Her Wicked Proposal E-Book

Lauren Smith

• Herausgeber: Lauren Smith
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The League of Rogues
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 552

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Cedric, Viscount Sheridan:

Once a womanizer.

Now a recluse.

Forever cursed.

Cedric used to be the ton’s golden boy, but the loss of his sight has left him a reclusive shell of man. His days of womanizing, horse racing and pistol shooting lost forever. But a shocking proposal from the infamous ice maiden, Anne Chessley changes everything.

 Still reeling from her father’s death, Anne’s deepest wish is to avoid the hordes of fortune hunters who will soon be beating down her door. Proposing marriage to Cedric is an act of desperation that even has her agreeing to his one wicked demand.

His only stipulation: she must respond passionately and wantonly in his bed. Her agreement barely crosses her lips before he begins a sensual assault on the icy walls she's built around her heart. Yet even as they catch a glimpse of true happiness, enemies are closing in and they have to trust each other, and themselves, to ever find a happily ever after.

Warning: Contains an outwardly aloof heroine with a secretly tender heart, a once-notorious rake who isn’t quite as rusty at seduction as he feared, and a band of rogues who join together to make sure happily-ever-afters do come true.

Leseprobe

HER WICKED PROPOSAL

The League of Rogues - Book 3

LAUREN SMITH

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Lauren Smith

Excerpt from Wicked Rivals by Lauren Smith, Copyright © 2016

The League of Rogues ® is an officially registered federal trademark owned by Lauren Smith.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

This book was previously published in 2016 by Samhain Publishing. This is a republication of the original version.

ISBN: 978-0-9974237-8-5 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-0-9974237-9-2 (print edition)

For Meg, my beloved childhood dog who went blind in the prime of her life. You taught me true strength comes from surviving through adversity and how to count your steps when climbing stairs. You are deeply missed.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Other Titles By Lauren Smith

About the Author

1

League Rule Number 5:

A man’s best lover is a spirited lady, but one should treat spirited ladies the way one would a wild horse, with a firm hold and gentle voice.

Excerpt from The Quizzing Glass Gazette, April 21, 1821, The Lady Society Column:

Lady Society is in mourning. The dangerous rakehell Viscount Sheridan has been rendered blind. She cannot help but miss those dark brown eyes that scorched more than one innocent young lady’s heart as he watched them from the shadows of a ballroom. Oh, my dear Viscount Sheridan, won’t you come out into society again? Lady Society is issuing you a challenge. Do not hide from her, or else she will unearth those secrets you hold most dear.

Perchance there is a lady who might yet tempt your sightless eyes and convince you to live again. Would you not like a woman once more to warm your bed? A woman to tame your wicked heart?

London, April 1821

Using his silver lion’s head cane, Cedric, Viscount Sheridan, rapped it harshly against the cobblestones of the winding path in his London townhouse garden as he tried to navigate his way to the fountain. All around him the world was a winter gray. Yet his other senses assured him it was spring. Sunlight warmed his face and arms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. A flower-scented breeze tickled his nose and tousled his hair. Cedric took seven measured steps, counting them in his head.

Seven steps to the center of the garden, then five steps to… He caught the tip of his boot on a raised stone, stumbled and collided with the ground. He stifled a cry as stones bit into his palms and the bones of his knees cracked.

Panting, every muscle tensed, he lay on the ground for a long moment, fighting off the waves of shame and the childish urge to whimper with the pain. His eyesight hadn’t been the only thing he’d lost. It seemed sense and balance had abandoned him as well.

Finally he picked himself up, patted the ground around himself to find his cane and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was a grown man of two and thirty—he could and would bear this pain as any well-bred gentleman was expected to.

It was a small mercy none of his servants were around to witness this moment of weakness.

Once more. Five steps to the fountain, he reminded himself, and taking care to lift his feet higher, he avoided any more raised stones. He should know this path by now, as he had walked it a hundred times. Yet he still couldn’t see it as clearly in his head as he knew he should. When the tip of his cane rapped lightly on the stone fountain’s base, he bent over and reached out to find the ledge and, with a great sigh of relief, sat down.

