazine (Top Pick)
THE CAPTAIN OF ALL PLEASURES
“An exciting, sensuous story that will thrill you at every turn of the page.”
—readertoreader.com
“Electrifying…. Kresley Cole captures the danger and passion of the high seas.”
—New York Timesbestselling author Joan Johnston
“Fast-paced action, heady sexual tension, steamy passion…. Exhilarating energy emanates from the pages…very smart and sassy.”
—Romantic TimesMagazine
(Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner)
A HUNGER LIKE NO OTHER
“A unique romance—it truly stands on its own!”
—New York Timesbestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon
“Not just a romantic read…it’s a powerful experience!”
—The Best Reviews
“With intense action, devilishly passionate sex and fascinating characters,A Hunger Like No Other leads readers into an amazing and inventive alternate reality. Hot stuff!”
—Romantic TimesMagazine (Top Pick)
Books by Kresley Cole
The Captain of All Pleasures
The Price of Pleasure
If You Dare
A Hunger Like No Other
No Rest for the Wicked
Available from Pocket Books
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2007 by Kresley Cole
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Cheers to the very real “sensation seekers,”
a virtually unrecognized breed of Victorian,
wild enough to imbibe, partake, and
cavort with reckless abandon
—and wily enough never to get caught by history.
Discipline is nothing more than avoiding consequences.
Ultimately, disciplined men will always prevail.
—Hugh Logan MacCarrick
Bringing a strong man to his knees is simple.
It’s keeping him there that’s the tricky business….
—Jane Farraday Weyland
Prologue
The Kingdom of Morocco, North Africa
1846
“Take the shot, MacCarrick!” Davis Grey ordered yet again. His tone was harsh, but low enough not to give away their vantage, concealed high in the desolate headlands of the Atlas Mountains.
Hugh ignored him. This was to be his first kill, and he knew that once he committed this deed, there was no going back—a weighty decision for a man of only twenty-two years.
He would do it when he was bloody ready.
Taking his eye from the telescopic sight, Hugh released his rifle with one hand and ran his forearm over his face, wiping away the sweat and sand that stung his eyes like needles. Summer was upon them, and the surreal blue of the sky stretched relentlessly, unmarred by clouds. Hugh squinted against the light of a white, indistinct sun.
“Why in the hell are you hesitating?” Grey bit out. “It’s noon.” The sun was directly above, casting the fewest shadows of the day. Shadows mocked a gunman’s truest aim.
Hugh didn’t want to disappoint the older Grey, his mentor of sorts. Grey was Hugh’s only real friend outside of the MacCarrick clan, and the only person Hugh would spend time with, apart from his brothers. And apart from an auburn-haired lass Hugh would kill for. He gave a bitter laugh, adjusting his rifle against his shoulder.
In a way, he was killing for her.
To take out a stranger in cold blood was to cross a line. Which was what he wanted.
“Goddamn it, MacCarrick!” Grey yanked his own rifle and its detached refractor scope from his leather holster, assembling them. “It’ll take us four more weeks to get a shot like this again.”
That was true. The traitor knew he was marked for assassination for his treason and had been running for a month, before holing up in the abandoned Berber farm far below them. In this part of the world, even a battered, flat-roofed hut like the one below had a courtyard for a private oasis, and the man sat within it. He faced the courtyard’s only entrance with a pistol in his lap and a shotgun by his side, yet he was unguarded from above.
The shot was clear, but both of them knew Grey could never hit a target so far away. Where Grey’s preferred weapon was a blade, Hugh had been hunting and target-shooting since he’d been old enough to lift a rifle. Besides, Hugh wanted to act soon while the man was still alone. “I’ll do it,” Hugh grated, sliding a glance toward Grey. He refused to believe he saw excitement there in the man’s expression. This was a job, a foul task. Grey couldn’t enjoy this.
Hugh turned back and took a bead once more. The wind was light, but the targ
et was more than a quarter of a mile away. The glare of the sun was an environmental factor, and the nearly four feet of his gun barrel were heated, as was the single bullet inside the chamber. He took all of this into account.
He stroked his forefinger over the trigger guard before placing his sensitive fingertip at the trigger, beginning a ritual he performed with every shot, almost unconsciously. With his other hand gripping the forestock, he rubbed his thumb twice over the wood, then froze halfway through an exhalation of breath.
The press of the trigger was smooth; the report was like a cannon boom in his ears, louder, for some reason, than all the times he’d shot while hunting.
Nearly two seconds later, the bullet pierced the man’s forehead and cast him to the ground. Blood seeped out from the back of his head, soaking the gravel, and his legs twitched in death, stirring a cloud of dust at his feet.
It’s done, then.
Hugh was done.
There again, he saw something like pleasure in Grey’s eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like you, Scot.” Grey slapped him on the back, then took a swig from the flask he always kept near, grinning against the opening.
All Hugh felt was disgust and a strange sense of relief.
They mounted up quickly, then rode hard down winding mountain trails. An hour after they reached the valley, they neared a village and slowed.
“When we get back to London,” Grey began, still jovial, still excited, “I’m going to tell Weyland that you’re ready to go out on your own.”
Hugh’s expression must have revealed his uneasiness with Grey’s buoyant mood.
“Don’t look at me like that, MacCarrick. You do this for as long as I have, and we’ll see if some part of you doesn’t come to love it.”
Love it?Hugh shook his head and quietly said, “It’s a job. Nothing more.”
“Trust me.” Grey’s smile was knowing. “It’ll be something more—when it’s all you have….”
One
London, England
1856
Ahardened killer, denied his obsession for a decade.
