Chapter One

      She wanted him. Yes, him, Valentine DeArcy with his bloodlines being muddled, and his wild, rakehell rep. Dangerous, no question. But, oh, so, alluring.

      His skin was swarthy, naturally so. His Mother had been some foreign woman brought to England by the noble unnamed father. Valentine had grace—muscular grace, and athleticism in his movements. He was swarthy and dark, so un-like the flushed faces of most Englishmen.

      Lady Georgina “Georgie” Mayne sat in the coach looking at the object of her desire. A man she’d wanted since she’d known what it felt like to want that way. The streets were wet around him, the brick buildings as a backdrop, damp from the drizzle, and fog was starting to rise. It swirled around the street lamp that bathed him in ocher light.

      Two plumes of white smoke blew from his arrow shaped nose as he released the draw on the cheroot. Those eyes, a velvet brown, with gold flecks, rimmed in black, thick lashes. His mane was coal black to his shoulders in long S-shaped curls. He tied the length in a que but it always slipped loose, giving a kind of undisciplined and rakish appearance. At the moment, several strands were ruffled loose in the night wind.

      He’d likely spent the late evening in a card room, winning himself another fortune.

      Tall, broad shouldered, lean hipped, the white ruffled shirt he wore was wide necked, a bit wrinkled and half-unbuttoned. His trousers were skintight, boots a supple wine with a tan band on the top. The contrast between the shirt half pulled from his tight trousers and the snug fabric molding his buttocks and long muscled limbs -was deliciously sexy.

      She was awaiting her brother, Aaiden Mayne, Earl of Northwood, who had been Valentine’s best friend since they were in school. Since she’d only returned to England last week, she could think of no better homecoming present than to lay eyes on the most deliciously wicked and handsome man… well her brother was all that, but he was her brother, and though objectively she knew Aaiden made women’s knees weak, he was attractive to them in a different way, from the striking Valentine.

      Georgina wanted to raise the window flap she was gazing through and speak to him. She could. He had known her as long as he’d known Aaiden, and it was likely she knew more about this man than anyone, having seen him at their country estate and when younger, teased unmercifully by him.

      Georgie smiled and remembered how he described her wine red hair—likening it to a rusty pail, and calling her “rogue” when Aaiden brought her home, rescued from his demented stepmother, her mother, before the woman finally drowned herself. Georgie had been wild then too, an undisciplined and rebellious girl who had spent more time in the village, running loose, than in her own chaotic home.

      She’d been a handful. But at twenty and four, that was so very long ago. So much had happened, and even in young adulthood, after she’d been trained, tamed, polished, and yes, given to understand how much her brother loved her—she’d not been spared the worst.

      Her brother was wealthy, sought after and at thirty and five, a man of sometimes ruthless strength and iron pride. He’d hushed up the (incident) that brought her under his care at ten years of age, and oversaw her upbringing—which with a hellion was not easy. But by 16 and her debut, no trace of that girl was left.

      Unfortunately, by nineteen, she’d fancied herself in love, been duped by a scoundrel of the worst sort, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that Valentine had been involved in getting rid of him.

      It was a testament to the ton’s fixation with wealth and titles and to her brother’s rep and fortune, that she was spared banishment and ostracism. Nevertheless, by her twentieth year, she found herself at one of the grandest balls of the season, dressed in a gown encrusted with jewels, her dance card full, her popularity as secure as ever, and eyed the rows of gentlemen of all ages and lofty titles awaiting a dance with her—or a flirtation—and simply walked out.

      Aaiden had been concerned, not at the whispers and gossip that followed, but genuinely concerned because only he—and possibly Valentine—knew that she’d given her heart and her virginity to that cad a year before. She was over it, other than hating her own foolish blindness, but the marriage mart, the rules and pretenses, the empty games and amusements, suddenly suffocated her.

      Her brother offered for her to go to Italy with some friends of theirs, and although she knew the Pendleton’s and adored them, she’d hesitated until she saw Valentine DeArcy again—in the park with his latest flamboyant and beautiful mistress.

      And suddenly she knew—she knew what those demons were that drove her and what had driven her blindly into the arms of a man she ordinarily would not have noticed. There were incidents, memories, times both in and outside London, when an encounter with Valentine, no matter how benign on his part, had left her aching and breathless, and yes…restless for whatever that allure was.

