Chapter One

London, England, 1809

Cat and mouse. Damien scoffed. More like seasoned panther and wary young doe. He watched her through the french doors leading into the main salon of Lord Dorring’s town house. Gowned in emerald silk the same shade as her eyes, laughing softly with one of her beaux, she led the young man onto the dance floor.

It was crowded in the sumptuous high-ceilinged room, a crush of London’s finest. Men in tailcoats and brocade waistcoats, ladies in silks and satins, some of them more richly gowned than she, but none of them nearly as lovely. She crossed the inlaid marble floor, all elegance and grace, a slender white-gloved hand resting lightly on her suitor’s arm. For an instant her glance veered toward the terrace.

She knew he was out there.

Just as he had been watching her, she had been watching him.

Damien Falon, sixth earl of Falon, propped one wide shoulder against a rough brick wall of the town house. He had made it a point to discover the balls and soirees, house parties and musicales the young woman would be attending. The Season had begun, and the fashionable elite had arrived in London—Alexa Garrick among them.

He assessed her now, dancing a roundel, her pretty face flushed with exertion, fiery auburn hair shimmering softly beside her cheeks, then she and her partner left the dance floor. He was a thin man, the young Duke of Roxbury, but there was a presence about him, and he was obviously enchanted by the lady at his side. He pressed her for another dance, but Alexa shook her head. The duke bowed somewhat stiffly and left her near the door.

Damien raised the snifter he cradled in a dark, long-fingered hand and took a sip of his brandy. She was walking toward the terrace, tall and regal, looking neither right nor left, making her way through the French doors. Careful to avoid the place where he stood in the shadows, she crossed the terrace and paused at the opposite end, her gaze going out to the garden. The faint glow of torches lit the manicured oyster-shell paths, and moonlight glistened on bubbling fountains of water.

Smiling faintly, Damien set his brandy glass down on a small ornate pedestal and made his way across the brickwork to the woman at the opposite end.

She turned at his approach and something flickered in her eyes. He couldn’t decide if it was interest—or anger. It didn’t really matter. Already he had achieved his first objective.

“Good evening … Alexa.”

Surprise flared in her clear green eyes, which ran over his black tailcoat and white cravat, taking in the fashionable cut, the impeccable fit, seeming to approve, though the use of her name had caught her a little off guard.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

“We haven’t. But I know who you are … and I think you know who I am.”

Her head came up a fraction. She wasn’t accustomed to a man who challenged her. It was the key, he had discovered, the way to intrigue the lady, to capture her attention and lure her into his web.

“You’re Falon.” Her tone said she had heard the stories about him, most of which were true. Still, it was obvious she had no idea who he really was.

“Damien,” he corrected, moving closer. Another woman might have walked away. He was betting Alexa would not.

“You’ve been watching me. I noticed you last week and the week before that. What is it that you want?”

“Nothing every other man here doesn’t want. You’re a beautiful woman, Alexa.” He stood close enough to smell her perfume, the soft scent of lilac, to catch the hint of uncertainty in the depths of her pretty green eyes. “The truth is, you intrigue me. That hasn’t happened to me in a very long time.”

She said nothing for a moment. “I’m sorry, Lord Falon, I don’t know what it is you expect of me, but I assure you it isn’t worth all of this trouble.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “No? Perhaps it will be … if you let it.”

She stared at him, wary, yet her interest had been piqued. She glanced out into the shadows and nervously moistened her lips. “I-It’s late,” she said with a slight hesitation. “They’ll be looking for me soon. I had better be going back in.”

He could ruffle her a little. Good. From what he had observed, it wasn’t that easy to do. “Why would you want to go in when it’s far more pleasant out here?”

She stiffened a bit, throwing the lines of her face into shadow. “And far more dangerous, I should think. I know who you are, Lord Falon. I know you’re a rogue with a despicable reputation. I know you’re a rake of the very worst sort.”

He smiled. “So you’ve been asking about me. I suppose that’s a start.” A delicate indentation marked her chin, he saw, as she thrust it forward.