Every hour of every day, from the moment he rose for the day until he retired to bed, he lived in constant fear of toppling precious family heirlooms, embarrassing himself in front of his friends or family, or worse, causing further damage to his body. It was a cruel twist of fate to have once been a virile man afraid of nothing, and reduced to someone who woke each morning only to remember he was forever trapped in darkness.

Too often in the last few weeks, he’d sat at his desk, head buried in his hands, the heels of his palms pressed deep into his eyes as he tried to bring back the vision he desperately needed.

His despair was too strong, and he couldn’t summon the will to care.

Thank God for this garden. Peace, quiet, no one to see him in this state.Moments like this were a blessing. There were no social callers, no awkward visits from people who didn’t understand the trials of being blind. Out in his garden, he could exist without worries, without anxiety. The fresh air, warm sun and the sounds of birds and insects made him feel alive again, as much as a broken man could. The temptation to remain outside forever was a strong one, but his hands burned from being scraped raw and he’d have to come inside to sleep and eat.

A bee hummed somewhere to his right, probably skimming the budding flowers. The twitter of birds in a nearby tree teased his ears, filling the silence with a delicate trill that was distinct and clear. He could make out every note, each singular melody and the changes in tempo and pitch as the birds talked to one another.

No more could he focus on the tiny details of sight, like the faces of his sisters and his friends as they laughed and talked, or the way wind would stir the trees into rippling waves of emerald in the summer, or the way a woman’s mouth turned that perfect shade of red when kissed by a lover. Sounds, scents and touch were his only companions now. He clung to the sound of Audrey’s delicate giggles, and the softness of Horatia’s hand when she held his while guiding him around.

The light steps of a footman on gravel disturbed him from his thoughts. The sure-footed steps had to be Benjamin Abbot, one of the older footmen. He’d learned so much about his servants in the last few months. The maids by their voices and the sounds of their skirts, the footmen by their heavier steps. Each servant was unique. It was one of the things he’d learned to value most after losing his sight. He’d always had a good relationship with his servants before, but now he relied on them more than ever.

“There is a young lady here to see you, my lord.”

“Oh?” Cedric didn’t bother looking in Benjamin’s direction. There seemed little point in looking at a person if one could not see them. “Did this lady give you a name?” he asked the footman.

“Miss Chessley. Baron Chessley’s daughter,” the footman replied.

Cedric drew in a sharp breath.

Anne is here?Why?

He’d been with many women over the years, seducing his way from one bed to the next. But not with Anne Chessley. She was different. She’d intrigued him, resisted him, and challenged him. A veritable ice maiden in her ivory tower, yet each time he caught her eye, for a brief second heat would flare, so bright and hot it made him hungry for her. She was a challenge, and he’d always been one for a good challenge.

Last year he’d courted her, but she hadn’t let him near enough for even one kiss. He’d spent a fortune on sending lavish bouquets and had purchased opera box seats facing her father’s box in order to watch her enjoy the music from across the theater. And yet she had remained unattainable. Always polite, but never truly open. After months of trying, Cedric had been forced to admit defeat. She would never surrender to him or his attempts at seduction.

And then he’d lost his sight. Any thought of marriage now was inconceivable. While his fortune was still a draw for some eligible ladies, he could no longer stomach the macabre dance of courtship. Not when all he heard were the rude whispers of the ladies behind their fans about his condition. He wanted no such revulsion or pity from his future wife.

Anne would certainly pity him, or be discomforted by his newfound clumsiness. She was too cold-hearted to care whether he could make it five feet without hurting himself or damaging something around him. He couldn’t fathom what she’d be doing here of all places, not when she’d spent so much time avoiding him. Furthermore, she was not one for social calls and wouldn’t dare pay one to him. Add to that the news he’d recently heard regarding her, and he couldn’t imagine why she was here.

