Wicked Intentions
Elizabeth Hoyt
“Why?” she asked urgently. “Why me?”
She hesitated, and though he didn’t look at her, he was aware of her every movement. Of her restless fingers tracing the neckline of her bodice, of her pulse fluttering at her throat, of the moment she parted her lips again.
“Because,” he murmured, “you draw me. Because you are kind but not soft. Because you cradle a desperate secret to your bosom, like a viper in your arms, and don’t let go of it even as it gnaws on your very flesh. I want to pry that viper from your arms. To take that pain within myself and make it mine.”
She trembled beside him. He could feel the quivers through the arm she kept on him. “I have no secret.”
He bent and whispered against her hair. “Sweet, darling liar.”
“There’s an enchantment to Hoyt’s stories that makes you believe in the magic of love.”
—RT Book Reviews
PRAISE FOR
ELIZABETH HOYT’S NOVELS
To Desire a Devil
“Hoyt brings her Georgian-set Legend of the Four Soldiers series to a riveting conclusion… Rich with dangerous intrigue, suffused with desire, and spiked with wit, To Desire a Devil is nothing less than brilliant.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! The kind of powerfully emotional, sensual romance, tinged with fairy tale, that readers have come to expect from this gifted storyteller.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Wow! Hoyt knows how to write historical romances right! She blends the details of a historical setting with all the romance a reader could want. Her books pull you in from the first page… I am in awe… This book is a must read for fans of historical romance!”
—RegencyRomanceWriters.com
“Hoyt’s skills are some of the best in the industry… Sharp dialogue, strong characterization, smart heroines with spines, and yummy tortured heroes… this book is really, really good.”
—LikesBooks.com
“Wonderful… an amazing series… high drama and suspense… Hoyt is an expert at storytelling.”
—HistoricalRomanceSociety.com
To Beguile a Beast
“Hoyt works her own brand of literary magic… in the exquisitely romantic, superbly sensual third addition to her extraordinary Georgian-set Legend of the Four Soldiers series.”
—Booklist
“4½ Stars! Top Pick! A magical love story that reads like a mystical fable and a very real and highly passionate romance. Hoyt has found a unique niche that highlights both her storytelling abilities and her considerable talents for depth of character and emotion.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Desert Isle Keeper! Books such as this one are the reason I read romance… Just about as good as it can get.”
—LikesBooks.com
“Fascinating… A heady mix… part love story, part history, and part fairy tale… I recommend it and cannot wait for the final book in the series.”
—Historical Novels Review
“Everything a historical romance should be… Every aspect of this tale is first-rate. The characters come alive, the plot moves along at breakneck speed, and the images and details are so vivid the reader feels totally immersed in the words that spring to life. I loved this book from beginning to end… definitely one for the keeper shelf!”
—RomanceReaderatHeart.com
“Another scorching hot historical romance by one of the best… I thoroughly enjoyed Elizabeth Hoyt’s story of mystery and sensual romance filled with suspense.”
—FreshFiction.com
To Seduce a Sinner
“Superbly nuanced historical romance.”
—Chicago Tribune
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! Hoyt’s magical fairy-tale romances have won the hearts of readers who adore sizzling sensuality perfectly merged with poignancy. Her latest showcases her talent for creating remarkable characters and cherished stories that make us believe in the miracle of love.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Hoyt expertly sifts a generous measure of danger into the latest intriguing addition to her Four Soldiers, Georgian-era series. Her ability to fuse wicked wittiness with sinfully sensual romance is stunning.”
—Booklist
“I thoroughly enjoyed this story of action, mystery, and hot, hot romance. Be prepared to sizzle through this sensuous and exciting story that’s impossible to put down until the last page is finished.”
—FreshFiction.com
To Taste Temptation
“Hoyt… is firmly in control of her craft with engaging characters, gripping plot, and clever dialogue.”
—Publishers Weekly
“4½ Stars! Hoyt’s new series… begins with destruction and ends with glorious love. She begins each chapter with a snippet of a legend that beautifully dovetails with the plot and creates a distinct love story that will thrill readers.”
—RT Book Reviews
The Serpent Prince
“Exquisite romance… mesmerizing storytelling… incredibly vivid lead characters, earthy writing, and an intense love story.”
—Publishers Weekly
The Leopard Prince
“4½ Stars! TOP PICK! An unforgettable love story that ignites the pages not only with heated love scenes but also with a mystery that holds your attention and your heart with searing emotions and dark desire.”