      He had a sensual magnetism, a kind of enigmatic and forbidden presence that made a woman’s skin ultra sensitive and caused blood to heat, flesh to warm, hearts to race. His drawl was lazy, his teasing, always a hint naughty, his eyes sleepily sexual, and though she was positive he only saw her as his best friend’s little sister—she had long, long since, wanted him to see something more.

      Those two years away, thinking of him, hearing of him only through Aadien’s letters, was nothing like seeing him, vivid and disheveled now. He had his evening coat over his wrist, it half draped on the ground. He was in a muse, smoking his cheroot, oblivious it seemed to all the coaches and carts and people coming and going at the assembly.

      She and Arden had been at the theater when a young boy had slipped him a note and they had left. She was used to such things, Aadien’s life, and his bachelor existence or otherwise, was never interrupted by her presence. It was one of the best things about their closeness that they did not pry. The only reason he had found out about the Cad in her past, was that the man bragged at one of the clubs, and Aaiden uncovered the whole of it.

      That was one time she was glad of his elder brother role. Glad he had experience and contacts—enough power and wealth to save her from her own mistakes. She would never have extricated herself from the rake, because she had given him every means to ruin her. She supposed that every woman was allowed to be a complete fool once in her lives. It was, she knew, acting out—burning for one unachievable thing, and being burned for handling it with immaturity and inexperience.

      Arden and Valentine were the same age, only a month apart in birthdates, and should not be friends according to society. Nevertheless, her brother never did let society dictate to him. He was arrogant and wealthy enough to conduct his life as bloody well pleased.

      Georgina sighed and chewed her lip. She looked her best tonight even though Aaiden teased her for the kiss of golden sun on her skin. Her hair was really not rust red, but a deep wine. Tonight the mid back length of it was drawn up in a gold velvet band with small braids weaved through fat curls, three spilling over her shoulder. Her gown had been purchased in Italy; it was autumn colors that Mrs. Pendleton proclaimed matched the hazel/gold in her eyes. Her brother’s eyes were a deeper, purer jasper, but Georgina’s had always been changeable.

      The bodice was dangerously low and encrusted with faux emeralds and topaz stones. The skirt, which looked deep green or gold in certain lights, molded her figure. She had been told equally as blunt that her body was not perfect, her waist not small enough, nor her hips slim as fashion dictated. The seamstress had said her plump breasts and long legs made every other imperfection fade—the fashion being pale and wispy women, ghostly and childlike—and herself being too ready to ride, walk, swim or otherwise, to go without eating and avoid the sun. She was a healthy, feminine woman, who had all the awareness needed to be attracted to such a sensual and compelling man like Val.

      Oh well. She mused, pushing the flap back a bit more and recalling that Aaiden had spoken to Valentine on his way inside. She had changed in the two years abroad, and others found those changes unfashionable, it was not likely to bother her. She still wished with all her heart and soul though, that Valentine DeArcy might sometime in her life, see her as something other than Aadien’s sister.

      Valentine finished the cheroot, and tossed it into a puddle. Georgina saw him feel the pockets of his coat and then extract a flask and take a long pull before replacing it.

      She was startled somewhat when he stood there, and looked right at the coach window. His deep voice cut through any other sounds as he drawled lazily, “Are you going to hide behind that widow flap until Aaiden returns, or show me how prettily you recall your manners and speak to me, rouge?”

      Feeling suddenly silly, she yanked the flap up, but her natural humor would not let her mortification over come her. Georgina said dryly, “I suppose he told you to keep an eye on me.”

      His dark eyes were shining and completely focused on her face, which was visible enough outside the pool of street lamps. He seemed distracted as he said, “Of course. No part of London is safe for an unattended lady.”

      “Um. You’d know that more than most.”

      His mouth curved and those lids lowered but he still sounded distant from his words. “I would. It’s lucky I know Arden’s skill with sword and pistol, Georgie, you certainly have…grown… in the two years you’ve been away.”

      She relished that, hugged it to her with glee, but licked her salved pink lips in response. “You haven’t. You still look as if you’ve crawled out the nearest window…or bed.”

      He laughed, a low and silky sound, and took enough of those graceful strides until he was leaning against the lamppost. That put him close, very close. Her breath caught. She tried to hide her visual examination of his sinewy throat. The light played so intimately on that swarthy skin, his hair. She felt her body dew, her blood warm.

