A Promise of More Read online

  A Promise of More is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Bronwen Evans

  Excerpt from A Kiss of Lies by Bronwen Evans copyright © 2014 Bronwen Evans.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54729-3

  www.ReadLoveSwept.com

  v3.1

  BY BRONWEN EVANS

  A Kiss of Lies

  A Promise of More

  To the lovely Sue Grimshaw, who liked my very first book, Invitation to Ruin, when she ran the Borders romance blog. Who would have thought I’d be lucky enough to work with her as my editor! Thanks, Sue. I’ve enjoyed every minute.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Books by This Author

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from A Kiss of Lies

  Prologue

  London, December 1815

  Sebastian Hawkestone, you lucky sod, he told himself. Next he silently thanked his fellow rake and infamous Libertine Scholar, Hadley Fullerton, for allowing him to beg off their engagement this evening. A card game at White’s could not stir his senses like a night of sexual transgression. Especially when the lady involved seemed determined to torment him with pleasure.

  It was not unusual for women to extend seductive invitations his way. He was, after all, a man in his prime. He made no apology for being a red-blooded male who more than enjoyed his fair share of bed sport, plus he was a member of the notorious Libertine Scholars. His reputation of being a rake was well deserved.

  He had, however, been surprised by the said lady’s invitation. A woman who earned her living as a man’s mistress rarely gave her services away for free, unless she wanted something.

  It hadn’t taken Sebastian long to understand her motivation. It would appear that Clarice Hudson was applying for a role he had no intention of offering her—that of his next mistress.

  If she knew him at all, she’d understand he formed no long-term relationships, monetary or otherwise, with members of the opposite sex. He found keeping liaisons fleeting meant neither party was disappointed. Nature did not intend men, or indeed women, to remain faithful. If nature had counted on fidelity, then it had failed miserably. Sebastian had yet to meet any man, or woman, who would turn aside temptation if they thought they wouldn’t be caught.

  A flash of skin in the cheval mirror focused him on more pleasant matters.

  “Clarice, dear. I must admit I’m eager to partake of an evening of mutual pleasure. However, to avoid unpleasantries the following morning, I must declare I’m not looking for any permanent arrangement. You know me. I do not, nor will I ever, keep a mistress.”

  “They say,” she murmured, in tones meant to make a man as hard as granite, “you’re a man of legendary passions. Besides, who said anything about becoming your mistress? I already have a protector.”

  The lovely courtesan stood over him, clad in nothing but silken skin, his favorite feminine attire, her hand expertly working his cock until his eyes crossed.

  Her bountiful, pert breasts jiggled as her hand moved upon him, the petal-pink nipples making his mouth water for a taste. Her ash-blond hair swung about her upper arms and downward, cloaking the luscious curves of her waist and hips, matching the groomed hair between her thighs. A place he hoped to explore very shortly, and for the rest of this cold winter’s night.

  One thing a Libertine Scholar wasn’t was stupid. His uncanny ability to read people as easily as he could read a map told him exactly why Clarice had invited him to her home and into her bed. It wasn’t just because of his reputation as a legendary lover. She lied. It was obvious she was looking for a new protector.

  He breathed heavily. “I was under the impression Baron Larkwell, Douglas Hennessey, kept you.”

  “Doogie is merely a boy.” She leaned forward, her silky tresses tickling his groin and making his balls tighten further. Her tongue teased his member, heightening his need for what was to come—her mouth fully upon him. She drew back, an assessing glint in her eyes. “Why settle for Doogie when I can have a real man?”

  “Why indeed? Flattered as I am, perhaps it is more because young Doogie is about to marry. Marry an heiress whose father would not condone Doogie’s extramarital affairs. A father who knows he’s buying his daughter a title and expects Doogie to cherish her as much as he did. A father who holds the purse strings and is shrewd enough to count every single penny.”

  A pout formed on her perfect lips before a sly smile took its place. “Men like Doogie always find a way to enjoy pleasure.” She gripped him tighter. “With the right incentive, I’m sure Doogie could become quite emboldened, enough to defy his father-in-law. But”—she ran her finger down his cock—“sometimes a woman needs more than money and trinkets. Sometimes we want pleasure for ourselves. You’re hung like a stallion and that excites me.” Her head lowered once more, hovering over his straining member. “I’m very good at providing appropriate incentives. Even you will find it hard to resist me.”

  He had no intention of resisting her, nor any intention of taking a mistress. Even mistresses required too much emotional commitment. He’d seen how giving one’s heart neutered a man.

  Then her delicious hot, wet mouth clamped firmly around where he’d wanted it to be from the minute he’d walked into her boudoir. With lips and tongue and teeth, she attended his throbbing member, utilizing a catalogue of expert techniques until he was teetering on the brink of coming.

  She was not lying when she’d said she offered incentives hard to resist. She was putting on quite a show, Sebastian the eager and delighted audience.