Last week when his friend Lucien and his sister Horatia had come by for their weekly visit, Cedric had learned that Baron Chessley, Anne’s father, had died in his sleep. Anne was now a wealthy heiress and had no need of anyone, let alone Cedric. Which brought him back to that infernal question—Why had she come?

Was she so ravaged by the grief of losing her only living relative that she was coming to him for solace? He doubted it. What could he offer a woman like her? He was half a man, broken, damaged. A bloody fool.

He forced his face into a businesslike façade. He would treat her the same way he treated all the young ladies he came across since he’d lost his sight, with polite distance. His pride demanded he maintain the upper hand, especially with Anne. She must never know that he still desired her, still craved her with a madness that escaped logic.

Visions of her gray eyes played tricks on his mind. To remember her so vividly, the pale pink lips that curved in a smile only when she dropped her guard, and the way her nose crinkled when she disagreed with him. His chest constricted at the memories of their often passionate discussions on horses, their shared interest. It was the only way he’d ever gotten her to respond to him, by drawing her out through her strong opinions. The icy little hellion loved to argue, and he’d taken great delight in provoking her to blushes.

Damn. I’ve become a sentimental fool.

The footman coughed politely, reminding Cedric he was waiting.

“Please bring her to me,” he instructed.

It was too much of a waste of time to find his way back inside now. Far easier to have her brought to him in the gardens instead. The weather was fine, and he knew Anne well enough to know that she enjoyed the outdoors.

The footman’s steps retreated, and a minute later Cedric picked up the sound of a lady’s booted steps on the garden path. He heard her gasp when she came close enough to see him.

“My lord! You’re bleeding!” Anne rushed over. Her scent hit him, an alluring scent of orchids that was uniquely hers. He sensed the warmth of her hands close to his own as she joined him at the fountain. She clasped his palms and gently touched his stinging skin. He’d become so used to the cuts and scrapes that he barely noticed them anymore.

She clasped his palms and gently touched his stinging hands. He repressed a shiver. Without sight, all he had left to make sense of the world were touch, taste and smell. Anne’s touch lit a hint of fire beneath his skin.

“Bleeding?” he asked dumbly, too wrapped up with the sensation of silk skirts brushing his shins. His hurt hands long forgotten. Excitement burned in his veins, and that old urge to seduce rose to the surface. He couldn’t recall a time when she’d been this close to him of her own accord.

“Yes, my lord. There are bits of gravel in your palms. Did you…” She hesitated to continue.

His need for her withered at the pity in her tone. “Did I fall? Yes,” he answered curtly. He’d never needed pity, and he didn’t want it now, certainly not from her. He puffed out his chest and scowled in her direction. An unsettling silence filled the air between them. Anne always had the power to put him on edge, make every muscle coil and tense. What expression was she wearing on that face of hers? Were those delicate brows he remembered arching above her lovely eyes with surprise, or set in a frown? Damnation, he wished he could see her.

“Would you let me help you?” Anne asked quietly.

“How?” Skepticism filled Cedric’s tone.

Rather than reply she tugged her gloves off and grasped his hands, putting them into the cold, crisp water of the fountain, and her fingers gently rubbed and scrubbed at his stinging palms. Then she brought his hands back up.

“Do you have a handkerchief?” she asked.

“In my breast pocket,” he said. He felt her hand delve into the pocket of his vest and retrieve it. The simple action was strangely erotic and sent his pulse fluttering. He was always the one to slide a hand under a lady’s bodice, or skirt. It was quite a different experience to have a lady’s hand moving under his clothes. He could feel the warmth of her skin close to his chest. With an inward grin, he relished the sensation of her soft hands invading his clothes.

When she found his handkerchief, she patted his hands dry and then held his palms up. Her warm breath glided over his skin in a soft pattern as she blew gently on his cuts to dry them.

“I don’t think they will bleed further. You must take care not to do anything rough to them for a few days so you won’t excite the cuts again.”

