Adrienne Basso

Before Gareth could leap from the bed to verify his suspicions, something came across his eyes, shutting him in complete darkness.

He reacted instinctively, pulling at the material that had now been drawn tight across his eyes, effectively blinding him. Then he felt the caress of warm breath against his ear.

“I had thought to surprise you, my lord,” a sultry female voice whispered. “Unless you object to my little game?”

A warm, lush female body climbed boldly into his lap. The viscount reached again to remove the covering from his eyes, but the woman’s hands closed over his wrists.

“I had hoped you would want to play, my lord. Will you not reconsider? I promise to make the night well worth it.”

When she spoke this time her voice was muffled against his throat. She pressed a soft kiss against the starched linen of his cravat, then ran her fingers lightly across his chest.

“If it pleases you, I will leave my blindfold intact.” He set his hands firmly on her waist and drew her close to him. “For the moment.”

“I salute your daring,” came the breathy reply. . . .

Books by Adrienne Basso

HIS WICKED EMBRACE

 

HIS NOBLE PROMISE

 

TO WED A VISCOUNT

 

TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS

 

TO TEMPT A ROGUE

 

THE WEDDING DECEPTION

 

THE CHRISTMAS HEIRESS

 

HIGHLAND VAMPIRE

 

HOW TO ENJOY A SCANDAL

 

NATURE OF THE BEAST

 

THE CHRISTMAS COUNTESS

 

HOW TO SEDUCE A SINNER

 

A LITTLE BIT SINFUL

 

’TIS THE SEASON TO BE SINFUL

 

INTIMATE BETRAYAL

 

NOTORIOUS DECEPTION

 

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A
DRIENNE
B
ASSO

eKENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
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All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

“Is there any news?” the woman asked the moment the servant entered her room.

Her maid nodded and moved closer quickly, displaying surprising agility considering her advanced years.

“The earl called for a second bottle of wine and then he requested quills, an inkpot, and parchment be brought to him in the drawing room. The drawing room!” The elderly female servant rolled her eyes, leaned forward, and continued.

“Hugh said he and Mr. Bascomb were laughing their fool heads off when he left them, not ten minutes ago.”

“So Mr. Bascomb is still in the house?”

“Hugh will bring us word when Mr. Bascomb is gone.”

Lady Amelia Wheatley, Dowager Countess of Monford, bit her bottom lip and nodded her thanks to her maid, Mildred. If quill and paper had been required by the earl it could mean but one thing. In all likelihood a marriage contract was being written and signed at this very moment.

Amelia blinked back her tears. ’Twas her worst fear come to life.

The earl was her brother-in-law and her only male relative. He had courted the favor of Mr. Bascomb, a rich, social-climbing merchant, for several months hoping the man would be interested in becoming a member of the family. By marrying her. Apparently all that hard work and effort was about to come to fruition.

Amelia had been a widow for three years and would be celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday in a few months. One would think at this stage in her life she no longer had to worry about things like forced marriages and unwanted husbands, but it seemed that fate would not allow her to spend the rest of her days as she wished, living a quiet, peaceful life, blissfully free of the rule of any one man.

“Shall I ring for tea to be brought up, my lady? A good strong cup might settle your nerves.”

“How well you know me, dear Mildred.” Amelia smiled faintly at the maid, distressed at the adverse effect this was having on the older servant. Mildred’s voice was anxious, slightly breathless, her face lined with concern. “However, I insist you have two cups sent up with the tray so you may join me,” Amelia declared.

“My lady! ’Tis scandalous to be drinking tea with your maid.”

“Then I shall be scandalous.” Amelia’s smile widened at the very idea. The most daring, outrageous thing she had ever done was put aside her widow’s weeds three weeks earlier than what was considered proper and respectful. This one great act of defiance had been met with little reaction, for neither the family nor her neighbors seemed to notice.

Hoping to distract Mildred from the current problem as they waited for the tea tray, Amelia restricted her conversation to innocuous mundane topics. When those subjects quickly ran their course, the pair fell into a comfortable silence.

In the quiet of the early afternoon Amelia could hear the faint patter of raindrops against the window glass. It surprised her, for the day had begun with such bright sunshine.

Hugh arrived with a ladened tea tray. Amelia wanted to scold him for carrying such a heavy burden up so many stairs, but years of firsthand experience with the old footman’s stubborn pride kept her quiet.

“Mr. Bascomb is still with the earl,” the footman announced. “It’s been over two hours and not a peep from them.”

Amelia kept her expression carefully blank. “Have they requested anything else? Tea, perhaps?”