“You flatter yourself, my lord.”

“What else have you heard?”

“Not much. You’re hardly a favorite topic of dinner conversation.”

“But the consensus is that I’m off limits to innocent young girls.”

“You’re very well aware that it is.”

“You don’t think a man like me could change?”

Her eyes surveyed his face. There was nothing timid in that look, nothing shy or demure. He hadn’t expected there would be.

“I didn’t say that. How could I? My brother was an even worse rogue than you—if that’s possible. Now he’s a happily married man.”

“So you see, there’s hope for me yet.”

Again she said nothing, sizing him up, studying him from beneath her thick, dark lashes. “I really have to go.” She turned and started walking.

“Will you be at the soiree at Lady Bingham’s on Saturday?”

She paused but did not turn. Beneath the torches her burnished red hair blazed brighter than the flickering flames. “I’ll be there,” she said, and then she was gone.

Damien smiled into the darkness, but his hands balled into fists. How easily she could make a man’s blood heat up, his loins grow thick and heavy. Half the young bucks in London had begged for her hand, but she had refused them. Instead she merely toyed with their affections, leading them on, flirting outrageously, moving from one poor besotted fool to the next.

A dozen had offered her marriage.

She should have accepted when she had the chance.

*   *   *

“Alexa! We’ve been looking all over. Where on earth have you been?” Lady Jane Thornhill, a small, round-faced girl of two and twenty walked toward her. Gowned in a tunic dress of aqua silk ornately embroidered in gold, Jane was the daughter of the Duke of Dandridge. She was also Alexa’s best friend.

“I was only out on the terrace.” Alexa plucked at a button on her long white glove. “It’s so very warm in here.”

“The terrace? But surely you haven’t forgotten Lord Perry? Faith, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in London. And so handsome…”

“Lord Perry, yes … I’m sorry, Jane. As I said, it was just so warm.”

Jane eyed her shrewdly, soft brown eyes taking in the heightened color in her cheeks. She glanced toward the French doors leading out to the terrace just as Lord Falon walked in.

“Dear God, Alexa, surely you weren’t out there with him!”

Alexa shrugged. “We spoke briefly, that was all.”

“But he’s—he’s— Why, you haven’t even been introduced.”

“No, and we probably never will be.”

“You’ve the right of it there. Your brother would probably cock up his toes if he knew that man was anywhere near you.”

“I don’t see what’s so awful about him. Lots of men have affairs with married women.”

“There aren’t many who’ve killed three husbands fighting duels over them.”

“My brother has certainly fought duels. And it’s hardly a secret that Rayne carried on with Lady Campden. Why, he was—”

“Rayne is reformed. Lord Falon is not and probably never will be.”

She toyed with a strand of her dark auburn hair. “I don’t remember seeing him before, not until this Season.”

“He’s been out of the country for the past several years. Italy, I believe, or perhaps it was Spain.” She glanced back toward the earl. “At any rate, he isn’t much for Society. And they aren’t much for him.”

“Then why do you suppose he’s here?”

“I can’t imagine.” They watched him cross the main salon, turning more than one head as he passed, moving with masculine grace toward the ornate doors leading out to the street. He was taller than most of the men in the room, lean but broad-shouldered, with wavy black hair and dark skin, high carved cheekbones, and incredible bright blue eyes. In a word, he was one of the handsomest men Alexa had ever seen.

“Do you think he’s a fortune hunter?” she asked, almost reluctant to hear the answer. At present, she was unmarried and one of the wealthiest young heiresses in London.

“To be honest, I don’t think so. From what I’ve heard, Lord Falon’s estate has dwindled, but he isn’t really poor—and he isn’t in the marriage mart. If he were, there are at least a dozen wealthy young ladies who would marry him despite his reputation. To say nothing of a number of the eligible widows who are his usual cup of tea.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“Not much, really. He lives in some dreary old castle on the coast. At one time there were rumors that he was mixed up in smuggling. Another time there was gossip that he was sympathetic to the French.”

