His Wicked Heart (44 page)

She tugged him closer again, directing his
lips back to her neck. “Yes, yes, and don’t be ridiculous.”

He licked a path to the underside of her
chin. “You say that, but before I met you my heart was cold,
ruined, utterly wicked.”

She placed her hand on his chest over the
heart that beat sure and strong—for her. “Your heart isn’t cold,
nor is it ruined. But I hope you won’t mind if I prefer you remain
the tiniest bit wicked.”

He grinned as he lowered his lips to hers.
“Anything for you.”

Also by Darcy Burke

Her Wicked Ways

To Seduce a Scoundrel (July 2012)

Read on for an excerpt of

A lady on the brink of disaster

Quintessential debutante Lady Philippa Latham
is determined to avoid scandal at all costs so that she may marry
well. When her mother’s outrageous behavior threatens their
family’s reputation, Philippa unwittingly follows her to a party no
unmarried Society girl would risk attending. As if that wasn’t bad
enough, Philippa is “rescued” from disaster by England’s most
notorious scoundrel, which sets them both on a path to public and
personal ruin.

A scoundrel in need of seduction

Lord Ambrose Sevrin is infamous for ruining
his brother’s fiancé and refusing to marry her. Content to remain
among the fringe of the upper ten thousand, he is an intriguing
enigma to London’s elite. Philippa thinks she’s met the true
Ambrose—a gentleman who would fight to defend her and help her
secure a husband before it’s too late. But he can’t be that
husband, even for her. He won’t tolerate redemption—or love—for his
crimes are far worse than anyone can imagine.

London, April 1803

FROM THE comfort of the Herrick coach, Lady
Philippa Latham watched her mother alight from Mr. Booth-Barrows’
carriage in front of a massive neo-classical house on Saville
Street. Booth-Barrows tucked Mother’s hand over his arm and they
climbed the steps of the townhouse, their heads bent close
together.
Like lovers
. Philippa seethed. Loveless marriage
or no, how dare Mother openly cuckold Father? And only days after
she’d informed Philippa she must marry this season. How was she to
accomplish that while her mother was cavorting about town with a
man who wasn’t her husband?

Philippa clasped her fingers tightly around
the door handle, and before she knew her own mind, she was stepping
from the coach. The footman leaped to help her.

With murmured appreciation and a directive to
wait until she returned, she dashed across the moonlit street.
Nervous energy propelled her along her mother’s path. Philippa had
never done anything so rash before, but she was intent on
convincing Mother to come home immediately.

A black and silver liveried footman opened
the front door, and Philippa stepped into a cavernous marble entry.
But instead of her mother, other guests, or some sort of receiving
line, she found emptiness punctuated by the gentle swell of
conversation and muted laughter coming from a chamber on the
opposite side of the foyer.

“Would you care for a cloak?”

Philippa turned toward a second footman who
held up a voluminous black cloak, complete with a large hood. She
frowned. Why on earth would she want to wear a cloak inside? “No,
thank you.” Puzzled, she turned from the footman and squared her
shoulders.

Head high, she strode across the gleaming
marble and did her best to appear as if she belonged, though she’d
no idea whose house she’d invaded. Not that she cared, so long as
she found her mother and took her home. While it was true some
women had liaisons outside of their marriage, her mother shouldn’t
be one of them. Not after twenty-two years of insisting upon
propriety and respectability above all else. Philippa’s outrage
bubbled anew.

She paused at the threshold to the large,
dimly lit room beyond the foyer. It was crowded with people.
Masked people
. Faint tendrils of trepidation curled in her
chest.

She stepped into the room, seeking her
mother’s peacock blue gown. In the center, a woman stood on a table
in nothing but her chemise and garters. Philippa gaped, completely
unprepared for such a shocking display.

She spun about, clenching her teeth.
Curse
her impulsivity
, which she rarely indulged. How fitting that on
her first foray she’d stumbled into precisely the impropriety her
mother had warned against. And how ironic that she’d done so in
pursuit of Mother.

A man clasped her elbow. “Lady Philippa.” The
whisper came next to her ear and sent a shiver down her neck.

Philippa jumped. She turned her head to look
at the man, but a dark mask covered the upper half of his face.
Panic rooted in her belly. “How do you know who I am?”

He dragged her to the side of the room,
deeper into the shadows, and pressed her against the wall. The edge
of the wainscoting dug into her lower back. Then he stepped close.
Too close. He put his hands up behind his head. “Quickly, take my
mask.” He worked another moment then muttered, “Bloody hell, the
tie is knotted.”

She didn’t know what sort of event she’d
stumbled into, but clearly it was wicked, and the only thing
standing between her and certain ruin was—literally—this bold
stranger. Right now, she’d take this man’s audacity over
discovery.

“Let me.” She stood on her toes, for he was
quite tall, and found the knot at the back of his head. He smelled
of rosemary and sandalwood, very pleasant.

“Where’d she go?” a male voice behind her
rescuer asked. “I saw the loveliest creature, dark hair, pale
gown—no mask, if you can imagine. She was just here.”

Her rescuer leaned his head down so that
their mouths were a breath apart. If she nudged up the slightest
bit, their lips would touch… Her fingers fumbled as she tried to
work the knot free.

