An Affair Most Wicked
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My Dear Miss Wilson,
I have no wish to spoil you chances of meeting the decent and respectable man you desire. Yet I find I cannot idly sit back and accept that
.
I will never see you again or
forgive me for my candorkiss you again. If I were like other gentlemen. I would say good-bye to you now and wish you the best. But I have not behaved as a gentleman for many years… Do you understand my meaning?
S.
So begins a very wicked correspondence between the scandal-ridden Marquess of Rawdon and Clara Wilson, an heiress with more than a few of her own secrets to hide. Clara has come all the way to London to find respectability, but she has always craved excitement, and adventure has always sought her out.
This time, excitement is a man unlike any she has ever met before, one who is stunning, brilliant, and definitely
not
what her mother had in mind. Clara’s cautious younger sister Adele warns her to be wary and remember her past follies, but her spirited older sister Sophia urges her to risk it all for love. Clara knows the answer lies somewhere in between, but with her heart and her future on the line, the stakes will never be higher…
AVON BOOKS
An Imprint of
HarperCollins
Publishers
This one is for Stephen,
the great love of my life.
I’m so glad I married you.
Special thanks to Kelly, for your insightfulness and intelligence as an editor, and your ability to think outside the box. Thank you, Paige, for being the kind of agent I always wanted
—
someone I could work with as well as laugh with. Thank you, Jo Beverley, for your generosity as an author; Cathy Donaldson, for your journalistic talents in my neck of the woods; and lastly, thank you, Michelle, for being my lifelong pal
—
the best friend anyone could
ever
ask for
.
London, 1883
Lady Berkshire stood outside her bedchamber in the full light of the afternoon, and gathered her wrap around her voluptuous naked form. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and sighed contentedly as she handed her lover’s greatcoat to him. “Come back on Thursday?”
Standing tall and sumptuous in the corridor, his golden hair spilling onto his shoulders in unfashionable disarray, her lover smiled. His devilish charm filled the corridor like a beam of sunlight, radiant and warm.
Lady Berkshire, who was still flushed from their afternoon frolic, melted like hot butter before him, for she had just experienced, firsthand, the validity behind the rumors.
Yes, it was all true. The beautiful marquess had a flare for the erotic. An intensity in the bedroom. A talent for lavish, liberal lovemaking.
He was Seger Wolfe, the Marquess of Rawdon, and among the ladies who liked to whisper in the dark corners of London’s late-night drawing rooms, he was England’s most coveted lover.
With boyishly appealing green eyes, he watched her run a slender hand seductively down the front of her neck and along her collarbone while she waited eagerly for his reply.
“I’m afraid I have an appointment on Thursday that cannot be postponed,” he said.
“Friday then? I’ll have strawberries.” Beneath the melodic intent to entice, her voice was laced with pleading.
Seger considered her invitation with care. It was not his habit to see any one woman more than twice in the same week, and never under any circumstances exclusively. Most women knew the boundaries merely by instinct. They knew not to ask, and not to become possessive if they wanted him to return another day, which almost invariably, they did.
Because of his ability to give more than he took, they all agreed.
He inhaled deeply and sighed, surprised by a sudden twinge of discontent that was unusual at a time like this.
Lady Berkshire took a sultry step toward him and grasped his hand. “Please?” She brought his forefinger to her lips, drew it into her mouth, and suckled on it.
“Perhaps on Friday,” he said softly.
Lady Berkshire gleamed with anticipation. “Friday, it is.”
She stepped back into her bedroom and closed the door behind her with a quiet click.
Seger stood for a moment, staring down the long length of the empty corridor, questioning his response just now. Something had lately been missing from his usual enthusiasm for trysts like this, which made no sense. Lady Berkshire was a skillful, enthusiastic partner beneath the covers. The climaxes today had been both potent and plentiful for both of them.
He continued to stand outside her door, staring at it. Then he realized something. He barely remembered what it felt like to make love to a woman because he loved her.
Her.
Seger inhaled deeply. God. How long had it been, and why was he even thinking about it now?
Bloody hell, he knew how long. Right down to the day. It was just under eight years. Yes.
Thankfully, eight years of superficial encounters and casual intimacies for the sole purpose of pleasure had for the most part emptied him of all memories of her, and he was glad. There was no point pondering them now. She wasn’t coming back. Death was rather firm in that regard.
He buttoned his coat and turned to leave, telling himself that this feeling of dissatisfaction would pass, probably as quickly as it had set in. Everything was fine, as it had been for the past eight years. Seger was content. He knew how to enjoy himself, and enjoy himself he did. He found pleasure with women and gave them immense pleasure in return. He liked the superficiality of his life and his relationships. The women he flirted with were always cheerful and smiling. Nothing was ever complicated or distressing.
To be frank, he wasn’t certain he would know how to understand a woman’s deeper emotions even if he wanted to.
Not that he wanted to. He didn’t.
Seger descended the stairs and, with firm resolve, expelled those thoughts from his mind. They did him no good.
He let himself out the front door of the fashionable London house, glanced up and down the street, then crossed to where his coach was waiting a few doors down.
He reminded himself that there was much to look forward to this evening. He had a particular ball to attend—a Cakras Ball. As always, it promised to be a tantalizing feast for the senses. Exactly what he needed for distraction. He would no doubt meet a number of interesting women there. Beautiful women. Adventurous women.
He climbed inside his coach and signaled to the driver to move on. His blood quickened as he anticipated the evening ahead.