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Her duke indulged all her desires and doted on her with a passion Pippa hadn’t thought possible. And she had fallen more deeply into love with him than she’d ever imagined. She wondered if she would ever stop being incredulous and in awe over how much he loved her.
“You can turn around now,” she said, laughing lightly.
The shadow of her husband loomed over her, and she lifted her lashes to peer up at him.
“My wicked, delightful, minx,” he murmured.
A profound weakness invaded her limbs at the promise of pleasure in his eyes. Pippa was splayed naked atop their silken sheets, her legs spread wantonly, her breast arched, and four silken cravats beside her on the bed.
“Ravish me, my darling.”
Her love came over her and pressed a kiss to her lips. She did not resist when he circled her wrists and tied them together with his silken cravat to the bedpost.
The quirk of his lips was pure, heated sensuality. “I love you, my duchess.”
Another kiss, this one infinitely tender. “And I love you,” she breathed. "Take me on all your wicked adventures, my love."
And for the long, wicked night, her love did.
The End
When the Earl was Wicked
His touch awakens her desire, and his kiss demands surrender.
Lady Verity Ayles will do whatever it takes to protect herself from a vile cur, no matter how scandalous or perilous it may be. And that means aligning with James Radcliffe, the Earl of Maschelly--a scoundrel who spends his days in sin and self-indulgence, and his nights in reckless pursuits. Clearly, a man any young lady of good sense and reputation should stay away from.
James had clawed his way from poverty to the fringes of the ton using his wits and fists. His wicked reputation encourages ladies to approach him for clandestine affairs, never for anything as outrageous as Lady Verity's request--to teach her how to fight. And in exchange, she will instruct him on all the refined manners a hulking, ruthless, fighting brute as himself needed to net a lady of quality. Never a man to resist a challenge or the company of a beautiful lady, James agrees, and soon finds himself falling endlessly in love with a woman who may never see him as the man of her dreams.
Chapter 1
London, 1840
Shortly before eight o’clock on a Wednesday evening, Lady Verity Elizabeth Ayles knocked on a particular door at 86 Eaton Square, Eaton Square Gardens. To any passing onlooker, she presented as a fashionably attired woman with an elaborate hat covering her vibrant auburn hair and a dark veil obscuring her face. A black umbrella was clutched in one of her hands, and the other hand once again lifted the lion head knocker and slammed it insistently against the large oak door.
All delicate inquiry had said the man she wanted to see would be at home tonight. Despite the preeminence of his title and family’s history, he was not welcomed in most drawing rooms, ballrooms, gentlemen’s clubs. Or so the rumors whispered.
The door was wrenched open, and a quite large man filled the doorway. It took all of the fortitude she'd gained over the years to not wilt from his imposing frame. She drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. She cleared her throat, and he peered down at her. Verity sucked in a soft breath at the piercing brilliance of his green eyes, and she was grateful the veil hid the blush heating her cheeks. He looked startled for a moment. Then he glanced up and down the street, and at the disguised carriage parked opposite his iron gate.
James Daniel Radcliffe, the Earl of Maschelly, upon first glance, did not appear either a libertine, a dastardly reprobate, or a man so handsome the devil clearly fashioned him to tempt women to sin. Verity thought he appeared quite ordinary in a dark, brooding manner, if somewhat unkempt. The man had outrageously answered the door himself, and as if to mock her consternation, he did so with bare feet, no jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and a loosely tied cravat! Massive shoulders strained against his shirt, and his trousers indecently outlined thighs that were far too hard looking for a gentleman. The man was an aristocrat built like a dockworker.
Her cheeks went hot, her throat and belly too. How unpardonable he could make birds flutter in her stomach. A very unusual reaction, for she much preferred men who were fair and quick to laugh, those who were non-threatening in their demeanor. Safe. The very opposite of the man before her who loomed over six feet tall with the blackest scowl she’d ever seen on another’s countenance. But it was this man her dearest friend, Lady Caroline Trenton, had advised was the perfect specimen to help Verity on the merry path of ruin. Though it wasn’t ruination she sought, it was merely a possible consequence of her actions. But she would not be deterred, and she must be brave.
It was so absolutely reckless for her to be on this man’s doorstep without a chaperone, no one must know she'd had the temerity to call upon the earl. Though dear Caroline had suggested a meeting with him, Verity was certain her friend did not mean for her to call on the man at his bachelor’s residence, at night! So many wild and wicked rumors swirled about the earl. He was rumored to be dissolute, reckless, a gambler, a fighter, a great participant of sensual debauchery.
The Earl of Maschelly was wicked, they said.
He was not afraid of anyone, they rabidly whispered.
It was rumored a man of his nature spent his days in nothing but self-indulgence and sin, and his nights in recklessness at London's most dangerous haunts. He did not resist beauties, bedding a different Cyprian each night during the week, but no less than six on the weekend. That all sounded like balderdash to Verity’s way of thinking, but he was still the man she needed. Though ruin and disgrace hovered. She needed him for her freedom, so she would never feel helpless or afraid ever again. He was the second step in reclaiming her dignity and her dreams.
She lowered her gloved hand which had been poised to beat the lion head knocker. “Lord Maschelly, I presume?”
Verity did not dare assume it was the butler who had opened the door in such a distinct state of dishabille. Indeed he would be fired immediately. She did not dare assume the butler would also possess the dark green eyes reflecting the forest after a night of rain, or it would be the butler in possessi
on of such raven black hair and sensually full lips. He wasn’t handsome in the soft manner or anything like the refined and elegant men of the ton. This was all hard edges and so compelling she stared helplessly, absurdly grateful he could not see that she gawked like a silly miss.
The man regarded her with a fascinated eye, then drew an audible breath. “And who the hell are you?” His tone was crisp and stinging as the lash of a whip.
