Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (36 page)

“
Oh, Alexander!” She threw her
arms around him and began to cry. “You’ve done exactly the right
thing!”

Historical Romance by Carolyn

Not Wicked Enough
, Book 1 of the Reforming the Scoundrels series, Berkley
Books (in the US) eBook in the UK

Not Proper Enough
, Book 2 of the Reforming the Scoundrels series, September
2012, Berkley Books (in the US) eBook in the UK

Scandal
, 2010 RITA finalist,
Best Regency Historical, Berkley Books

Indiscreet
, 2010 winner,
Bookseller’s Best, Best Short Historical, Berkley Books

Lord Ruin

The Spare

Stolen Love

Paranormal Romance by
Carolyn

My Wicked Enemy
, Book 1
of
My Immortals series
, Grand Central Publishing, Forever

My Forbidden Desire
, 2010 RITA finalist, Parnormal Romance, Book 2 of
My Immortals series
,
Grand Central Publishing, Forever

My Immortal
Assassin
, Book 3 of
My Immortals series
,
Grand Central Publishing, Forever

My Dangerous
Pleasure
, Book 4 of
My Immortals series
,
Grand Central Publishing, Forever

Free Fall
, Book 4.5 of
My Immortals series
A
Novella

A Darker Crimson
, Book 4 of
the
Crimson City series

DX (A Crimson City Novella)

About Carolyn
Jewel

Carolyn Jewel was born on a
moonless night. That darkness was seared into her soul and she
became an award-winning author of historical and paranormal
romance. She has a very dusty car and a Master’s degree in English
that proves useful at the oddest times. An avid fan of fine
chocolate, finer heroines, Bollywood films, and heroism in all
forms, she has three cats and a dog. Also a son. One of the cats is
his. Visit her on the web at
www.carolynjewel.com

Awesome people sign up for
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Excerpts and Free Reads

Lord Ruin - Historical Romance –
Excerpt

London, 1818

Cynsyr glared at the door to number twenty-four
Portman Square. “Blast it,” he said to the groom who held two other
horses. “What the devil is taking them so long?” He sat his horse
with authority, a man in command of himself and his world. His
buckskins fit close over lean thighs, and the exacting cut of his
jacket declared a tailor of some talent. A Pink of the Ton, he
seemed, but for eyes that observed more than they revealed.

“
The Baron’s a family man now,
sir.” The groom stamped his feet and tucked his hands under his
armpits.

“
What has that to do with
anything?”

A handbill abandoned by some reveler from one of
last night’s fetes skimmed over the cobbles and spooked the other
two horses, a charcoal gelding by the name of Poor Boy on account
of the loss of his equine manhood; and a muscular dun. The groom
had a dicey moment what with the cold having numbed his fingers but
managed to send the sheet skittering to freedom.

“
Man with a family can’t leave
anywhere spot on the dot,” the groom said.

“
I don’t see why.”

The door to number twenty-four flew open with a
ringing crack of wood against stone. Of the two men who came out,
the taller was Benjamin Dunbartin, Baron Aldreth, the owner of the
house. He moved down the stairs at a rapid clip, clapping his hat
onto his blond head as if he meant to cement it in place. The other
man gripped his hat in one hand and descended at a more leisurely
pace. The wind whipped a mass of inky curls over his sharp
cheekbones.

“
My lord.” The groom handed
Benjamin the reins to the dun. Before the groom could so much as
offer a leg up, Ben launched himself into the saddle without a word
of greeting or acknowledgment. Most everyone liked Benjamin. With
his good looks and boyish smile, it was practically impossible not
to. At the moment, however, Cynssyr thought Ben did not look like a
man who cared for the family life.

“
Come along, Devon,” Benjamin said
to his companion. He spoke with such force his dun tossed its head
and pranced in nearly a full circle before Ben had him under
control again.

Cynssyr’s green eyes widened. “Have you quarreled
with Mary?”

“
Certainly not,” said
Ben.

“
Well, you look like you’ve been
hit by lightning from on high and still hear the angels singing.
What’s put you in such a state?”

“
None of your damned business.”
The dun stamped hard on the cobbles, and Ben swore under his
breath.

Cynssyr’s bay snorted, and he reached to soothe the
animal. “I should say it is, if I’m to endure such behavior from
you.”

“
Devon!”

“
Is this, by any chance, about
Devon’s letter?”

Ben’s neck fairly snapped, he turned so quickly.
“What do you know about that damned letter?”

“
He wouldn’t let me read it, but
it must have succeeded. Camilla Fairchild is too young to be
looking at a man that way.” Cynssyr’s mouth quirked and with the
slight smile his austere features softened. When he smiled, he was
about as handsome as a man could get, a fact not lost on him. He
knew quite well the effect of his smile on the fairer
sex.

Devon reached the curb in time to overhear the last
remark. Coal-black eyes, at the moment completely without humor,
slid from Ben to Cynssyr. “Disgraceful, ain’t it? Her mother ought
to set the girl a better example.” He, too, accepted the reins of
his gelding from the groom. He glanced at the stairs.

“
Do you think she will?” Cynssyr
managed, quite deliberately, to sound as though he hoped she
wouldn’t. Christ, he hoped not. He fully expected to soon discover
what Mrs. Fairchild’s backside felt like under his hands. Soft, he
imagined. Energetic, he hoped.

“
You ought to know better, Cyn,”
Devon said. “Even Mary said so.”

“
You will be relieved to know that
at lord Sather’s rout Miss Fairchild’s passion was as yet
untempered by experience. I merely provided her some.” His smile
reappeared. “A regrettably small amount, to be sure.”

