Irresistible

IRRESISTIBLE

Karen Robards

POCKET STAR BOOKS

New York • London • Toronto • Sydney • Singapore

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS

A Pocket Star Book published by

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright © 2002 by Karen Robards

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-2453-0

POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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This book is dedicated, as always, to my husband, Doug, and my three sons, Peter, Christopher, and Jack, with love. I also want to send special love to Peter, my technical support, who's off to his freshman year of college.

OTHER TITLES BY KAREN ROBARDS

To Trust a Stranger

Paradise County

Scandalous

Ghost Moon

The Midnight Hour

The Senator's Wife

Heartbreaker

Hunter's Moon

Walking After Midnight

Maggy's Child

One Summer

This Side of Heaven

Dark of the Moon

Critics praise

KAREN ROBARDS

"One of the most popular voices in women's fiction."

—
Newsweek

"Karen Robards… can be counted on to always do a good story and keep you interested on every page."

—
Romance Reviews

"Not to be missed."

—
The Philadelphia Inquirer

"It is Robards' singular skill of combining intrigue with ecstasy that gives her romances their edge."

—
Lexington Herald-Leader (KY)

New York Times
bestselling author Karen Robards wins critical raves for her outstanding Regency-era romance

SCANDALOUS

"Karen Robards returns to her roots in historical romance, and presents longtime fans with a story to savor…. Fast-paced and carefully crafted with a hint of suspense and a memorable cast of characters,
Scandalous
will delight Regency and mystery readers as well."

—
Romantic Times

"[Robards] brings all of her expertise with sensual romances to the pages of this deliciously romantic romp that shows her extraordinary talent for combining passion, engaging characters, and an intriguing plot."

—
Rendezvous

"The story line is fast-paced, but it is the characters who make it so much fun to read…. A cleverly designed tale that will please historical-romance fans."

—
Midwest Book Review

"Truly an entertaining, enjoyable read."

—
Old Book Barn Gazette

If you love page-turning historical fiction from bestselling author Karen Robards, you'll love her spellbinding novels of contemporary romantic suspense!

TO TRUST A STRANGER

"Robards is turning into a top-notch romantic-suspense writer…. Readers should be advised to start reading when they have a large block of time available because no one will want to stop reading Robards' steamy novel until the last page is turned."

—
Booklist

"[A] tough, sensual romantic mystery from the prolific and popular Robards."

—
Kirkus Reviews

PARADISE COUNTY

"Robards maintains the suspense with carefully plotted details that build to an exciting and emotional resolution."

—
Houston Chronicle

"[A] racy read."

—
Cosmopolitan

"Along with exceptional heroes and heroines, Robards has delivered wonderfully drawn secondary characters. This makes her tales of romantic suspense feel all the more satisfying."

—
Romantic Times

"Suspenseful and atmospheric, another winner by [Robards]…. Readers will cheer and care for her protagonists."

—
Publishers Weekly

"A high-caliber romantic-suspense novel featuring realistic characters struggling with a rainbow of feelings…. A strong tale that will excite readers."

— Harriet Klausner, BookReview.com

"Steamy…."

—
Kirkus Reviews

"You'll find this thriller hard to put down. Don't miss it!"

—
Old Book Barn Gazette

Chapter 1

January 1813

If they caught her, she would die.

"Damn ye, where are ye?"

The disembodied voice sounded eerily close. That it reached her ears at all over the roaring of the surf terrified her. They were near. The knowledge goaded her to greater speed despite the treacherous nature of the path underfoot. She had to keep moving….

"'Twill be the worse for ye, ye little besom, once I get me hands on ye again."

The voice came from almost directly overhead. Daring a quick glance upward, Claire saw that the chilly white saucer of a moon had risen just high enough in the sky to be visible over the lip of the cliff. By its wintry light, she could barely make out the speaker's dark shape through the thick gray fog that had rolled in from the sea sometime in the long hours after sunset. Her heart pounding, she shivered and fought to keep her breathing from degenerating into terrified, and possibly audible, panting. Dangerous as the trail she crept along was, it was her only possible escape route. The spit of land her pursuers searched was narrow, and it ended in a straight drop of more than ninety feet to the tumultuous Atlantic just a few hundred yards past where she clung to the cliff. Had she still been on that marshy outcropping and been forced by its geography to turn back, she would have run straight into the arms of those who meant to kill her.

"Ye'll rue the day you tried to make a fool of me, missy, I promise ye that."

He knew, or at least suspected, that she was near, Claire realized with a clutch of horror. Otherwise, such threats would be meaningless. Forcing herself to forgo the dubious comfort of another glance up for fear that he might see the pale flash of her face against the blackness of the rock, she fought to keep panic at bay as she crept onward. Without warning, her foot slipped. Barely suppressing a cry, she grabbed at the wall for support. Her outflung hand scrabbled desperately over the rock and closed around a jagged jut of stone that saved her. For a moment after she regained her balance she stood perfectly still, her heaving chest pressed tightly against the unforgiving granite, heart pounding, eyes closed, as she willed her breathing to return to something approximating normal.

