A Whisper of Desire Read online

  A Whisper of Desire is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2015 by Bronwen Evans

  Excerpt from A Taste of Seduction by Bronwen Evans copyright © 2015 by Bronwen Evans

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book A Taste of Seduction by Bronwen Evans. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eBook ISBN 9781101883167

  Cover design: Seductive Designs

  Cover photographs: Jenn LeBlanc/Illustrated Romance (couple), Depositphotos.com/​FairytaleDesign (Małgorzata Patrzyk) (background)

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Dedication

  By Bronwen Evans

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from A Taste of Seduction

  Chapter 1

  “Come, my love, don’t play coy with me. You have teased me mercilessly all evening,” a youthful sounding tenor from the other side of the rosebushes spoke with undisguised eagerness.

  Maitland Spencer, the fifth Duke of Lyttleton, sighed and stubbed his cheroot under his expertly polished shoes, counting out the twists—one, two, three—before staring into the dark night.

  Was it too much to ask for a quiet moment away from the noise and heat of a crowded ballroom? Lord Dunmire did have an exceedingly beautiful garden. Instead, his peaceful moment was broken by what appeared to be an illicit liaison. He should know; he’d seen his fair share as a member of the Libertine Scholars.

  The six lords known as the Libertine Scholars met at school and were renowned for their scholarly brilliance as well as their popularity with the ladies. Four of them were in attendance at the ball tonight.

  The ball, held in the large Governor Square townhouse behind him, was enough to send a man mad. Mothers throwing their daughters in his path had driven him to hide in the garden. He was on guard duty tonight, helping his fellow Libertine Scholar Sebastian look out for his sister, Marisa.

  An unknown madwoman, intent on destroying the six Libertine Scholars, was still at large. They knew very little about her—only that it looked as if the men were paying for the sins of their fathers.

  Some heinous crime, orchestrated by the Libertine Scholars’ fathers, occurred ten years ago. Something terrible was done to this woman and now she was out for revenge. Since their fathers were now dead, the sons had become the targets.

  She’d managed to almost destroy Christian, Grayson, Sebastian, and their wives. Sebastian was determined they would not hurt his two sisters, Helen and Marisa.

  Sebastian had given Maitland a respite from guard duty, and he’d wanted a peaceful moment to clear his head from all the twittering nonsense and malicious gossip. The constant drivel meant he often had to bite his tongue to stop from issuing very rude and uncivilized responses. He never knew what to say in these social situations. The ton never wanted to discuss the truth of anything, and he couldn’t seem to muster the art of lying. For instance, this evening Lady Arielle had asked him if he liked her new brooch. It was a large gold figurine with a central emerald. Apparently he was supposed to say something, such as that the emerald matched her lovely eyes. His response of “No, it looks like a gargoyle with one eye” wasn’t the done thing, yet it was the truth.

  Due to the liaison he’d now have to return to the overheated rooms or announce his presence. Perhaps he’d just go home, but he’d promised his friend Sebastian Hawkestone, the Marquis of Coldhurst, that he’d stand as an extra guard for Marisa.

  A woman’s voice on the other side of the rosebushes brought him back to his predicament: Should he stay and hope they left soon, or creep away unnoticed?

  “My Lord Rutherford, I’m not sure your intentions are honorable,” and then she giggled. “I’m a tad angry with you. The rumor is you’re going to propose to the Coldhurst chit.” Maitland halted. Rutherford was expected to make an offer for Marisa’s hand.

  A rustle of silk followed as if she was pressing herself into his arms. “You’ll find I’m much more woman than that virginal miss will ever be.”

  “Charlotte, my love, men do prefer virgins for wives,” Rutherford offered cruelly in response. “Besides, my father told me that one never marries one’s mistress.”

  “I prefer the term ‘lover.’ Respectable widows with large estates make even better wives. They know what a man wants in the bedroom, while bringing riches that enhance their husband’s standing, and I know how you need riches.”

  Maitland almost found himself nodding in agreement with her practical advice.

  “I’m certainly standing to attention at the moment,” Rutherford answered. When no reply was offered from Charlotte, he continued. “The Coldhurst girl brings a very large dowry. The damnation of it all is I only need money until Father turns up his toes. It would appear marriage is the only way to get immediate funds.”

  More kissing followed. When they next stopped to grab a breath, Rutherford continued.

  “Never fear, even when I wed I intend to carry on my life as usual. The girl’s completely besotted with me, and I give her every reason to think I reciprocate those feelings. She’d never for one moment believe I have a mistress. Her brother thinks I love and respect her.” Rutherford’s next words made Maitland’s temper, which was usually difficult to rouse, flare to life. “The only reason I’ve agreed to the marriage is to get my father to stop hounding me about producing a future heir, given I’m his only son, and to gain access to my funds. I receive ten thousand pounds upon my wedding day, plus any dowry my wife brings. Father thinks marriage will settle me down.”