“
You know, Cyn,” Ben said, "one of
these days you’re going to miscalculate and find yourself married
to some featherbrained female who’ll bore you to tears.”

“
What else have you done, Devon,
that’s made him such wretched company?” Cynssyr kept one eye on
Benjamin.

“
Not one word,” Ben said, glaring
not at Cynssyr but at Devon.

Devon stopped with one foot in the stirrup to gift
the world with affronted innocence. “All I did was—"

“
Not one!” Ben turned a warning
glance on him, too. “Not a word from you, either, Cyn.”

Dev shook his head and mounted, exchanging a glance
with Cynssyr who shrugged and found himself still mystified.

Only when the three were long out of earshot of the
groom and riding toward Hyde Park did Ben speak. “How dare you?” He
took a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and thrust it at
Devon. “How dare you!”

“
My personal correspondence is
none of your affair.” Devon, who had never expected to come into
his title, could nevertheless exude more condescension than ever
his father had managed, and the previous earl had been a
master.

“
Give me one reason I oughtn’t
call you out.”

“
Now see here,” Cynssyr said, more
than a little alarmed.

“
Frankly, Cyn, if you knew about
the letter, I ought to have satisfaction from you, too.” Ben turned
back to Devon. “Well?”

“
I asked permission to court her
when we were at Rosefeld for your wedding. But I had not the proper
credentials then.” Devon laughed bleakly. “I am Bracebridge
now.”

“
Four years ago,” Cynssyr said,
"Camilla Fairchild was all of what, twelve or thirteen?”

“
Good God,” said Benjamin. “Not
Miss Fairchild.”

Devon snatched the crumpled paper from Ben’s hand.
“I won’t lose her a second time.”

“
Lose whom?” Cynssyr drew even
with Devon. “What are you two talking about? Devon, I thought your
letter was for Miss Fairchild.” Two women out for a morning walk
stopped their stroll to stare at the men riding by. Out of pure
habit, Cynssyr gave them an assessing glance, which made Devon
laugh.

“
Have you declared yourself?” Ben
waved at the paper in Devon’s hand. “Besides in that note of yours,
I mean.”

“
If not Miss Fairchild, then
whom?” Cynssyr said, by now more than a little annoyed. “Miss
George?” When that got no reply, he said, "Not Miss Willowby. Oh,
please, no. If it’s Miss Willowby, I forbid it.”

Devon slid the note into his pocket. “She has not
the slightest idea of my feelings.”

“
Good God.”

“
Now that she is here in London,”
Devon said, "I mean to change that.” He pulled back on his black,
waiting for Ben’s dun to draw alongside. Once again, Cynssyr found
himself maddeningly excluded. “With your permission, of
course.”

“
It isn’t my permission you need
be concerned with,” Ben said. “It’s her father’s.”

“
The old man can bugger himself
for all I care.” The black-as-the-depths-of-hell eyes that even
Cynssyr, who knew better, sometimes thought devoid of life flashed
with a violent fire.

Benjamin grinned.

They were at the Park now, off the streets and onto
the riding paths. “Would one of you,” said Cynssyr, "please tell me
what the devil you’re talking about?”

“
Dev thinks he’s in
love.”

“
That much I gathered.” He looked
over at Devon. “In love with whom?”

“
My sister-in-law,” Ben said,
throwing up one hand. “That’s who.”

Cynssyr gave Devon a look. “Which one?” He moved out
of the path of a fat gentleman on a white mare. To the best of his
recollection, there were four Sinclair sisters and Benjamin had
married one of them. That left three. And, if memory served, the
Sinclair sisters deserved their reputation for beauty. Ben’s wife,
Mary, was among the most beautiful women of Cynssyr’s rather vast
acquaintance. He almost didn’t blame Ben for marrying her.

“
I don’t
think
I’m in
love.”

“
The youngest? Miss Emily?” His
green eyes flickered with interest. “If she turns out half as
beautiful as she promised, she’ll cause a riot at her
debut.”

“
No. And stay the hell away from
Emily, Cyn.”

“
Then it must be the brunette.
Lucy.” The name rolled off his tongue replete with his recollection
of ebony hair and features of heartbreaking perfection.

“
No.”

“
You mean the eldest?” He could
not for the life of him summon an image of the eldest Sinclair
sister. “That’s impossible. I don’t even remember her.”

“
Blonde? Gray-blue eyes. Yay
tall.” Ben indicated an inch or so below his chin which meant a
tall woman, perhaps even an ungainly one. “You’ll meet her tonight
at the ball. Meet her again, that is.”

“
Why don’t I recall her?” Cynssyr
glanced at Devon.

“
And by the way,” Ben said. “Stay
away from Lucy, too.”

“
Why?”

“
Because when it comes to women,
damn you, Cynssyr, you’re a rogue, that’s why.”

“
Mama begins to despair. Perhaps I
ought put to rest her doubts of a succession.”

Ben snorted. “I’d not curse any of my sisters-in-law
with you for a husband.”

“
Now that,” Cynssyr said, "wounds
me deeply. When at last I marry, I expect I’ll make a most
excellent husband.”

“
Hah,” said Devon.

“
Et tu,
Bruté?
"

“
You can’t even settle on what
woman to seduce tonight.”

“
If not for Napoleon, I’d likely
be years married. A positive dullard, like Ben here.” But Napoleon
there was, so Cynssyr wasn’t married at all. Love, naturally, would
have but a limited role in any marriage he contracted. The war had
burned out his capacity, if ever he’d possessed it, for such saving
emotion.

“
A dullard?” said Ben, spoiling
his attempt to appear insulted by breaking into laughter. Devon
rolled his eyes.