      He said, “I think there’s some trouble with your new friend.”

      She blinked, and then remembered. “Chloe! Is she all right. Good God, I forgot that I was to meet her here, I—”

      Instead of answering he murmured, “You met Miss Monet shipboard?”

      “Yes. On the voyage there, and again on our return. I’m sure Aaiden told you the whole of it.” She looked around where people were walking to the hall or passing by.

      “Um.” He nodded. His gaze seemed to fix on her face, moving over her hair, and when they locked it eyes, it made her quite breathless.

      Poor Chloe was the heir of wool Merchants. She had been left under the wardship of horridly greedy cousins upon her parent’s death. Those cousins took complete advantage of the plump and eager-to-please girl from the start. By the time Georgina had met her, worse things had happened, as they had schemed with the ship’s caption to wed her to a man they bribed to get hold of her vast fortune—which she could not touch, only receive a generous income from, until she was twenty and five. If she wed, the husband would control it.

      To her credit, the woman resisted, but the dastardly trio had locked her in a room with the man who forced himself on her.

      Chloe was now twenty, but so many things made those years not matter. Left alone most her life in gilt mansion, given everything but love and attention, she was a plum ripe for the cousins pickings, with their façade of kindness that was nothing but manipulation. She had been gullible and had no experience in the world, for all her money.

      The woman was coming about now that Georgie and the Pendleton’s had extracted her from those fends and saw them arrested. Georgina would not let her blame herself or think herself ruined—as all of those aboard ship had shunned and accused her of being. Aaiden had only sighed and smiled dryly, shaking his head when Georgie stepped off the boat with her arm around Chloe, thankfully. He had opened his home to her—was straightening out the legalities of her inheritance and such. However, he was not used to females of her ilk, and having only a headstrong Georgina as an example, and was not sure what to do with the emotional girl.

      “She’s had an upset only, I think,” Valentine drawled finally. “I believe Aaiden will set it to rights and extract her.”

      Georgina sighed, feeling guilty. Not everyone had her stubborn streak and was too proud to let mistakes drag her down. Chloe had no big brother to help her as Aaiden had for Georgie. “I should have come with her. I simply thought, perhaps attending with the Rosemont girls would be good for her. Their mother was a cit, and well, I suppose it was a bad idea.” She frowned. “I’ll have to think of some other way to help her grow more confident and relaxed around people.”

      “Fixing people, now, are you, Georgie?” There was humor in that question. “Did you manage to cure whatever ailed you too, whilst you were gone?”

      She stared at him, wondering if she should dare to say it, but instead murmured in a light tone, “There is no fixing me at this age, sir. I think I shall have to live with my flaws.”

      “That sums up many of us,” he muttered before smiling somewhat fake but saying, “Your appearance at least has improved; you are combing your hair these days, and wearing something besides trousers.”

      Delighted that he was teasing her again as he had in her childhood, she retorted, “I have to, for Arden’s sake.” They laughed, and then she added, “Is there a compliment in there somewhere? I rather fancy them now and then at my advanced age.”

      Suddenly his smile was gone and his eyes were very intense under those half-shuddered lashes. “It should be a sin, Georgie, how beautiful you look tonight.”

      Tingles spread over her. Her smile left too as she husked, “You’re so very good at that, Valentine. It’s no wonder women drop at your feet.”

      His brow rose, only the merest smile, a sultry one, was present. “I’m sure you mean their gowns and drawers.”

      She should have blushed, but she knew certain things about the man. “You’d never say that to me in front of Aaiden.”

      “No.” He straightened. “I shouldn’t have said it at all. It’s reflex. One gets used to giving whatever expected retort others are fishing for—which is usually curiously about my bedmates.” He nodded a bit. “You however, have a better wit and more light hearted reasons—”

      She cut him off, “Are you certain of that?”

      “What.”

      “That I would not be curious of your….prowess.”

      He blinked but covered it by slipping on his coat, still looking disheveled, and the tie slipped from his hair, causing the silky mass to frame his face, though he merely picked up the thong and stuck it in his pocket. When he had finished, he leaned against the post again and crossed his arms casually. An indolent pose, even though his gaze took its time searching her face.

      “How old are you now, Georgie. Twenty?”