Her scolding tone caught him off guard and shattered the warm bubble of desire around him. “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied stiffly, more from shock than anything. “Pardon my bluntness, but why have you come?” The burning question why still plagued him.

Anne was silent for a long while before speaking. When she did, her hands pulled away from his, severing their contact.

“I am sure you’ve heard about my father.”

“I have,” Cedric said softly. “He was a good man, and I do not say that about most men of my acquaintance. You have my deepest sympathies and condolences.”

Pain lanced through him, sharp and sudden behind his ribs. His own parents’ coffins being lowered into twin graves. His two little sisters clutching his arms on either side, their cherubic faces stained with tears. Those were memories he did not want, memories he fought every day to keep buried.

“Thank you.” Her voice was steady, but he knew how strong Anne was and it made him proud of her. At the same time, he wanted to draw her close and whisper soft, sweet things in her ear, to comfort her.

That shocked him. Since when was he the sort of man to comfort? He was a rakehell, a seducer and rogue of the worst sort. Not one who cuddled a woman to his body.

“It is actually his death which has brought me to you.”

“Oh? I can’t imagine how…”

“If you forgive me for my bluntness, my lord, the truth of the matter is that I need to marry. My father’s death has left me wealthy and unfortunately more of a target for the fortune hunters of the ton than I would have liked.”

He didn’t miss the tinge of desperation in her voice. As long as he’d known her, she’d always shied from the public eye, and the burden of being an heiress must have been a great one.

“And what has this to do with me?” Cedric asked. Surely she didn’t think…it was too much to hope that she would ask him to court her again.

“I need a husband, and most of the eligible men seeking a bride are not what I would ever consider to be suitable matches. I came here…hoping that perhaps…” Her hands grasped his, and the action startled him, but he kept calm and gently held on to her.

What did she hope? His chest tightened. “Speak your mind, Miss Chessley,” Cedric demanded, perhaps a little too strongly. Her grip on his hands loosened, and his hands dropped into his lap.

“Perhaps this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have bothered you,” Anne muttered apologetically. He heard her rise to leave.

Cedric stood with her and reached blindly in her direction, hoping to catch her wrist to halt her. Instead his hand curled around the flare of a womanly full hip. Rather than release her, he dug his fingers in, just hard enough to halt her escape. A startled gasp came from the sudden contact.

“Tell me what you came to say, please,” he half-pleaded, not wanting her to go.

He’d spent so much time alone of late, which he’d thought he preferred given his condition. But Anne’s company was welcome. It reminded him of better times, yet it left no sting of his lost sight. Rather it lit a fire in his blood, reminding him of the way he used to tease her and how she’d resisted him with her delightful verbal sparring. He restrained himself from a grin when she did not try to escape his hold.

“I came to ask you if you would consider marriage…to me.” The last two words were a breathless whisper so faint, he wondered if he’d imagined them.

“You want to marry me?”

He could have Anne at last! Yet he’d sworn to himself that marriage wasn’t possible, that any woman who tied herself to him would never be happy with a damaged shell of a man. How could Anne think he would be a good choice? If she thought she could be his wife in name only, she was mistaken.

If he and Anne married, he would get her beneath him in a bed and find the heaven he knew awaited him there. If marriage was the only avenue in which he could find paradise, then he would have the banns read immediately. Still, if he knew Anne, which he did, there had to be a catch.

“Yes. Well…‘want’ is perhaps a strong word. But I would marry you if you asked me.”

“Why me?” If she had her pick of fortune hunters and other young bucks, why would she settle for a blind, pathetic fool? It made little sense.

“Of all the men I’ve met, you have remained interested in me and have no desire to pursue me for my fortune since it is well known yours is far greater than mine. I am under no illusion of the true reason for your interest. My father’s stallions would become yours, of course, should we marry. You would be free to breed your own mares with them. I thought perhaps that might entice you. I would be willing to work with you on the breeding, since it is a shared interest. I also believe we could grow to like each other well enough to get along. You have my father’s approval as well as Emily’s, and that assures me of your character.”

