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Chapter 1
London, 1815
The stuffy air entered his lungs as he circulated the crowded ballroom. Philip Rockfield surveyed the throngs, searching for his uncle, John, the Duke of Crompton. He’d arrived just a couple of hours ago; directly from the inn he’d stayed just out of town. Napoleon had finally been dragged to his island and wouldn’t be a problem anymore.
He still bore his Major’s uniform, which fit him perfectly. Six feet three of strong muscles, sleek dark hair, and aristocratic face normally attracted the female eye. In uniform, he became quite simply the centre of attentions. Being the heir of his uncle dukedom enhanced his natural assets. He’d lost both his parents at an early age and his uncle adopted him. Having had no children from his first marriage, John treated him as a son and an heir.
Philip scanned the room once again, hoping to see his uncle, whom he hadn’t seen in two years. He’d received a letter at the front informing him that John had remarried. Philip thought it positive. The older man had been widowed for ten years. Very good that his beloved uncle had found some old lady to share his late years.
Rockfield’s dark clove-coloured eyes singled out a woman on the other side of the room. And zeroed on her. She looked possibly like the most beautiful womn he’d seen here. No, in his entire life. He stared at her as if she was the only woman in the premise. Petite, five three maximum, he calculated, her high-waist gauzy dress showed off her generous bosom, and danced fluidly over her hourglass figure. Her hair, a glossy shade of rich brown, framed her oval face in delicate ringlets. As if sensing his scrutiny, she turned her eyes to him. He was lost! Big and of a shade of dark green, openly vivid, illuminated by the hundreds of candles in the room, her eyes enticed a man, mesmerized, made his will falter. Enslaved. His body reacted to her as it had never reacted to any woman in his thirty summers. It sent the message: he wanted her. Now. Whatever it took, he’d have her!
Selene felt the man’s gaze like two shots of fire directly burning in her. The tallest man there, in his bright red uniform, evidencing broad shoulders and powerful thighs, darkly handsome. Dangerous. Very dangerous! She diverted her attention, ignoring the fiery reaction he caused her. He could not be for her. She’d had no freedom to choose and now it was too late. Turning to the other side, she forced herself to forget. The man and her reaction to him.
Thankfully, old Lord Stetson came to claim a dance and she accompanied him to the quadrille about to start. The entire time, though, she felt the damned man’s dark eyes burning on her back. It tingled. Other places tingled too. Hard to ignore, but she kept her plastic smile plastered on her face as Lord Stetson guided her through the endless quadrille.
As soon as the dance finished, she’d run to the lady’s for a reprieve, she decided, automatically following the never ending steps.
So Miss Enticer wanted to ignore him, did she now. Philip thought sarcastically. But before she’d turned her back on him, he could sense her pretended indifference and smiled triumphant inwardly. This woman hadn’t seen the last of him. Oh, no. Absolutely. Her dismissal awakened his predator’s instincts and they were not to be tamed. Ever.
Before she could flee to the lady’s, she got intercepted. Damn! No! Not now! John. Another smile plastered on her full lips at the same time she placed her delicate fingers on the arm he offered. Her eyes lifted. And congealed. The troublesome man approached in long purposeful strides. Her heart jumped once and raced like crazy. Of course, she would not be able to avoid him! They seemed to circulate in the same social sphere.
“Philip!” John called, surprised. “I didn’t know you were in town!”
“I wasn’t.” He placed one hand on John’s shoulder. “I barely arrived.” The rich velvet, autocratic sound of his voice coated her ears with blasphemous pleasure.
Selene felt this…Philip’s eyes on her. She daren’t look at him. If she did, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop looking. Up close, he caused an even stronger impression on her. She had no place giving in to it. So she fixed her eyes at a point on his red coat, directly in front of her. Even worse, his chest. Broad, muscular chest, made for touching and kissing and… Stop, stop. Stop!
“Selene,” John’s gentle voice reached her through her haze-addled mind. “Please let me introduce you to my nephew, Philip Rockfield, just come from war.”
The evident pride in John did not help her utter dismay. His constantly-mentioned nephew was this man? She wanted to run, run and run far, miles and miles far, until she reached another country. Another planet!
“Philip, my dear boy, you can meet my wife, at last. Selene, Duchess of Crompton.”
The new Duchess of Crompton, this woman? A feeling so uncontrollably biter invaded him. The woman he could not prevent himself from coveting was none
other than his uncle’s new wife. Clove eyes welled in contempt lifted to meet hers. Only her deep-forest green eyes never raised to his.
As an automaton, he caught her gloved hand and bowed over it. He registered the pure warmth of her skin, a skin made for touching, for giving pleasure. Immense pleasure. The hand trembled. His groins stirred as if she stood there naked just for him. He tamped it all down and released her hand as if she was a leper. She breathed in and gave a step back. His contempt increased. How dared she feign repulse when he knew it to be just the opposite? A woman of her beauty and age married to a man trice her age for his title and money. She certainly figured among the lowest kind of woman he could think of!