If she fell, she thought seconds later with a flash of bleak humor, glancing down at the whitecaps pounding the rocky beach as she negotiated the tricky spot, at least she wouldn't have to worry about being killed by her pursuers. She would have done the job quite thoroughly herself.

The thought of falling, of her body hurtling helplessly down to be broken on the sharp rocks below, was almost enough to cause her to freeze in place. But then she had a hideous mental vision of the fate her pursuers intended for her. Tied to a filthy bedstead in a room off the kitchen of the farmhouse where her captors had taken her, she had overheard their plans: In the small hours of the morning, when all honest folk were asleep and all of the other sort knew to look the other way, they meant to take her out to sea and drop her, bound hand and foot, into the frigid depths. Drown 'er like a mewling kitten, was how their leader had put it, his voice spine-chilling in its careless joviality. Claire shivered again, violently, as the callous words replayed in her head.

This band of brutal strangers meant to kill her. But why?
Why?
She had racked her brain but found no answer that made sense. Ever since she had tricked the man above her into releasing her from her bonds by claiming she had to make urgent use of the chamber pot, then clouted him over the head with said chamber pot when he grudgingly handed it to her and turned his back, she had quit asking herself why. She'd been too busy running for her life. She could figure out the why behind this nightmare later. If she survived.

"Eh, Briggs, what're you doing? Ye're afrighting the poor lassie."

This second voice sounded as close as the first. Claire recognized it as belonging to the group's leader. This time, despite the best will in the world not to do so, she was unable to prevent a terrified glance up. There were two dark forms standing close together near the very edge of the cliff, which was now some forty feet above her head. From their stance, they were, presumably, looking toward where the others still searched for her along the spit. Another quick, reflexive glance down revealed little save the frothing breakers and the inky infinity of the night beyond the fog. But she knew that another fifty feet or so of treacherous cliff still stretched between her and the relative safety of the beach.

Did they know of this path? Did they know that she had taken it and was directly below them even as they spoke? Were they toying with her, like cruel cats with a terrified mouse? This possibility, which had just popped into her mind, terrified her.

Please God, she prayed with a quick glance up into the ether, she did not want to die. Not tonight, not like this. She was only twenty-one years old.

To her horror, she felt her knees begin to shake.

This would never do. Take a damper, Claire, she ordered herself sternly. She was
not
going to die. She had already lived through so much: the far too early death of her mother; a childhood made dark and frightening by the cruelty of her father; a promising marriage turned bleak and empty; and the crime that had given her over to her pursuers. She had survived too much to die now.

Fiercely telling herself that, Claire stiffened her knees and inched onward. Pebbles underfoot made her slide precariously a second time, and again she nearly cried out. But she managed to choke back the sound even as she recovered her footing, and then, gritting her teeth, she forced herself to go on. With luck, they would believe her hidden somewhere in the prickly gorse above. With luck, they would never even think of looking down.

Once she reached the beach, she reminded herself in between sliding footsteps and deep, calming breaths, the safety of Hayleigh Castle, her husband's family seat, was less than an hour's walk away. Although she had hated the vast turreted pile from her first sight of it, her heart yearned for it now. How ironic was it that her husband was there, all unknowing of the danger that threatened her, while she fought for her life practically in the castle's shadow? Strain though she might, she could see nothing of it through the fog-shrouded darkness. But she knew it was there, perched like a great stone falcon on the rocky promontory overlooking the sea that was this one's twin. The high granite cliff on which the castle was built and the one she was presently descending, known as Hayleigh's Point, served as end posts to a half-circle of cliffs surrounding a bay that looked as if a hungry giant had taken a bite out of the coastline. From the castle to this spot was a distance of perhaps six miles. To the east was desolate marshland dotted with beacon fires ready to be lit at a moment's notice should Boney, now fortunately occupied in Russia, at last decide to invade. To the west the land fell away in a sheer vertiginous drop straight down to the turbulent waters of the Atlantic. The only way up, or down, was via perhaps half a dozen narrow paths winding precariously through the rocks. The locals called them smugglers' paths because, once the province of goats, they were now used almost exclusively by the "gentlemen," as the smugglers were known in these parts, who over the course of the war had turned the running of the French blockade into a fine art.

Tonight this particular path had saved her life, so whatever quarrel anyone else might have with those who traded clandestinely with the hated French, she herself was grateful to them.

"Come, milady, stop your foolishness now and ye'll see we'll not harm ye." The leader's accent was pure Sussex. His voice turned wheedling as he raised it to be heard over the pounding of the surf. Clearly he too knew— suspected— that she was near. "We'll carry ye back home, all right and tight, just like we intended all along, see if we don't. 'Twas merely the matter of a small ransom, which has since been paid."

Milady… a ransom… paid? Did they know, then, that she was Lady Claire Lynes, wife of the heir of the Duke of Richmond, one of the richest peers in the realm? But David, her feckless husband, had little money of his own, and could get his hands on no very substantial sum until he inherited, if indeed he ever did. As the present Duke, who had lived abroad for many years, was both unwed and childless, David cherished some hopes in that direction. But still, hopes would not pay a ransom. In any case, her abduction was only hours old. There had been precious little time….