“The French!” Her brother, Chris, had been killed by the French. She loathed Napoleon and his endless bloody war.

“He’s part French on his mother’s side,” Jane said. “That’s where he gets those dark good looks.”

Alexa sighed. “A rake, a smuggler—perhaps even worse. There isn’t much to recommend him.” She frowned at the thought, a little uncertain why the dark earl so intrigued her. Then she smiled more brightly than she had in a very long time. “Still, he is incredibly handsome. And those eyes—as blue as the sea after a storm.”

“Yes, and just as unfathomable. You may rest assured, that man means nothing but trouble.”

Alexa merely shrugged. Already she was counting the days until Saturday next.

*   *   *

Though the week seemed to drag for Alexa, for Lady Jane Thornhill the days swiftly passed. Standing next to a long white-clothed table at Lady Bingham’s, beside an ornate punch bowl lit by a silver branch of candles, Jane watched her friend walking toward her on the arm of the handsome Lord Perry. Alexa was smiling, listening politely as she always did, just as bored as she had been since the start of the Season.

She had returned to London from Marden, not far from Jane’s father’s estate at Dandridge, where the two of them had met. For the Season, Alexa was staying with her brother and his wife at Stoneleigh, the viscount’s mansion on Hampstead Heath. They had insisted she return to London this year, forcing her back into Society, hoping at last she would choose a proper husband. If it hadn’t been for Peter and the tragedy that occurred, Jane was certain Lord Stoneleigh would have pressed his sister long before this.

Instead he had indulged her, knowing she had taken her young friend’s death too hard, knowing she felt responsible, allowing her to remain closed up at Marden for the past two years.

But Alexa had finally returned, and within the first few weeks of the Season was just as sought after as she had been that very first year. She was just as beautiful—more so now that her features had matured—just as charming, just as warm. But inside she was different. She was no longer the carefree young innocent who selfishly basked in the male adoration lavished upon her. She was no longer willful, no longer spoiled.

Alexa was a woman now, in every way but one. The loss of her friend had cost her youth, and along with it some inner part of herself. It was almost as if she held herself back, as if some tiny spark of life inside her had died that day along with Peter.

Jane wished Alexa could be more like the rest of the girls her age. Caught up in the adoration of her young male admirers, having a difficult time choosing from the long list of suitors vying for her hand.

But Alexa wanted none of them.

“They’re all just little boys,” she’d once said. “I want someone who will make my heart pound. I want someone I can respect, someone I can talk to. I want a man, and I don’t intend to settle for anything less.”

Jane had laughed at the time, admiring her friend for being so outspoken, and knowing that was part of the reason they were such good friends.

And Jane had always understood her. Alexa’s mother had died when she was young, just as Jane’s had, leaving her friend in the care of a father and two older brothers nearly twice her age. It was hardly surprising that Alexa was attracted to more mature men. Unfortunately, most of those who pursued her seemed to hold as little appeal as all the rest.

Except for Lord Falon.

Of all the men her friend could choose, this one was the worst. True, he was mysterious and intriguing. He was also volatile and dangerous, perhaps even criminal. Any interest he had in Alexa must surely be dishonorable—though Jane had to admit she had never heard it said he had deliberately seduced an innocent young girl. His wealth was far less than Alexa’s, and even if they fell madly in love, the viscount would never approve the marriage.

And yet there had been that spark in Alexa’s eyes, missing for so very long.

Beneath the flickering lights of a crystal chandelier, Jane watched her friend moving gracefully among the fashionably garbed men and women of the ton, her pasted-on smile fooling all of them but Jane. Perhaps Lord Falon would be good for her. Perhaps he could rekindle the flame of life that had all but died inside her.

Perhaps the danger would be worth it.

Lady Jane Thornhill smiled. If Alexa was careful, what could it hurt?

She glanced toward the door leading out to the garden. The handsome Lord Falon had not yet arrived, but Jane didn’t doubt that he would.