—RT Book Reviews
The Raven Prince
“Hoyt expertly spices this stunning debut novel with a sharp sense of wit and then sweetens her lusciously dark, lushly sensual historical romance with a generous sprinkling of fairy-tale charm.”
—Chicago Tribune
OTHER TITLES BY ELIZABETH HOYT
The Raven Prince
The Leopard Prince
The Serpent Prince
To Taste Temptation
To Seduce a Sinner
To Beguile a Beast
To Desire a Devil
Copyright
This book 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 coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Nancy M. Finney
Excerpt from Notorious Pleasures copyright © 2010 by Nancy M. Finney
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 publisher.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
www.twitter.com/grandcentralpub.
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: August 2010
ISBN: 978-0-446-56906-4
Contents
“Why?” she asked urgently. “Why me?”
Praise for Elizabeth Hoyt’s Novels
Other Titles by Elizabeth Hoyt
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapte
r Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
A Preview of Notorious Pleasures
For my sister, SUSAN, again, despite the fact that she regularly makes fun of my inept computer skills, and once a year finds it necessary to try and explain to me how the Internet really works, which always causes my head to nearly explode. Love ya! ;-)
Acknowledgments
To all the wonderful people who have helped me with this book: my agent, Susannah Taylor, who has selflessly found the very best ethnic restaurants in which to dine five years running at RWA nationals; to my editor, Amy Pierpont, who has yet to blink at my rather incoherent book proposals; to the Grand Central Publishing art department, especially Diane Luger, which has come up with my totally awesome book covers, time and time again; to the spectacular GCP sales team, especially Bob Levine (hi, Bob!), which makes sure my books are actually in stores to buy; and, of course, to my terrific copy editor, Carrie Andrews, saving readers the world over from my tragic spelling errors.
Thank you all.
Chapter One
Once upon a time, in a land long forgotten now, there lived a mighty king, feared by all and loved by none. His name was King Lockedheart….
—from King Lockedheart
LONDON
FEBRUARY 1737
A woman abroad in St. Giles at midnight was either very foolish or very desperate. Or, as in her own case, Temperance Dews reflected wryly, a combination of both.
“’Tis said the Ghost of St. Giles haunts on nights like this,” Nell Jones, Temperance’s maidservant, said chattily as she skirted a noxious puddle in the narrow alley.
Temperance glanced dubiously at her. Nell had spent three years in a traveling company of actors and sometimes had a tendency toward melodrama.
“There’s no ghost haunting St. Giles,” Temperance replied firmly. The cold winter night was frightening enough without the addition of specters.
“Oh, indeed, there is.” Nell hoisted the sleeping babe in her arms higher. “He wears a black mask and a harlequin’s motley and carries a wicked sword.”
Temperance frowned. “A harlequin’s motley? That doesn’t sound very ghostlike.”
“It’s ghostlike if he’s the dead spirit of a harlequin player come back to haunt the living.”
“For bad reviews?”
Nell sniffed. “And he’s disfigured.”
“How would anyone know that if he’s masked?”
They were coming to a turn in the alley, and Temperance thought she saw light up ahead. She held her lantern high and gripped the ancient pistol in her other hand a little tighter. The weapon was heavy enough to make her arm ache. She could have brought a sack to carry it in, but that would’ve defeated its purpose as a deterrent. Though loaded, the pistol held but one shot, and to tell the truth, she was somewhat hazy on the actual operation of the weapon.
Still, the pistol looked dangerous, and Temperance was grateful for that. The night was black, the wind moaning eerily, bringing with it the smell of excrement and rotting offal. The sounds of St. Giles rose about them—voices raised in argument, moans and laughter, and now and again the odd, chilling scream. St. Giles was enough to send the most intrepid woman running for her life.
And that was without Nell’s conversation.
“Horribly disfigured,” Nell continued, ignoring Temperance’s logic. “’Tis said his lips and eyelids are clean burned off, as if he died in a fire long ago. He seems to grin at you with his great yellow teeth as he comes to pull the guts from your belly.”
Temperance wrinkled her nose. “Nell!”
“That’s what they say,” Nell said virtuously. “The ghost guts his victims and plays with their entrails before slipping away into the night.”
Temperance shivered. “Why would he do that?”
“Envy,” Nell said matter-of-factly. “He envies the living.”
“Well, I don’t believe in spirits in any case.” Temperance took a breath as they turned the corner into a small, wretched courtyard. Two figures stood at the opposite end, but they scuttled away at their approach. Temperance let out her breath. “Lord, I hate being abroad at night.”