  “If Lord Coldhurst ever finds out you don’t…Aren’t you scared of a duel, especially with a man like the Marquis? He killed young Baron Larkwell in the last one.” She pressed closer. “Besides, I have more money than we’ll ever need. Why not marry me?”

  He chuckled. “I do want an heir, my dear. You were married to Lord Marshall for almost seven years and you produced no issue. Plus, you are five years older than I.”

  “Age is irrelevant when you’re lying down,” she replied seductively.

  “But not when children are required. You don’t have another seven years.”

  “You are such a bastard.”

  His voice held a smile. “But that’s why you love me.”

  Soon there were no more words, simply moans and breathless entreaties.

  Maitland wanted to slip quietly away, but he now faced a dilemma. Lord Coldhurst was his friend
, his good friend. He remained where he was, his hands clenched at his sides. Bloody Rutherford. His best friend’s sister, Lady Marisa Hawkestone, was in love with this rogue, and was expecting a proposal. What she saw in this cad he didn’t understand. The lad was only two and twenty and still sowing his wild oats. He didn’t blame the lad for that, but what he did find utterly contemptible was professing to a love that he did not feel in order to trick Marisa into marriage. A marriage of convenience was perfectly acceptable—it’s what Maitland required, an emotionless arrangement—as long as both parties understood the arrangement.

  To profess love in order to trap a person into marriage was…well, he’d say it again, contemptible. Rutherford was, in essence, playing with Marisa’s feelings. No one deserved that.

  How had this young whippet fooled her? Maitland had always thought Marisa an intelligent girl. Worse still, how had Rutherford fooled Sebastian?

  What hurt his pride and honor more was that Sebastian, just a month ago, had thrown scorn on Maitland’s suggestion that they align their two houses and that he should offer for Marisa’s hand. Maitland knew he was called “the Cold Duke” within the ton. He was the first to admit that he struggled with social niceties, but he would give Marisa a good life. She’d want for nothing. She’d be a duchess, for God’s sake, married to an extremely wealthy man in his prime.

  It was time he married. Maitland was conscious he was the last of his line and, with an unknown madwoman hunting him and the other five Libertine Scholars, it was more than time he took a wife and beget the heir and the spare.

  He’d put off the task of finding a wife, knowing how dangerous having a woman living in his home could be. She’d be available to slake his needs whenever he wanted and God knows where that would lead. His father’s descent into debauched madness started not long after his marriage.

  He’d thought a marriage to Marisa a fine plan. She was a sensible, no-nonsense young lady who would more than likely lie back in his bed and think of England, hardly the type of response to cause his self-control to shake.

  Yet Sebastian, his supposed friend, saw a marriage to him, a duke, as not appropriate for Marisa. Most likely because Sebastian had fallen in love, and perhaps he wanted love for Marisa. If Lord Rutherford was the answer, then it proved Maitland’s view that nothing good came from love.

  The sound of coupling coming from the other side of the bushes faded as he thought about the woman from his father’s past who was targeting him and his friends. They still had no idea who she was or exactly why she wanted revenge.

  His father had always been a cold, cruel bastard, and Maitland could well believe the previous Duke of Lyttleton had been party to some heinous act. His father had committed the most heinous of acts against his own son, a young innocent paying the price, so why not another young girl?

  But why was the villainess taking her revenge out on him, the son who had tried to live a respectable, honest life? It just didn’t make sense.

  The cries of a woman in the throes of ecstasy brought him back to the present. Logically, he should walk away and simply inform Sebastian as to what he had learned this night. Once Sebastian knew what Rutherford was up to, he’d never let him marry Marisa. A marriage to this utter cad would see Marisa in misery. She thought Rutherford loved her.

  Maitland shook his head. She didn’t understand that love was simply a chemical imbalance within the brain. It wore off, and then what were you left with?

  Lust.

  And lust, if not controlled, could destroy everything.

  This fleeting, irrational feeling people referred to as love was nothing to base something as important as marriage upon. A good marriage should further both families’ positions within society while building a strong alliance. Friendship and similar goals were all that were required.

  Lady Marisa would have been, and still could be, a fine match for him. There’s a thought.

  He decided to return to the ball and find Sebastian. Perhaps his friend would think more favorably upon a match with him now. But before he could slip away, the amorous couple walked round the rosebush and straight into him.

  “Your Grace,” Rutherford stammered, as he dropped the arm of Lady Charlotte Marshall. “How are you, sir?”

  “I would have been a lot better if I hadn’t had to listen to you two coupling behind this bush. The very bush I’d chosen to stand next to for a quiet smoke.”