      “You know very well I am twenty and four.”

      “Where did the years go?” He mumbled, but his mind was apparently somewhere else. “Tell me; are those Italian chaps as good at romancing the ladies as one hears?”

      “Yes. Although, I, sadly enough, used them shamefully as objects.” At his raised brow, she informed, “Painting. That was one of Mrs. Pendleton’s passions, you see. We did a frightful amount of painting. And whilst she was posing the most brawny and handsome fellows on fishing vessels and the steps of monuments, I was at the serious business of depicting nudes.”

      “Does Aaiden know?”

      “No. Nor will you tell him.” She grinned. “Even Mrs. Pendleton thought I was painting shopkeepers and vineyard workers, which I was. Only not at work.”

      “And did you keep those paintings?”

      “No. They were terrible.” She laughed low. “It was an educational experience, however.”

      He tisked and smiled. She could tell he was taking in everything she said rather acutely. “One hopes you’ve learned discretion at twenty and four, rogue.”

      “A rakehell is saying this to me?” She retorted, rolling her eyes. “Of course we know—it is not a matter of that, is it? Following the rules, but rather working around them.”

      Annoyance flittered over his face before he masked it. “I hope you learned something from your first experience, Georgie.”

      She was not happy he brought that up. She had dared flirt with him, and they had always exchanged this sort of play with words, but Georgie hated all the double standards, and as guilty as she was of stupidity, she detested the fact that he, of all people, still counted that foolishness against her.

      “I suppose your birth and the rep you have cultivated has spared you from having to learn or live with any mistakes, Valentine. However, to answer your not so subtle question, yes. I know exactly what I did wrong before, and have no intention of repeating it.”

      “Good,” he said softly. But then that different heat was in his eyes as he drawled even softer, “A woman of your looks, aside from the fortune you have. Is not safe with any man, rogue. And just so you start your return to London and society off proving how very wise and careful you are, I suggest you not challenge me with that look I saw in your eyes when I approached awhile ago.”

      “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

      “I’m sure you do.” He straightened and unfolded his arms. He walked close enough so that he leaned down, very close to her face in the coach window. His husk was sensual and yet dangerously tight. “Flirting is an art, not a game Georgie. Moreover, men of my ilk do not bother with either when it comes to bedmates. We do not have to. You know very well that I care for you as the sister of my best friend. I indulge in our little verbal exchanges because you have always been refreshingly blunt and somewhat unique to your sex.”

      His thumb came up and brushed down her cheek, but his eyes were probing hers deeply. “Keep the lines drawn, rouge, because outside them, I am not the man who sat you on your first horse or tossed you off the pier into the lake to make you laugh.” His gaze lowered as his thumb slid over her salved bottom lip. “Outside that, I am dangerously more—than that cad who undeservedly stole your virtue.”

      She shivered at his closeness, thrilled at the sound of his voice, and dampened at his manly scent and touch. But at that, Georgina shoved him back, so hard he took several steps before stopping.

      Her bosom heaving from all those emotions simultaneously, she seethed, “How dare you, the biggest male whore in England bring that detail into your lecture? Let me tell you something, Valentine DeArcy, had I been seduced or offered it freely, that absence of judgment may scandalize me in the eyes of society and outrage prospective husbands, but I consider it the least of my imperfections. In fact, I consider it none of anyone’s bloody business but mine. And the manner in which you throw it out there, makes me assume that you carry the very same woman is whore and man is not opinions that—”

      “You are wrong,” his tone was flat. “That was not the point, nor is it of consequence. I am no one to cast stones, nor did I, Georgina.” His voice dropped to dead steel, “I have had scores of women, from the time I realized how enjoyable an experience it was. A rakehell, as you call me, does not become one without seeing and reading the signals. I do you a favor by reminding you, that we are both too old to be any other kind of playmate. I give you warning…and you know exactly what I mean when I do so, that outside your brother’s presence, and outside a friendship, if you will, between us, I am not a man you should go beyond the bounds with.”

      She swallowed, having seen that look on his face before. It reminded her of times both he and Aaiden had dealt with unpleasant business. A time he had beaten one of the grooms bloody before dragging him to the magistrate for abusing one of the house maids. She had seen a few of his dark sides, and Aaiden had told her of how their friendship came about, because of his uncertain parentage—of the mysterious wealth left him and properties bought, school and university paid for by some faceless peer who was likely his father.