What would it hurt if Alexa flirted with the man just a little? What would it hurt if she even went so far as to kiss him?

There had never been a man Alexa couldn’t handle. Perhaps it was time she met one who left her a little bit uncertain, challenged her in some way, sparked that hidden flame.

Perhaps, she thought—but she wasn’t really so sure.

*   *   *

He was here; she could feel it. And he was watching her. Alexa laughed brightly at something her companion, the sandy-haired, slightly pudgy Admiral Lord Cawley had said, determined to disguise how nervous she felt. The admiral was speaking of the war, regaling his several-years-past victory at Trafalgar for at least the dozenth time.

Alexa’s mind strayed from his droning nasal voice, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the earl enter the ballroom, tall and lean yet powerfully built. It made her stomach flutter just to watch the way he moved, sparsely, smoothly, with an innate self-assurance she found lacking in other men.

Pausing only briefly to exchange a word now and then, he made his way toward the doors leading out to the garden. How long would he wait? she wondered, unwilling to approach him too soon.

For hours, she decided, as the time ticked away. It appeared the earl was a very patient man.

She went to him just after supper, finding it easy to break away, grateful Rayne and Jocelyn had grown weary and left to return to Stoneleigh, an hour’s carriage ride away. Thankful her brother had allowed her to spend the week with Jane.

“I’ve spoken to the duke,” her handsome brother had said with an affectionate smile. Jocelyn stood beside him, one of them slender and elegant, the other massive and strong. “His grace is not yet ready to leave. You and Jane may stay until he is. Behave yourself, have a good time, and I’ll send round a carriage on Monday.” With his thick, dark, coffee-brown hair, masculine features, and rough male charm, her brother had always had a way with the ladies.

“Thank you, Rayne.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, thinking oddly that though her brother was more stoutly built, he was the only man she knew as tall as Damien Falon.

“Have a good time, dear.” Jocelyn smiled and hugged her. Two years older, Jo was tall and slim, matching Alexa in size. She was dark-haired, pretty, and intelligent. In the years since her marriage to Rayne, she and Alexa had become close friends.

“I promise I shall dance every dance.” That wasn’t the truth, but it made Jo happy to think she was enjoying herself. In truth, until Lord Falon had made an appearance this Season, she would rather have been back at Marden.

She waited for her brother and his wife to leave, then summoned her courage and made her way toward the rear of the house, a two-story brick affair done in the French motif. Crossing the last few paces to the door, she smoothed the front of her high-waisted gold silk gown, pressing the sheer tulle back into place, straightening the deep vee neckline that showed a great deal of her bosom, a style, thanks to Jocelyn, her brother had at last grudgingly accepted.

The Birminghams’ garden was smaller than the one at Lord Dorring’s, where she had last seen the earl, with only a single ornate fountain. Insects hummed in the darkness and the smell of damp leaves hung in the air.

Alexa glanced round the neat hedgerows and sweet-scented flowers. Crocus and tulips bloomed, and there were ceramic pots heavy with pink geraniums, but there was no sign of Lord Falon.

Perhaps he had not been so patient after all.

Still, she walked down the steps and off toward the high stone wall at the rear. She heard him before she saw him, his shoes crunching softly on the dimly lit path.

“I hoped you would come,” he said in a deep male voice reminiscent of brandy dashed with a hint of cream. The odd combination of rough and smooth sent a ripple of heat through her body.

Her hand came up to her throat, where a necklace of topaz glinted in the light of the moon. Several more of the deep amber stones were fastened in her hair, which was coiled in a dark auburn wreath above her head. “I shouldn’t have.”

“No…” he said, “you shouldn’t have. Why did you?” He blended into the shadows, his skin dark and swarthy, yet his teeth were white, his eyes unmistakably blue.

“Perhaps … you intrigue me.”

He smiled then, apparently recalling he had said those words to her. It made him look younger, his face a little less harsh. “Perhaps it’s the danger you find attractive, doing something your brother would forbid.”