  The woman gasped at his outspokenness, and Rutherford’s eyes widened with horror. “It’s not what you think, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is. I suggest you work out a way to extradite yourself from Marisa’s affections before I have to tell her brother.” With that, he turned to leave. “Oh, and by the way, do it gently. Sebastian, Lord Coldhurst to you, is an expert marksman, and you wouldn’t stand a chance in a duel with him.”

  —

  Marisa was enjoying Lord Dunmire’s ball. Tonight she hoped Rutherford would propose to her. She still couldn’t believe she’d let herself fall in love.

  Her parents’ marriage was supposedly a love match. Society had thought they had been passionately in love with each other, only to destroy themselves with jealousy. Marisa, having grown up with their arguments and violent fights, had disdained love until her brother met and married Beatrice. The happy couple had shown her what true love was, and it wasn’t hurting the one you professed to love with petty jealousy and rivalry.

  She knew in her heart that Rutherford loved her. He’d made his feelings very clear from the day they had met. He’d called her his heart’s desire, his everything, and he treated her with respect and honor, as if she were the most precious person in the world. The ton was expecting an announcement any day. She could not work out what was holding him back. He said he was waiting for his mother to arrive in town, but it was almost the end of the season.

  She was getting a little put out by his casual assumption that she had no other choice but to wait for him. In fact, she had decided to treat him a tad cool tonight.

  Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, was one of her brother’s assigned escorts, more like a guard. Her brother and his friends were being targeted by an unknown enemy, and Sebastian was taking her safety, and that of her sister, Helen, seriously.

  She’d considered flirting with His Grace tonight in order to make her point with Rutherford, but something about Maitland unsettled her. She’d danced with him earlier, and in his arms her stomach flipped, her body came alive in a way she thought entirely inappropriate. She had no idea why. He was always so proper.

  To her annoyance, Rutherford didn’t seem to notice her flirtation. In fact, as her eyes scanned the crowded room, she couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d paid her little attention other than to dance the first waltz with her.

  Upon her arrival, Lord Rutherford had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs as she, her brother, and her sister-in-law were announced. He’d looked so handsome she’d almost forgotten to breathe. His fair hair had glinted gold in the glow from the candles flanking the edge of the ballroom. He was tall enough to stand a head above most of the guests. He looked like a Roman emperor with his strong nose and chiseled jaw, with cheekbones that gave his face a masculine beauty that could make a woman weep. When she’d drawn level with him, he’d taken her hand and kissed it. His caramel-colored eyes were filled with warmth and love.

  That had been more than three hours ago. She’d slipped free of Beatrice’s constant presence and drifted through the crowd looking for Rutherford, without any luck. Her feet were beginning to hurt, so she looked around for a place she could sit without being observed and spied a private alcove. She moved toward it while dreaming of becoming his wife and learning about passion. Her untutored woman’s body warmed with desire just thinking about what it would be like to share a man’s bed. To be naked with him. To let him…To her horror, Maitland’s face flickered in her mind.

  She put her hands to her heated face and turned, promptly colliding with what felt like
a wall of rock. She looked up and her pleasant thoughts vanished. Maitland Spencer, the Cold Duke, gripped her waist to stop her from sliding to the floor. Her hands lay against his chest, granite beneath her fingertips.

  “My apologies, Lady Marisa. You should look where you are going.”

  She’d known His Grace since childhood, and still he referred to her as Lady Marisa, always so formal. She disliked the deep voice void of any emotion, but it still sent shivers down her spine. Why, after her improper thoughts, did it have to be Maitland, of all men? Anger spiked at the implication she was at fault.

  She looked up into features too cold to be thought handsome, yet there was something compelling about him. She studied the strands of dark copper hair cut slightly longer than acceptable—the man did not conform to any of society’s dictates. The hint of silver at his temples added to his air of remoteness, not making him look old, merely distinguished. She knew he was the same age as her brother, thirty. He was not smiling. His face in its severity was a conundrum of hard cheekbones and strong jaw, yet his eyes were almost feminine, with long, dark eyelashes highlighting eyes the color of newly cultivated grass after the snow melts. She almost lost herself in their glare.

  Suddenly conscious of her hands still resting upon his chest, she pulled back as if burned.

  His mouth tightened into a thin line, but his bottom lip hinted at a devastating smile that could change his demeanor if only he had an ounce of fun and flirtation in him. She wondered if he ever smiled. In all the years he’d been coming to see her brother, she’d never seen any joy in his features. There were certainly no “laughter lines” around his eyes.

  “Your Grace, always a pleasure.” Marisa smiled sweetly at him while wanting to kick him in the shins. “Perhaps you shouldn’t sneak up on a lady if you don’t wish to have her fall into your arms.”