Nell patted the infant’s back. “Only a half mile more. Then we can put this wee one to bed and send for the wet nurse in the morning.”
Temperance bit her lip as they ducked into another alley. “Do you think she’ll live until morning?”
But Nell, usually quite free with her opinions, was silent. Temperance peered ahead and hurried her step. The baby looked to be only weeks old and had not yet made a sound since they’d recovered her from the arms of her dead mother. Normally a thriving infant was quite loud. Terrible to think that she and Nell might’ve made this dangerous outing for naught.
But then what choice had there been, really? When she’d received word at the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children that a baby was in need of her help, it had still been light. She’d known from bitter experience that if they’d waited until morn to retrieve the child, it would either have expired in the night from lack of care or would’ve already been sold for a beggar’s prop. She shuddered. The children bought by beggars were often made more pitiful to elicit sympathy from passersby. An eye might be put out or a limb broken or twisted. No, she’d really had no choice. The baby couldn’t wait until morning.
Still, she’d be very happy when they made it back to the home.
They were in a narrow passage now, the tall houses on either side leaning inward ominously. Nell was forced to walk behind Temperance or risk brushing the sides of the buildings. A scrawny cat snaked by, and then there was a shout very near.
Temperance’s steps faltered.
“Someone’s up ahead,” Nell whispered hoarsely.
They could hear scuffling and then a sudden high scream.
Temperance swallowed. The alley had no side passages. They could either retreat or continue—and to retreat meant another twenty minutes added to their journey.
That decided her. The night was chilly, and the cold wasn’t good for the babe.
“Stay close to me,” she whispered to Nell.
“Like a flea on a dog,” Nell muttered.
Temperance squared her shoulders and held the pistol firmly in front of her. Winter, her youngest brother, had said that one need only point it and shoot. That couldn’t be too hard. The light from the lantern spilled before them as she entered another crooked courtyard. Here she stood still for just a second, her light illuminating the scene ahead like a pantomime on a stage.
A man lay on the ground, bleeding from the head. But that wasn’t what froze her—blood and even death were common enough in St. Giles. No, what arrested her was the second man. He crouched over the first, his black cloak spread to either side of him like the wings of a great bird of prey. He held a long black walking stick, the end tipped with silver, echoing his hair, which was silver as well. It fell straight and long, glinting in the lantern’s light. Though his face was mostly in darkness, his eyes glinted from under the brim of a black tricorne. Temperance could feel the weight of the stranger’s stare. It was as if he physically touched her.
“Lord save and preserve us from evil,” Nell murmured, for the first time sounding fearful. “Come away, ma’am. Swiftly!”
Thus urged, Temperance ran across the courtyard, her shoes clattering on the cobblestones. She darted into another passage and left the scene behind.
“Who was he, Nell?” she panted as they made their way through the stinking alley. “Do you know?”
The passage let out suddenly into a wider road, and Temperance relaxed a little, feeling safer without the walls pressing in.
Nell spat as if to clear a foul taste from her mouth.
Temperance looked at her curiously. “You sounded like you knew that man.”
“Knew him, no,” Nell
replied. “But I’ve seen him about. That was Lord Caire. He’s best left to himself.”
“Why?”
Nell shook her head, pressing her lips firmly together. “I shouldn’t be speaking about the likes of him to you at all, ma’am.”
Temperance let that cryptic comment go. They were on a better street now—some of the shops had lanterns hanging by the doors, lit by the inhabitants within. Temperance turned one more corner onto Maiden Lane, and the foundling home came within sight. Like its neighbors, it was a tall brick building of cheap construction. The windows were few and very narrow, the doorway unmarked by any sign. In the fifteen precarious years of the foundling home’s existence, there had never been a need to advertise.
Abandoned and orphaned children were all too common in St. Giles.
“Home safely,” Temperance said as they reached the door. She set down the lantern on the worn stone step and took out the big iron key hanging by a cord at her waist. “I’m looking forward to a dish of hot tea.”
“I’ll put this wee one to bed,” Nell said as they entered the dingy little hall. It was spotlessly clean, but that didn’t hide the fallen plaster or the warped floorboards.
“Thank you.” Temperance removed her cloak and was just hanging it on a peg when a tall male form appeared at the far doorway.
“Temperance.”
She swallowed and turned. “Oh! Oh, Winter, I did not know you’d returned.”
“Obviously,” her younger brother said drily. He nodded to the maidservant. “A good eventide to you, Nell.”
“Sir.” Nell curtsied and looked nervously between brother and sister. “I’ll just see to the, ah, children, shall I?”