“My brother gave up trying to run my life some time ago. It’s true he’s a little too protective, but that’s only because he loves me.”

“It must be nice,” he said, “having someone who cares that much.”

“Is there no one who cares for you that much?”

A corner of his mouth curved up. It was a hard mouth, she saw, yet it was decidedly male and remarkably attractive. “Not really. There was someone once I cared a great deal about, someone whose happiness meant more than my own.”

“A woman?”

“No.”

Strangely, she felt relieved. She wanted to press him, to know whom it was he had cared for, but she could see by his eyes he would not answer. “Why have you come to London? Obviously it isn’t to mingle with the social elite.”

“I had business to attend. I meant only to stay for a week. Then I saw you—at the opera—and I decided to postpone my return.”

Something fluttered in her stomach. It was an odd sensation that made her heart speed up and her palms grow damp. “Why are you—”

“No more questions, Alexa. We don’t have that kind of time.” In an instant she was pressed against him, his arm around her waist, his long legs intimately brushing against her thighs. His eyes held hers the instant before he took her lips, his mouth slanting down in a fiery kiss. She gasped at the feel of it, hard and soft at the same time, hot and tingling and incredibly male. He used the moment to his advantage, sliding his tongue inside, sending shivers of heat through her body. He was tasting her, drinking in the desire he sparked, taking her breath away. He cupped her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, spawning whirlwinds of heat inside her, stroking her with his tongue, claiming her in a way no man ever had.

Alexa made a sound of protest in her throat—or was it one of longing?

In seconds she was clinging to him, unsure what was happening, fearful of this tall dark man and the things he made her feel, more afraid of herself.

Dear God what am I doing? Trembling all over, her legs unsteady and threatening to give way completely, she tore herself free and took a shaky step backward. As the heat burned into her cheeks, reminding her of what she had done, Alexa drew back and slapped him, the sound echoing loudly across the garden. She turned to leave, but he caught her arm.

“Alexa.”

“Let go of me.”

Slowly, he released her. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

“That doesn’t alter the fact that you did.”

A reluctant sigh whispered past his lips. “I suppose it was a test of sorts.” He rubbed his cheek with a long-fingered hand. “If it’s any consolation, you passed with the highest marks.”

Alexa said nothing. She knew all about such tests. She had been testing men for years—and all of them had failed. “I’ve got to go in.” She started walking, still shaking inside and feeling decidedly unsteady. Damien caught up with her in two long strides.

“You don’t have to run away. I promise it won’t happen again … not unless you want it to.”

Alexa turned to face him, caught the play of moonlight on the shadows of his face. “I don’t understand any of this. Just what is it you want from me?”

For the longest time he did not answer. “To be honest—I’m not exactly sure.”

She knew the feeling. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him.

“When can I see you?” he pressed, his eyes a deep, midnight-blue in the darkness.

Tell him you can’t—won’t—see him again. Tell him you’re not the least bit interested in carrying this mad infatuation any further. “Lady Jane Thornhill will be holding a small soiree this Wednesday eve. If you would like to come—”

“What about your brother?”

“Rayne and his wife have other plans for the evening.”

Damien flashed a disarming smile, reached for her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. She could feel the heat of his mouth even through her gloves, and goose bumps feathered up her arm. “You may count on seeing me there.”

Alexa turned away from him, her face flushed once more, her heart hammering oddly, and hurriedly walked away. All the way into the house she could feel his bright blue eyes burning into her back.

*   *   *

“You invited him here?” Jane couldn’t seem to believe it. “My father will be in a tither.” They were sitting on the rose satin counterpane at the foot of Jane’s high-tester bed. They had just returned to the duke’s home on Grosvenor Square, changed out of their evening gowns, and now wore their long white cotton nightclothes.

“Your father will think someone else invited him. And his grace is far too much of a gentlemen to ask the earl to leave.”

“I suppose you’ve the right of it there.”

“I’ve got to find out what he’s after. I have to know if…”

“If what?”