      Val had fought his way to respect, though he would forever be colored by it. His reckless, and on the edge lifestyle, was a result of the stigma, and likely envy, many held toward him.

      Georgina was aware that he had luck with cards, with horses, with women, and absolutely would have none of the privileges he did have, among the elite, if he had no wealth and that dangerous edge to earn it for him.

      All antagonism left her, but still she felt too much for him, too many forbidden things, to leave it at that. “As you say, we are grown up. You are an alluring and compelling man. I am no less blind to it, than any other of those women you notice admiring you.”

      She let her gaze go over his loosed hair, such a wild mane that suited his beautifully seductive eyes and face. Then looking at those eyes again, she finished steadily, “Because I am Aadien’s sister, or even if I was once a fool, does not spare me the natural feelings any woman would around you. You say you respect my bluntness, and I believe that you do.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, seeing the change from anger tightening his face, to a haste to veil through his usual shuttered gaze, another emotion entirely.

      She finished, “You know what that allure is, that makes women want you, and you use it, Valentine. But for my part, it is no sudden awareness with age, but something I have—despite your belief to the contrary—masked for many reasons.”

      Georgina wet her lips and cursed mentally. She may well be driving him away, where if she kept her mouth shut, he would be around underfoot as usual. She added, “If you are just seeing it, then that is your own perception of me—and your own choice. I am a woman, not a child. I no longer confuse what I want and why.”

      “Bloody hell.” He stared her, saying that through his teeth, “This is one time your bluntness is not welcomed, Georgie.”

      She smiled, and then laughed, though it was a poor one. “Do not worry, sir. I am sure you are as proficient at resistance as you are at seduction. One hears you do have a type.”

      He had not moved a muscle when he retorted, “There is a line, Georgie. Stay behind it.”

      “I shall.” She made to set back. However, added, “Unless you decide otherwise.”

      “Bloody, bloody hell.”

      Georgie turned her head to see him walk back to his spot by the door. Her brother appeared on the stairs, along with a bundled in her cape, Chloe, whose brown curls were tumbling all over. Aaiden, a foot taller at six feet and two, was half carrying her and murmuring all sorts of those things discomforted gentleman do.

      “Dear, friend. Whatever is the matter?” Georgina swung open the door for them.

      “Oh. Everything, everything.” Chloe hiccupped. Her pretty face was blotched and her big gray eyes swarming with tears as she climbed in.

      Aaiden, his sable hair looking as if he’d ran his hands through it, rolled his eyes to the heavens and appeared relieved to hand her over. He muttered something and went back to Val, to speak with him.

      Since Chloe burst into tears and fell against her bosom. Georgina merely held her and pat her back. The woman would tell her whatever was wrong when they got home, even though she suspected someone had either insulted her weight, her cit background, or mocked her as the most vicious debs would. She had thought the ladies who had invited Chloe would protect her, and help her grow used to others, but realized they were likely overwhelmed as anyone would be, when the snobs of society decided on a victim.

      She really could strangle Chloe’s parents for leaving her with nothing but books and servants to fill her life. They gave her all the material things, left her rich, and completely ignored her as a daughter, a human.

      “I’ll be along later.” Aaiden strode over, leaning down and poking his head in the window. “You see what needs done.” His amber gaze went to the back of Chloe’s head, as that was all he could see whilst she was in Georgina’s arms. His handsome face contorted to a grimace that made Georgina want to laugh, because she knew he hated the sound of tears and was at a loss with poor Chloe. He finished, “I think I need a few drinks. I’ll see you later.”

      “She’ll be fine.” Georgina winked at him. “I believe you deserve a brandy or two. You are handling the role of gallant very well. You’ll be Chloe’s hero before it’s all said and done.”

      “Good forbid,” he muttered as he turned and left her.

      He had spoken to the coachman and as they were pulling out from the curb, Georgina looked over toward Valentine who was facing Aaiden, and thus her. He laughed at something her brother said, appeared to be attending, yet she did not miss the look he cast her way before they headed down the street.

      She had either surprised him, or given him a complete disgust of her, Georgian thought, resting her head back as Chloe sighed, arose and blew her nose. Wonderful, just when she was old and mature enough to have him—she may have blown it all by being so blasted candid.