Cedric laughed to himself. Even with his rakish reputation among the ton and rumors in the papers, her father had approved of him? They’d met often at Tattersalls to discuss fine horseflesh. He and the late baron had agreed on nearly everything, except politics, but those debates had been lively and well-argued on both sides over glasses of port at clubs like White’s.

A deep pang struck him then at the sudden sense of loss of the baron. He’d let his blindness become a reason to wallow in his own darkness and hadn’t even given much thought to how Anne must feel. Her father, a man she was very close to since she’d lost her mother so young.

And she came to me for protection from fortune hunters…

The thought made him feel warm in a place deep inside that had been left cold these many long months since he’d lost his sight.

“You would honestly marry me? I must warn you, Miss Chessley, I am no longer the charmer I once was. My life has become…complicated.” The admission hurt him like a blow, but it was unavoidable. She had the right to know what she would face if she married him.

“I know, my lord. I had a favorite spaniel that went blind when I was a child. I know the hardships you face.” Her voice was still a touch breathless.

“I don’t think comparing me to a dog is quite helping your case, Miss Chessley.” He laughed wryly before becoming more serious. “I don’t respond well to pity, and if we married I would be your husband in full. I am sure you know what that means. Therefore, you should see yourself out.”

A short gasp escaped her, but he couldn’t tell if it was shock or outrage. Bloody hell, he couldn’t read her, not the way he used to. A faint tremor moved through her, and he felt it through his hand that still rested possessively on her hip.

“I would offer to escort you to the door, but it takes me a while to find my way out of the gardens once I get here.” Despite his telling her to leave, he didn’t remove his hold on her.

Fight me, Anne. Don’t go.

He hated telling her to leave, but he knew how it would be between them. She would remain icy, he would remain blind, and neither of them would ever figure out what to do with one another outside the bedroom. Such a concern might not have bothered him before, a part of him had always expected a marriage in name only, but since the happy marriages of his two close friends, he’d discovered he longed for more than sensual satisfaction with his wife, should he ever take one.

At first he’d brushed it off as sentimentality, but being surrounded by couples in love had altered his perceptions, and as he reviewed his childhood with more frequency since the accident, he remembered the easy relationship of his parents. He realized that a large part of him had always yearned for something similar. He wanted what his friends and parents had: love and friendship. He used to laugh about such things, as though they were the naïve aspirations of poets, but now he needed them.

“I am aware that you would be entitled to your rights as a husband. I would not deny you.” It was stiffly and bravely delivered, and she still did not back away from him or demand he stop touching her.

Cedric’s lips twitched. He had enough memory of her to know what expression accompanied that tone of voice. Her chin would be raised, her high cheekbones rosy with embarrassment and her lovely eyes flashing with unspoken indignation. His hand dropped from her hip, but he did not hear her leave. She remained close, the sound of her breath teasing his ears.

“You may agree to lie limp beneath me, but I do not want that in a wife. I desire a willing bedmate, something you made clear to me last spring that you would never be.”

“People change,” she answered.

“Perhaps, but a woman’s nature often does not. You were always fashioned of ice, Miss Chessley, and I have no intention of worsening my already crumbling life by freezing to death in your bed. Simply evading fortune hunters is not enough for you to seek me out. Do you think me stupid as well as blind?”

He felt the air shift before the slap hit him full across his face. The attack sparked a fire of arousal in him rather than anger. Maybe he could melt her after all.

“How dare you speak like that!” Anne hissed.

“I apologize if the truth hurts, but I am weary of the pretense of civilities. Now, please leave or else I may spout further truths that may be upsetting to you.”

“You ruthless cad!” Anne moved to strike him again, but he had the advantage of anticipating her reaction.

By luck alone, he caught her wrist and jerked her body against him. His other hand settled upon her shoulder and moved along to cup the nape of her neck. He held her still in his strong grip and moved gently toward her face. He was able to find her cheek and kiss a soft path to her lips. Once he found it, he abandoned all pretense of tenderness and ravaged her mouth.