  Understanding that they were perhaps heading toward the finale too quickly, she desisted briefly in order to encourage his participation. “Touch me, my lord.” She took his hand and placed it between her thighs. “The sharing of mutual pleasure brings us both bigger rewards.” She eagerly resumed her ministrations.

  Sebastian’s fingers worked her slick heat. She was indeed thoroughly wet and aroused. He chuckled, a low rich sound of pleasure, and closed his eyes to focus on the rhythm of her sweet mouth. Soon the world faded to black as he struggled to hold back his release. He wanted it to last longer; after all, they had all night. He would reward her efforts later with such pleasure she’d not regret inviting him to her bed even when he apologetically declined her delightful offer to become his mistress.

  Her mouth worked him more urgently as she neared her orgasm. His hips began lifting of their own accord. Being a gentleman, he would hold on until she
took her pleasure. As the pinnacle drew near, she enveloped more of him, sucking him as if she wished to consume him. He gritted his teeth and held on. With a muffled incoherent cry, she tightened her thighs around his hand as she found ecstasy, and finally Sebastian lost himself in the dark grip of passion. Arching his back against his explosive need, he let his savage lust lead him into oblivion.

  Suddenly the door to Clarice’s room flew open, crashing against the wall.

  Through his orgasmic contentment he could barely see who had rudely invaded their privacy, but he noted Clarice’s cry of alarm and tried to regain his bearings.

  “I’ll kill you, you bastard!”

  Sebastian closed his eyes on another groan, but the sound was not of pleasure but annoyance. Doogie Hennessey, the young Baron Larkwell. Reluctantly Sebastian opened his eyes, noting that Clarice had already pulled on a robe. He rose up on his elbows, quirking an eyebrow at the young hothead who was waving a sword in the direction of Sebastian’s genitals. He pulled a pillow across them more for protection than modesty.

  “There will be no killing. I’m here at the lady’s invitation.” He flashed a wicked smile at Clarice. “What man could refuse?” He watched Clarice blush and a small smile curved her luscious lips. He really shouldn’t tease the lad.

  Doogie stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with hurt. Sebastian began to feel a bit sorry for the young man. He obviously had no idea how deceitful, manipulative, and downright mercenary the fairer sex could be. He prayed the hothead didn’t do anything silly like—

  “Lord Coldhurst, I challenge you to a duel at dawn to first blood. Choose your weapons.”

  Sebastian ran a hand raggedly through his hair. Of all the idiotic … He should accept the challenge and teach the whippersnapper a lesson. A good wound to the left shoulder would make him think twice about issuing challenges. Better Doogie be taught a lesson by him than challenge an opponent who wouldn’t care what injury they inflicted.

  He sighed and shook his head. “Doogie—”

  “Lord Larkwell to you.”

  “Lord Larkwell, it’s obvious I’ve made an error in judgment. I did not understand your relationship with Clarice was more than a monetary one, nor that with your impending nuptials, the aforementioned arrangement had not ended.” He paused and gave Doogie his best steely gaze. “However, a duel is not necessary. I unreservedly apologize.”

  The sword did not lower; it was now pointed at his heart.

  “I demand satisfaction.”

  This was ridiculous. He pushed Doogie’s sword aside and rose from the bed in one fluid motion, taking Doogie by surprise. He tore the sword from the young man’s hand and threw it across the room, where it clattered on the floor.

  “You idiot. No one even knows I’m here. What satisfaction do you require? Clarice was more than willing. Don’t be rash with your challenges or I’ll be forced to teach you a lesson.”

  Doogie’s answer was swift, a solid punch to his left cheek. It bloody hurt.

  A fierce anger ripped through Sebastian. He had received enough beatings as a child and had sworn never to let any man get the better of him again.

  Unfortunately, Sebastian let his temper engulf him.

  “Pistols at dawn then. Perhaps I’ll teach you some manners. You’ll learn to accept a man’s apology when it is sincerely offered.”

  Doogie’s face grew deathly pale. “Whom should be my second contact?”

  “Lord Hadley Fullerton. You’ll find him at White’s, where I’m now heading—I need a drink.” With that, Sebastian gathered his clothes, bowed low over Clarice’s hand, and said, “It was a pleasure, my sweet.” Under his breath he added, “Not quite worth the outcome,” and followed her maid to an adjoining room to dress. He could hear the couple’s angry words through the wall.

  How stupid to fight a duel over something as insignificant as a lady’s honor. What honor? Clarice had invited him to her bed when clearly her arrangement with Lord Larkwell was not over. A woman’s fickle heart was nothing to duel over. A man’s pride shouldn’t be wounded because a woman was unfaithful. There would be daily duels if that were the case.

  Once dressed, Sebastian escaped into the night to find Hadley. Perhaps he should have played cards this evening. The fleeting pleasure Clarice gave was not worth the early morning outing to come.

  “Should you be wounded, it’s so bloody cold you’ll likely not feel it.”