“Eh, there she is, against the wall.”

Philippa gave up her struggle with the mask
and moved her hands to her rescuer’s lapels. She pulled him closer
so that her bodice grazed the front of his coat. “Don’t you dare
move.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, his
warm breath caressing her mouth.

More shivers. This time dancing down her
arms.

He clasped her waist and she would’ve jumped
back if the wall behind her had allowed any such movement. “I ought
to convince the men behind me you are engaged, ah, with me. Pardon
my familiarity, but I do believe kissing you is necessary. You
might take the opportunity to continue working at the ties of my
mask.”

Before she had time to make sense of anything
he’d just told her, his lips met hers.

The pressure of his mouth was warm and soft.
She’d been kissed before—a swift brushing of lips that had left her
curious—but pressed against a stranger in a dark corner, this was
something quite different. Somehow more than just a kiss. A moment
later his advice sunk into her befuddled thoughts.
The
mask
.

She lifted her arms, which only served to
bring her body up against him rather snugly. His chest pressed
against hers in a terribly intimate fashion, while he moved his
lips slowly, sensuously over hers. Her sensibilities were
scandalized, but her body didn’t care. Her flesh heated, and little
whorls of excitement replaced the panic in her belly.

A dissatisfied grunt came from behind her
rescuer, followed by, “Someone else got to her first.” Two sets of
footsteps trailed away.

She plucked at the ties of the mask, and at
last it came loose. He broke the kiss and caught the mask before it
fell. Then he turned it around and covered the upper two-thirds of
her face. He quickly tied the thin strands around the back of her
head. The mask was too large for her, but that only meant it
covered more and she wouldn’t complain about
that
. Not when
there were plenty of other things to worry about.

Such as how disappointed she felt that their
kiss was over. Ludicrous! She needed to concentrate on getting out
of there without being identified. “You recognized me immediately.
I suppose it’s too much to hope no one else did.” She tested the
knot at the back of her head and was satisfied it wouldn’t come
loose even as she feared it didn’t matter. Though the other men
hadn’t referred to her by name, her heretofore pristine reputation
would be ruined if any of them had discerned her identity.

“You aren’t sure if anyone saw you?” The dark
timbre of his voice wrapped around her.

The mask tunneled her vision, and even
squinting she couldn’t make out his features in the shadowed corner
they inhabited. “Just the footmen. One of them offered me a cloak.
Oh dear, was that to shield my identity? How was I to know?”

“What were you expecting to find at Lockwood
House?” His tone carried a hint of sarcasm.

“
Lockwood House
?” Dear Lord, she’d
marched through the gates of Hell and straight into Lucifer’s
bedchamber. “Is this one of those…parties?” She wasn’t even sure
what those ‘parties’ were—proper girls like her never would—but
she’d heard enough to know that being caught attending one would
mean the death of her reputation.

She reined in her shock to indulge her rising
panic. “I have to get out of here. Now.”

“I agree.” He took her elbow and turned her
toward the door.

They took two steps and then stopped short as
a group of people stepped inside. He drew her around and guided her
along the perimeter of the room. “Sorry, I’d rather not go out that
way, particularly since I’m now without a mask.”

“I’m sorry to have taken yours. It was very
kind of you to offer it, Mr…?”

“Sevrin.”

She stumbled as the full reality of her
situation permeated her panicked brain. “
Lord Sevrin
.” She
sounded breathless, but the implications to her reputation were
disastrous. And perhaps irreversible.

He clasped her waist to steady her. “As
usual, I see my reputation has preceded me.”

It most certainly had. Lord Sevrin was nearly
as notorious as Lockwood’s parties. He’d famously ruined a girl and
refused to marry her, but Philippa recalled there might have been
even more to the story.

She took a deep breath to calm her raging
nerves. “Why are you helping me?”

He kept his hand at the small of her back,
but guided her forward. “You seem in need of assistance. Do correct
me if I’m mistaken.”

“You are not. I appreciate your help even if
I am bewildered by it.” His touch and his instant recognition gave
her an odd sense of familiarity, as if he had been completely aware
of her for some time and she’d been oblivious to him. Though she
doubted she would ever feel that way again. “How did you even know
who I am? We’ve never been introduced.”

“You have a remarkable face, Lady Philippa.
I’d wager most men know who you are.” The way he delivered the
words—as a matter of fact without an excess of pretty words—sparked
another smattering of shivers along her flesh.

Sevrin led her to a door tucked neatly into
the corner. He opened it for her, and they entered a small sitting
room. Also scarcely lit, it was currently occupied by not one, but
two couples. Philippa’s heart beat faster. She began to fully
understand the nature of the party she’d unwittingly intruded
upon.

Sevrin took her hand and pulled her toward a
door on the opposite side of the room. “Pardon us,” he
murmured.

Though the well-bred miss in her urged her to
avert her gaze, she couldn’t help but stare at one of the couples
as they passed. The woman was sprawled upon a chaise with her head
cast back. A man lay over her, his mouth at her exposed breast.
Philippa jerked her gaze away and stared at Sevrin’s back.