“Tea?” The footman snorted. “After polishing off two bottles of the finest claret in the wine cellar? Not likely.”

“Mildred mentioned that you brought the earl quill, inkpot, and parchment. How would you judge his mood?”

“Smiling like a jackal, he was.”

“And Mr. Bascomb?”

“I won’t lie to you, your ladyship. They were thick as thieves and up to no good, if you ask me.”

Mildred stared at Hugh. “Oh, stop your blabbering, you old fool. You’re scaring my lady half to death.”

“No, Hugh’s right to tell me the truth. At least now I’ll know what to expect.”

Amelia sensed the footman’s remorse. Though he had difficulty showing it, she knew his loyalty toward her ran deep and strong.

“I’ll bring you word myself the moment Mr. Bascomb is gone,” the footman promised.

“I am grateful for your kindness,” Amelia replied.

The footman left and the room once again fell silent. While Amelia poured the tea, Mildred hovered at her elbow. Though appreciative of her maid’s concern, it took great concentration not to spill any of the hot brew.

“This was the perfect suggestion, Mildred. The tea is precisely what I needed to settle my nerves.” Amelia kept her voice deliberately low and calm, showing none of her inner fear.

Mildred nodded her head encouragingly. “Have a cake, too. They are one of Cook’s best efforts.”

Amelia dutifully placed a cake she had no intention of eating on her plate and encouraged the maid to take several for herself.

Feeling frustrated and restless, Amelia put her nearly full teacup aside and walked to the window. The storm had increased intensity, for the rain now drummed fiercely. She unhooked the latch and pushed open the window, breathing deeply the tang of musky dampness. It smelled of wet earth. She envied the ease with which nature could wash clean its sins and start anew.

“You’ll catch your death standing by that damp window,” Mildred admonished. Amelia turned absently, unaware that she had been shivering.

“Well, that is one solution to my current dilemma. Though I fully believe he would try, even the earl would have difficulty convincing Mr. Bascomb it would be in his best interest to marry a corpse.”

“My lady! ’Tis bad luck to speak of your own passing with such a glib tongue.”

Amelia refrained from commenting that death would be preferable to a second marriage, knowing it would sound overly dramatic. The problem was that the sentiment was uncomfortably close to the truth.

Remembering the years of her marriage brought forth a rush of hot and cold chills. Thanks to her indulgent parents, Amelia had been granted more freedom than most young women of her age and class when it came to selecting a husband. George Wheatley had recently inherited his title and the earl had fully captured her impressionable imagination with his striking features, charming manners, and noble bearing.

She believed herself to be irresistibly and wildly in love with George, just as the poems and stories and songs described. So at twenty she had married a man of her own choice, with her parents’ blessing. Naively blinded by love, she had stepped willingly into what eventually became a waking nightmare.

Resolutely, Amelia thrust the memories deep inside her, locking them away once again. She had buried her unhappiness and pain the day George died. That was part of her past—it did no good to look back and remember with regret her many mistakes.

She needed to focus on the future. She looked again out the window, her eyes squinting to see through the steady rain. In the faint distance she could make out the five chimneys of the Dower House. The brick climbed toward the clouds, tall and straight, seeming to mock her by its deceptively strong appearance.

The Dower House was to have been her haven, her reward for enduring twelve years of marriage to an oftentimes harsh and brutal man. For years she had dreamed of setting up her own small household at the edge of the estate, a home that was completely her own, where she was answerable to no one. With Mildred and Hugh as her servants, a small reward to them for their continued loyalty, along with a competent cook and several day maids to handle the heavier chores.

There had even a small provision in George’s will for a monthly allowance to maintain that household. Yet, after three years, Amelia had still not taken up residence because the Dower House had fallen into a state of such disrepair it was uninhabitable. The roof leaked in several places, all the fireplaces on the second floor smoked badly, the foundation on the south facade was rotten through, and many panes of glass were broken.

It would take far more than the small allowance she was given to properly repair the house. She needed the help and permission of the current earl, her brother-in-law. Yet he had been steadily refusing her pleas for funds for nearly three years. Amelia finally understood why. Apparently he had decided it would best suit his purposes to marry her off to a rich local merchant.

It seemed the most bitter of irony that George’s death had not set her free, but placed her in an even more tenuous position.

“The earl has sent for you, my lady.”

For an instant her tongue felt frozen and she could find no words to respond to the message Hugh brought. Her gaze shifted from Mildred to Hugh, then back to Mildred. “Has Mr. Bascomb departed?”

“Yes, he left the moment the rain let up a little.”

Slowly, with a despairing sense of the inevitable, Amelia turned around. She nodded reassuringly at Mildred, hoping her show of confidence would help relieve the worry that engulfed the maid’s eyes.