The fortune of the Dukes of Crompton topped any wealth list in England and stood among the most notorious in Europe. Land, investments, ships and trade mounted it up and up every year. In addition, it attracted all kinds of fortune hunters as he himself experienced and was experiencing right now in the presence of his new step-aunt!
The pressure in her chest became so heavy and intense; she feared she would pass out on the spot. The moment he took her hand her whole body electrified, her heart raced even faster and needles stung her lower abdomen. His callused warm hand held hers and she wanted them there longer and not at all, at the same time. It burned her skin, so she had to withdraw hers before graver things happened. She had also to retreat in a clear show of cowardice, because he’d stood so close, she could feel his warmth. This had to be the worst thing in her already bad life! How would she cope? She had to avoid this man at any cost. How?
With extreme difficulty, she managed to keep her balance. “Excuse me.” She muttered, bobbed a clumsy curtsy and fled as quickly as she could to the lady’s.
Blessedly, she found the room empty, as the ball got in full swing now. She plonked un-ladylike over a chaise, her face drained of colour, he hands shaky. Over-reaction. This must be the only explanation to what she felt right now. She’d heard tons of good things about her husband’s heroic nephew. How competent and perfect he grew up to be. She’d imagined a buck and she had no interest in bucks. But no. This was a man, undeniably grown up and weathered. Experienced and completely magnetic, his presence reverberated in her with a force never present in her twenty-two years of life.
Selene Eastwell, daughter of Baron Drawbridge had been a romantic heart. When she came out at eighteen, she dreamed of finding her perfect match. They’d love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives. Marriage proposals came and went, from rich and not so rich. She refused while she awaited her prince charming. He’d certainly show up, she believed with all her heart.
Widower Robert Eastwell had lost his first wife at his son’s birth. When the boy, Charles, turned three, his father remarried. Selene came two years later. Charles, spoiled weak-character, became addicted to gambling and amassed a huge debt her father found impossible to pay off. His sole solution had been to parade his own daughter for the highest bid. The Duke’s, naturally. She’d had no say in the matter, her father quite simply forced her to marry, threatening her with destitution, if she refused.
Thus, Selene Eastwell bundled all her hopes, dreams and fantasies in a rag and yielded to a marriage that felt like condemnation. This took place a year ago. She entered a frustratingly arid life. John revealed to be a kind soul, but she didn’t love him. Her expectations had been smashed to a point she was a step from becoming irreversibly bitter. She struggled nails and teeth not to become such a person. But it proved difficult. If something didn’t change soon, she’d be a lost soul in no time.
Philip chatted with his uncle but his mind ambled elsewhere. A pair of deep-forest vivid green eyes as despicable as a vulgar harlot. It had been some time since he’d laid with a woman. Maybe his hormones got the best of him. The final stages of the war against Napoleon had been busy and crucial action had taken place. He’d barely had time to sleep enough, let alone tend to other …pressing needs.
He’d bought a commission in the beginning of the war and, deservedly, climbed it up to a Major rank. He had been working at the backstage, on strategic levels, but the worst of the war had hit his men and he tried to be present and supportive. Until the final rendition, war had taken them all in a whirlwind. All he wanted now was to be home and enjoy his due of London, in full season now.
He turned his head and saw his step…no John’s wife coming back. Hurriedly, he excused himself and went to find a drink. A strong one.
Chapter 2
Selene walked the hallway resolutely. Today she’d call on two of her friends to propose a walk in the park and then luncheon. She’d keep busy. What a terrible night she’d had! Flashes of her step-nephew wouldn’t stop popping in her mind.
The rest of the ball had passed in a blur of her avoiding him like the plague. She almost didn’t remember who she danced with. He seemed to be everywhere she turned and then she had to turn the other way, her heart pounding.
John, an early bird, would already be in his study working. They seldom had breakfast together. She arrived at the morning room and froze. The devil himself sat there with a generous plate in front of him. Her skin prickled all over, including places se never thought about. The devil wouldn’t live with them now, would he? She hoped fervently not.
Sensing her presence, he lifted his head from his plate and their stares clashed like two antagonist armies. He had a sardonic expression in those clove-coloured eyes. In a casual fluid movement, he stood at her entrance.
“Good morning.” She said in the coldest tone she could manage, while the footman helped her sit. She thanked the boy as a means to lower her stare and not look at those piercing eyes again. The footman served her, as he already knew what she ate in the morning.
“Good morning, my step-aunt.” Sarcasm all but dripped from his rich velvet, deep voice. He sat back on, looking as relaxed as ever.
This morning he dressed in the latest civil fashion, snowy shirt, white cravat and black coat that brought out his dark hair, tanned skin and broad shoulders.
Oh, but the witch looked so agonisingly beautiful this morning, with a pale green dress that moulded her delectable breasts. The same that had haunted him all night. The vivid green of her eyes only got greener with her dress. His body wired up as he forced it to seem at ease.
“Please, call me Selene.” He heard her say politely. “I believe I’m younger than you.”
“Younger and greedier, for sure!” There was no mistaking the contempt in that.
He saw her eyes widen and her silky pale skin blanch. Good, it served her well!