That was what Edward Weyland was bringing back into his daughter’s life with one cryptic message: Jane is in grave danger.
Since receiving Weyland’s missive in France two days ago, Hugh had read and reread it with fingers gone white from clutching it in fury.
If anyone had dared to hurt her…
Now, after days, and nights, riding like hell was at his heels, Hugh had finally reached the Weyland town house. He slid down from his saddle and nearly toppled over, his legs gone boneless from so many hours on horseback. His mount was as winded as Hugh, its coat lathered and its barrel chest twitching.
As Hugh approached the side door, where he always entered, he encountered Weyland’s nephew, Quinton Weyland—who also did work for Weyland—sprawled along the stairs.
“Where’s Jane?” Hugh demanded without preamble.
“Upstairs,” Quin said, seeming preoccupied and even somewhat dazed. “Getting ready for…for her night out.”
“She’s safe?” When Quin nodded absently, relief sailed through Hugh. Over the hours alone on the road, his mind had conjured too many ways she could be in grave danger . He’d prayed she hadn’t been hurt, that he wasn’t too late. Now that Hugh had been assured of her safety, the hunger and thirst he’d ignored for two days began to gnaw at him. “Who’s watching her now?”
Quin answered, “Rolley’s inside, and I’m trailing her tonight.”
Rolley was Edward Weyland’s butler. Most butlers in the exclusive enclave of Piccadilly were older with a hint of grandeur about them, denoting experience and the longevity of a family’s fortunes. Rolley was in his mid-thirties, wiry, his nose shapeless from being broken so many times. His fingers were scarred from his incessant use of steel knuckles. Hugh knew the man would die for Jane.
“Is Weyland here?” Hugh asked.
Quin shook his head. “Not getting in till late. He said if you somehow managed to get here tonight, to tell you he wants to see you in the morning to give you all the details.”
“I’m going in—”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why the hell no’?”
“For one thing, your clothes are covered with dirt, and your face looks like hell.”
Hugh ran a sleeve over his cheek, remembering too late the jagged cuts marking his skin.
“For another, I’m not sure Jane would want to see you.”
Hugh had ridden nonstop for days, and his body was a mass of knotted muscles and aching old injuries. His head was splitting. The idea of being near her again had been all that kept him going. “That does no’ make sense. We used to be friends.”
Quin flashed him an odd expression. “Well, she’s…different now. Completely different and completely out of control.” He caught Hugh’s eyes. “I don’t know that I can take another night of it.” He shook his head forcefully. “No longer. Not after what they did last night….”
“Who? Did what?”
“The Eight. Or at least, three of them. Two of whom are my sisters!”
Society’s notorious Weyland Eight consisted of Jane and her seven female first cousins. Remembering the brazen antics they’d encouraged Jane to take part in, Hugh felt his irritation building.
“But this is no’ what I’ve been brought here for?” Hugh had abandoned his injured younger brother Courtland in France and nearly killed his new horse, a fine gelding that had been a gift for a service he’d rendered. “Because Weyland needs someone to rein her in?”
Surely Weyland wouldn’t be so foolish as to call Hugh back for this. Weyland knew what Hugh was, of course. He was Hugh’s superior and dispatched him to deliver deaths in the name of the Crown. But then, Weyland had no idea how badly Hugh coveted Jane. Nor for how long.
An obsession. For ten bloody years…
Hugh shook his head. Weyland would never have exaggerated the danger in his missive.
“Weyland didn’t tell you what’s happened?” Quin’s brows drew together. “I thought he sent you a message.”
“With little information. Now, what in the hell—”
“Bloody hell!” Rolley came barreling through the doorway. “Bloody, bloody hell! Quin! Have you seen her?”
“Rolley?” Quin shot to his feet. “You’re supposed to be watching her until she leaves.”
The butler cast Quin a scowl. “I told you she knew we’d been following her. She must’ve gone out the window. And got that saucy maid of hers to walk about, tryin’ on dresses in her room.”
“She’s gone?” Hugh lunged for Rolley and fisted his hands in the man’s shirt. “Where’s she going and who’s she with?”
“To a ball,” Rolley said, but immediately glanced at Quin.
Hugh gave Rolley a shake, knowing he was risking Rolley’s swift uppercut, usually accompanied by those steel knuckles.
“Go ahead,” Quin said. “Weyland tells him everything anyway.”
“She’s goin’ to a masquerade with Quin’s sisters and one of their friends.”
“What kind of masquerade?” Hugh asked, though he had a good idea.
“Libertines and courtesans,” Rolley said. “In a warehouse on Haymarket Street.”
With a grated curse, Hugh released Rolley, then forced his legs to cooperate while he crossed to his horse—which seemed to eye him with disbelief that their journey wasn’t over yet. Gritting his teeth at his tightened muscles, Hugh mounted.
“You’re goin’ after her?” Rolley asked. “We’re just supposed to follow her. Weyland doesn’t want her to know yet.”
“MacCarrick, rest,” Quin said. “I’m sure they took a hansom, and the traffic will be mad. I’ve got time to saddle up and beat them there—”
“Then follow, but I’m going now.” Hugh reined around. “Best tell me what I’m up against.”
Quin’s grave expression made Hugh’s fists clench around his reins.
“Not w
hat, but who . Weyland thinks Davis Grey’s on his way to kill her.”
Two
At his first sight of Jane in nearly ten years, Hugh forgot to breathe. The pain in his body, the hunger and fatigue went unnoticed.
He strode headlong after her, shadowing her group from a parallel alley as they strolled down Haymarket after alighting from their hansom.