Amelia paused when she reached the drawing room, signaling the footman to wait before opening the door. She nervously wiped a damp palm on her skirts, then entered the room cautiously, her eyes alert to the inhabitants of the room.

Though Hugh declared Mr. Bascomb gone, Amelia knew the servant could be mistaken. Both his memory and eyesight were failing and he was known to give incorrect information on more than one occasion. Thankfully he was correct now—Mr. Bascomb was nowhere in sight.

“Ah, there you are, Amelia. Come in, come in. I have some wonderful news to share.”

The deep voice of her brother-in-law startled her and she felt her shoulders jump. He strode forward purposefully, lifting her hand to his mouth. Roger’s smile was tight and false. Amelia suppressed a shiver. With his square jaw, straight nose, and light blue eyes there were many who labeled Roger Wheatley, Earl of Monford, a handsome man.

But Amelia knew better. That attractive exterior hid a soul that was dark and brooding. Oh, Roger could be charming, even gallant if the mood were upon him. Yet more and more that charm had been strained, especially when anyone tried to thwart his will.

Living in the house that was once her domain and now belonged to him, she had learned one very important lesson that she took pains never to forget. Under almost all circumstances Roger could not be trusted.

Without waiting to be asked, Amelia took a seat on the green silk-covered settee. She folded her hands primly in her lap. “You sent for me, Roger?”

The earl nodded. He selected a chair across from her, casually crossed one leg over the other, and regarded her shrewdly. Amelia glanced uneasily at the hearth, then forced herself to stare directly at her nemesis.

“I am delighted to inform you that Mr. Bascomb and I have reached an agreement this afternoon. A most favorable marriage agreement. You shall be married at the end of next month.” He gave her a slick, indulgent smile. “Are you not pleased by this happy turn of events?”

Amelia could feel the pressure of her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Her pride hoped that he could not hear the thunderous pounding.

“Why would you assume that I am pleased by this news, Roger? I have never given any indication that I would look favorably upon Mr. Bascomb’s suit. In fact, precisely the opposite is true, and I have told him that on more than one occasion.”

The smile on Roger’s face became noticeably cooler. “Do you object because he has no title?”

How ridiculous. Leave it to Roger to find the most unimportant detail and magnify it. “Mr. Bascomb’s lack of a noble title is hardly an issue. Since I was born the daughter of an earl I shall always retain my rank.” She paused. “Honestly, I cannot imagine why he would be interested in a woman of my years when there are so many other younger, prettier, more suitable brides in the area.”

Roger laughed. It was a deep, unpleasant sound. “You make it sound as though you have one foot in the grave, Amelia. Mr. Bascomb confided in me several months ago that he prefers an older, more mature woman closer to his own age of forty for his bride.”

Amelia did not believe that for an instant. Feeling a bit more desperate, she pressed on. “A man in Mr. Bascomb’s position must think of the future. True, he has no title to pass on, but his thriving business would be a wonderful inheritance for any child. As his friend, I would think you would want to encourage him to find a younger woman capable of bearing him children. Most importantly, a son and heir.”

“We discussed this at length. Thanks to my intervention, Mr. Bascomb has decided to generously overlook your barren state. Something, I must point out, that not all men would do so graciously.” Roger leaned forward slowly, his hard blue gaze piercing her fragile composure. “Fortunately, Mr. Bascomb has a nephew of whom he is very fond. The eldest son of his only sister. He is a smart lad who has exhibited great promise in all areas of the business.

“He has also shown the proper respect and gratitude towards his very generous uncle, and expressed his delight at the many benefits and privileges that have been offered to him. Mr. Bascomb is pleased that this fine young man will one day carry on.”

If he thought to hurt her with his talk of barrenness, the earl was sadly disappointed. Amelia had accepted long ago that she would never be mother to any children. In moments such as this she was grateful for her lack of prodigy, for a child would be but another weapon that Roger could use against her.

Amelia shook her head. “I am an unsuitable bride for Mr. Bascomb. He must choose another.”

“Don’t be so modest, Amelia. Though not in the first bloom of youth, you do have a few feminine charms that a man can admire.”

The gall of the man! Amelia pressed her lips tightly together and muttered, “You are too kind, Roger.”

“Oh, do smile, Amelia. This is a joyous, joyful occasion. Who knows, your marriage might entice me to consider entering the parson’s mousetrap myself.” The earl strolled to the sideboard, uncorked a nearly empty decanter, and poured out two goblets. He thrust one at Amelia. She accepted it without thinking. “I insist you join me in a glass of claret to celebrate.”