“If he’s really as terrible as they say he is. When I look at him, I see … I don’t know, something. I just don’t believe he can really be all that bad.”

“Believe it. The man is an unconscionable rake and a confirmed bachelor.”

“So was Rayne. So was his best friend, Dominic Edgemont, the Marquess of Gravenwold. Look what wonderful husbands they’ve turned out to be.”

“You’re not seriously considering this rogue as a candidate for marriage?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

“No, but that’s certainly the way it sounds to me.”

Alexa ran a hand down the heavy rose silk bed hangings. “I know you don’t approve, but I can’t help it. If he’s really as bad as you think he is, surely I shall discover the truth. In the meantime, Lord Falon is the first man who has ever made me feel so much alive.”

“Feeling alive is one thing, winding up in his bed is another.”

“Jane!”

“Well, it’s the truth. You had better be careful, dear girl, and we both know it.”

Jane was older than Alexa, and not in the least naive. She had chosen to remain unmarried, much to her father’s chagrin, saying she hadn’t yet met the right man. But the Season had only just begun. Jane was pretty and pleasantly formed, and with her father’s wealth and power, her suitors had always been numerous. Perhaps this Season, Jane would be ready to make her choice.

Alexa leaned over and hugged her much shorter friend. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

*   *   *

It was nearly dawn when Damien returned to the small suite of rooms he had taken for the Season at the Clarendon Hotel, one of the most fashionable in London. With its dark wood paneling and thick Persian carpets, the place had a masculine quality that reminded him of home and dulled his dislike of the crowded streets, raucous noise, and stench of the city.

A footman held open the etched glass door as he entered the lobby, dimly lit by gilded chandeliers. Damien barely noticed, his mind fixed instead on the evening past. His encounter with the lady in the garden had left his body strung taut as a bowstring.

For days he had been stalking her, watching her every move, thinking of the prize he would wrest from her in the end. After the kiss they had shared, the fiery way she had responded, he needed a woman. Badly. He’d gone to the Satin Garter, paid handsomely for a pretty little whore with dark auburn hair, and let her soothe his passions. He felt rested now, relaxed as he hadn’t been in days, and ready to continue his campaign.

As he climbed the rosewood-paneled stairs, a faint smile curved his lips. His meeting in the garden had gone even better than he had planned. Of course he hadn’t meant to kiss her. The last thing he intended was to scare the woman away.

Damien shoved his key into the heavy brass lock, his smile turning bitter and harsh. He had known from the start, Alexa Garrick wouldn’t be easy to scare. She was used to controlling men, used to toying with their affections, used to playing the game.

Until he had kissed her, he hadn’t been sure she was still a virgin, but there was no mistaking that ingenue, the trembling that had signaled her untried passions. And the fact she remained untouched made the taking all the sweeter.

He thought of their next encounter, several days hence, at the Duke of Dandridge’s Grosvenor mansion. If all went well, by the end of the night Alexa Garrick would be in his debt. Deeply in his debt.

It was another key he had discovered. Miss Garrick liked the green baize tables. Liked them just a little too much. Usually her brother was there to keep her out of deep play and steer her clear of trouble. With the viscount out of the way and Alexa’s mind on the attraction developing between them, there was no telling how much she might lose.

Not that she was that bad a player. If it came down to it, he intended to cheat.

Damien closed the door to his small but elegant suite of rooms. It was stuffy inside, but opening the windows would only let in the oppressive London air. He wished he was home, back at Castle Falon, overlooking the ocean and breathing in the fresh air rolling in off the sea.

He would be, he told himself, perhaps within a fortnight. Alexa Garrick had taken the bait, and soon his well-laid trap could be sprung.

As he crossed the room, he untied his cravat and pulled it off, then began to unbutton his shirt. The little whore had been good, but she hadn’t slaked his desire for Alexa Garrick. He meant to take her, to punish her for what she had done. He would do it for Peter.

And now that he had sampled a little of her charms, perhaps a bit for himself.

He didn’t bother to deny he intended to enjoy it.