  Hadley’s words were of little comfort on this chilly dawn morning in a private corner of Kenwood, Hampstead.

  “The mist will make it damn near impossible for Larkwell to see me. I doubt either of us will be in danger of being wounded, thank God.”

  When Baron Larkwell arrived on the field with his second, Lord Eyre, and the obligatory surgeon, Sebastian simply wanted the whole damn charade over with. He picked the pistol closest to him and moved to his mark.

  The count of twenty paces began and Sebastian once more cursed himself for agreeing to this folly. As they counted out the paces, he gave one final attempt to halt this nonsense. “For God’s sake, Larkwell. I unreservedly apologize. I did not realize you had such devoted feelings for Miss Hudson.”

  “Bugger off, Coldhurst. I will have satisfaction. I may be impoverished but I will not have my woman defiled by the likes of you.”

  The noises Clarice had made clearly indicated she wasn’t being defiled, or if she was, she was thoroughly enjoying it.

  The surgeon gave the command. “Gentlemen, on my mark you may fire.”

  Sebastian didn’t care that the swirling fog was so thick he could barely see Doogie. He’d been involved in previous duels and knew what to do. He closed his eyes and pointed his pistol wide of Doogie and fired.

  Almost immediately a further shot could be heard. As Sebastian felt no pain, he surmised that Doogie had, thankfully, missed. He’d thought that likely, given the young Baron was not known for his marksmanship.

  “Thank Christ that’s over and done with,” he muttered, and made his way through the mist toward his carriage.

  He had almost made it to the edge of path by the carriage track when a series of loud curses rang out. A shiver of foreboding entered his being. He hastily looked at Hadley, who’d come to meet him.

  “You’ve bloody killed him,” Larkwell’s second called out through the swirling mist, making the whole performance look like a scene from a graveyard, and now there was a body.

  Sebastian stared at Hadley, shock rendering him mute.

  “You must flee. Killing a man in a duel is a capital offense.” Hadley began shepherding him toward the carriage.

  “I couldn’t have killed him. I aimed wide.” His voice rose as sickening regret choked him. “I aimed wide, I tell you. My shot should have gone nowhere near Doogie.”

  Hadley hushed him and pushed him into his carriage. “You have to leave now. The surgeon is calling for the Bow Street Runners. If there has been some mistake, it would be better to deal with the outcome as a free man. Now go.”

  “No. If I have done this, then I must face the consequences.”

  His friend growled low in this throat. “Listen, I too noted you aimed wide. But while we sort out this terrible situation, you need to be free. Think on your family. What will happen to your sisters should you be incarcerated?” He glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming men and hurried Sebastian with a little push. “Go. I’ll take care of them, hold them off and hope I can pacify their reaction.”

  Sebastian reluctantly agreed. He headed for the London dock and his ship, the Seductress. As he sat back in the carriage, regret and grief enveloped him. He wiped the sweat from his brow. This couldn’t be happening. He had purposely tried to avoid the lad. He’d wager his manhood on it, and for a man like him, that was not something he took lightly.

  He’d fired well to the right of Doogie … Unless, in the mist, Doogie had paced off the mark.

  He hung his head and tried to calm his racing heart by taking deep breaths. This was hi
s worst nightmare playing out as if he were the lead in a morbid play. He had killed a man, for the most foolish and irresponsible of reasons—over a woman. It was a mistake—a tragic mistake.

  His hands curled into fists against his thighs. He’d killed a young man. Killed him over a faithless, forgettable woman. He should have known better. He should have been the bigger man and walked away. History repeated itself.

  Perhaps he was his father’s legitimate son after all.

  Chapter One

  London, April 1816

  Despite the earliness of the hour and the crowded bustle of the dock, Beatrice Hennessey stood out like, well, like the notorious rakehell Lord Sebastian Hawkestone, Marquis of Coldhurst, would stand out in a nunnery.

  She hated standing out. She lived in a world where she took great pains to blend in. She was nobody of note and definitely not one to buck the respectable trends of the ton.

  It was absolutely scandalous to be alone on the busy dock. The trepidation she’d felt in dismissing the hackney and driver over two hours ago was nothing to the mortification she was feeling as the men, and some women, leered at her. Given how she was dressed, as a respectable lady, the fact she was standing on the filthy Thames dock unescorted made her as visible as a diamond necklace dropped in an East End street.

  Stupidly she had thought her presence might go unnoticed.

  The longer she stood looking at the ship berthed in front of her, the more lecherous the stares became. Originally the looks had been simply curious. Clearly she was a lady; where was her escort? Why was she here? Did she have anything of value?

  She had sent the hackney away because she could not afford to keep it waiting. She carried nothing of value. She was alone because there was no one else to count on, no one else to do what must be done to save her family.

  However, two hours later, when she still stood in the same place with her hands clasped firmly in front of her, the mood of the men and women around her had changed to contempt, overlaid with a veneer of politeness, worn as thin as her remaining patience.