She trembled in his embrace, her own tongue retreating from his at first. But he continued his campaign, rubbing his fingers on her neck in a soothing fashion until she relaxed against him. The swell of triumph he felt when her tongue slipped between his lips was glorious. And then Cedric withdrew, stepping back from her, his breath coming fast.

“If you can swear to respond like that to me in bed, then I will ask you to marry me.” It was a challenge he didn’t expect her to rise to, but he prayed she would. His desire for her, one he’d harbored for years, protecting the low banked fire, now sparked into a slowly building inferno. If only she could agree to open herself to him…

“I…can.” Her husky, breathless response tugged at his baser side, his lower parts hardening with need. She continued to speak, unaware of the effect she was having on him. “What I mean to say is you kiss much better than I expected.”

“You swear then? To respond in such a way each time I come to you?” Cedric pressed.

“I swear,” Anne promised, but Cedric heard the hesitancy in her voice.

He gentled his hold on her and tried to soften his voice. “I will not ever force you, if that is your concern. But I will warn you my appetite for pleasure is voracious.” He flashed her a smile he’d broken many hearts with and only wished he could see her reaction to it.

“I would rather handle your appetites, my lord, than suffer one more night at a ball having to dance with those fools who see me as no more than a pile of gold in a ball gown,” Anne declared.

Cedric nearly laughed. There was the spitfire he remembered, the one who rose to every challenge he issued. Maybe it was only a feeble imagining that she’d come to him out of pity or the belief that he wouldn’t press her for a full marital relationship now that he was blind. He was a betting man by nature, and he’d wager, given her response, that she loved to spar with him just as much as he liked to with her. Perhaps there was a chance for them after all.

“I suppose that settles it. I shall endeavor to do this properly then.” Cedric reached out to find the edge of the fountain’s base and used it as a steady force to get down on one knee. He reached out a hand in her direction.

“Please give me your hand, Miss Chessley.” He gripped her offered hand in his own, feeling the faint edges of mild calluses, a hand belonging to a woman whose world involved horses. She wasn’t wearing gloves. Strange, he hadn’t noticed it until now.

“Miss Chessley, would you do me the grand honor of being my wife?” He smiled, the absurdity of the moment too amusing to remain bottled up. It was a tragedy he couldn’t see her eyes. Would their gray depths sparkle with passion or be murky with uncertainty?

“Yes, my lord,” Anne replied, breathless again.

Cedric wondered whether his smile had affected Anne. He rose with her help and searched for his cane. She put it in his hands, and he felt her grip tighten as he smiled again.

Had his smile affected her? Or was she genuinely happy he’d proposed? God, he wished he could see. Too long he’d relied on the language of the eyes. Now he was lost, a clumsy man with only his ears and hands to guide him.

“Excellent. When would you prefer to announce this? I believe it is tradition to wait six months, until you are allowed to go into half-mourning.”

A panicked hand latched on to his sleeve. “No! I wish to marry within the week. The season is in full swing, and a quick marriage will end the numerous assaults on Chessley Manor by the bachelors of London.”

The pitch of her voice changed as she spoke of fortune hunters, and he wondered if that was the truth. Still, he would not question her if she was coming to him. The idea of being married held an appeal he hadn’t thought possible before. He wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore. Her voice would break through the darkness and keep him from falling into despair.

Still, there would be consequences. “You know the ton will have our heads over the scandal. They’ll assume you’re with child, or imagine worse motives for such haste.”

“I didn’t think you were the sort to fear scandal, my lord.” Her challenging tone had him biting back another laugh. How well the lady knew him! They really would suit after all, he had faith now.

“Of course not. I thrive on it. I was unaware that you shared my…lust for attention.” He wished he could have seen her face. Did she blush at his suggestive words?

“I may not lust for it, as you put it, but I don’t fear it.” Her tone suggested truth. He’d have heard her uneven breaths or a tremor in her voice had she been lying.

“You would prefer then that I procure a special license?”

“Yes, if it is not too much trouble,” