A Dangerous Man

PRAISE FOR CONNIE BROCKWAY
AND HER PREVIOUS ROMANCES

PROMISE ME HEAVEN

“[Connie Brockway’s] beautiful and touching novel is so enthralling that the audience will not be able to put it down for even a nanosecond.
Promise Me Heaven
is so polished and complex that readers will disbelieve that this is the author’s first work.”

—
Affaire de Coeur

“Graced with a marvelous, tortured hero and a spirited heroine,
Promise Me Heaven
is a book that delivers on all its promises.”

—
Romantic Times

ANYTHING FOR LOVE

“Connie Brockway has written a fun-filled romp. The lovers will find a way into your heart.”

—
Romantic Times

“Anything for Love
is a book to savor … Connie Brockway is definitely an author who belongs on your ‘must have’ list.”

—
A Little Romance

“With her second novel, Connie Brockway has shown that she’s definitely one of the up-and-coming superstars of the romance genre.”

—
Affaire de Coeur

“Vivid characters, wild romantic trysts, and the comical antics of the mountain men will glue you to the pages until the end. A truly unique historical romance.”

—
Rendezvous

HE TOOK ADVANTAGE

Slowly, he lifted his hands and bracketed the sides of her face, his thumbs resting near her parted lips, his forefingers grazing the downy hair at her temples.

Stop. Now, before you scare her
. But he could not.

Her eyes widened. The gold-ash irises glinted in the firelight. Her lashes fluttered, sweeping feathered silkiness against his fingertips. He moved closer, oblique and cautious, his breath shallow, trying not to alarm her, thief that he was.

It was so easy.

She tilted her head and he stooped over her and kissed her. His lips touched a silken brow, each lid, the corner of her soft, trembling mouth. She sighed—sweet, sweet sound, delicious and erotic. He found her mouth, aware in some appalled recess of his consciousness that his restraint had vanished but unable to call himself back from the edge of the passion engulfing him.

She was here and while he could hold her, devour her with hand and mouth and breath, she held back the night, her sweet body offered a sanctuary. His heart raced and his thoughts spun blackly.

She started to speak and he closed her mouth with his. He would not let her say no. He dipped and caught her behind the knees, swinging her up into his arms.… She whimpered and lust careened through him. She clung to him, overpowered by his insistence, her ardor, his passion.

He strode with her to the great, dark-curtained bed and laid her upon the dark, shimmering counterpane and followed her down.…

Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
1540 Broadway
New York, New York 10036

Copyright © 1996 by Connie Brockway

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and
Trademark Office.

eISBN: 978-0-307-76831-5

Published simultaneously in Canada

v3.1

To Don and Betina
.
If even a shadow of their real life love affair is
reflected in one of my books, I’ll know I’ve
succeeded in writing a Romance
.

A DANGEROUS MAN is a very special book to me and I owe a huge debt to those who inspired (and sometimes bullied) me into giving this manuscript the best I have to offer. I would like to thank my agent, Damaris Rowland, for her ardent and skillful championship of my work, Laura Cifelli at Dell for putting me on her “wish list,” my editor Marjorie Braman for her enthusiasm and insightful suggestions, and Sally Mitchell at Temple University for always so graciously making herself available to answer questions about Victoriana. Finally I would like to thank Susan Kay Law for critiquing at any hour of any given day, Susan Sizemore for plotting on the spur of the moment, and Christina Dodd for saying, “This is going to be great!”—and repeating it anytime I asked her to.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Prologue

Texas Panhandle, 1872

“R
eal tough, huh?” the outlaw sneered.

“Yeah. Sure.” The “Duke” tried to keep his gun aimed at the man’s head, but it was hard. The kid kept thrashing around in the outlaw’s obscene parody of an embrace. He gritted his teeth, the palm cupping the butt of his pistol making fractional adjustments as the outlaw’s head appeared and disappeared behind the kid’s.

“You don’t look so damn tough now, Duke,” the man snarled.

“Whatever you say,” he answered in a soft, distracted voice.

Behind the dirty forearm covering her mouth, the kid’s green eyes stared at him. Tears ran freely from them. But unless he missed his guess, they were tears of frustration and anger, not panic.

The kid had guts. He’d give her that.

“Yeah!” the outlaw crowed. “You just remember that, Duke. Whatever
I
say! Me! I got the upper hand here and you better not forget it.”

With a huge sense of inner relief that he never allowed his face to mirror, the Duke saw that the kid was wearing out. Just a few seconds without her twisting around, that’s all he needed.

“I won’t. Just let her go.”

“What the hell do you think I am? Stupid?” the outlaw asked, punctuating his anger by savagely jerking the kid’s head next to his. She moaned.

“No. Course not.”

“That’s right. That’s right, you limey piece of shit! You’re the stupid one! You! Gonna be hard gettin’ your boss to fork over all that blood money he owes you when you have to tell him that his little girl got snatched, ain’t it?” he said, staggering back toward the door. He hauled the kid’s meager weight up on his hip, using her as a shield. She felt the movement, knew what it meant, and started twisting in his arms with renewed fervor.

“Fuck.” Duke spat the word dispassionately. A few steps more and they were gone and the kid could just kiss good-bye to life—if she’d even want to live it after what this man would do to her.

“Yeah.” An ugly smile creased the man’s filthy face. “My plan exactly.”

“You aren’t going to get away,” Duke said softly, trying to fake the man into making a mistake. That was the thing with these tough guys, they always wanted to talk. Right now, talk was the only thing Duke had going for him.

“The hell I’m not. I got me a nice little insurance policy here. Your employer’s only baby girl. Found her choking on one of Daddy’s imported cee-gars. Ain’t she sweet?” He laughed as the kid squirmed again, kicking back with her feet. He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, keeping his eyes fixed on Duke’s gun. “Well, maybe she ain’t so sweet. But she’s gonna keep you from following me, now, ain’t she?”

He pulled her with him, working his way back toward the door. “Drop the iron, Duke.” A few steps and they’d be gone.

Drop the gun and they were both dead. He knew it and this man knew it. “No.”

The ugly humor fled from the outlaw’s face. “I said drop it.”

“And I said,
no.”

There was only one thing to do. Get rid of the shield. It was a risk, but one he’d have to take.

Without a flicker of emotion crossing his face, Duke fired.

The impact sent the kid careening back into the outlaw, knocking them both into the closed door. With a groan the kid fainted, her sudden deadweight dragging her out of the outlaw’s hold and onto the floor. Incredulous, the outlaw stared at the blood blossoming from the kid’s shoulder.

“You shot her!” he said wonderingly. “You really are one evil son of a bit—”

“Yeah,” Duke said, and took the head shot.

Chapter 1

Berkshire County, 1878

“B
egad, it’s good to see you again, Perth!” A tall, lanky young man hailed Hart Moreland, Earl of Perth, and bounded down the steps of the Actons’ magnificent country house. A bit breathless, he gained Perth’s side.

Hart nodded in response to the greeting of his brother-in-law, Richard Whitcombe, Viscount Claredon. He pulled off his soft kid gloves and looked over the commotion in the yard. Though the Actons’ country house lay just west of London by a short hour’s ride, the luggage that was piling up on the drive suggested it lay at the ends of the earth.

The other houseguests were arriving. Landaus and hansoms deposited their elegantly bejeweled, beribboned, and beruffled occupants on the magnificent sweeping steps leading to the house’s imposing
pink granite facade. He recognized none of the guests. Not that he would. In spite of his titled position he’d had little experience with English society.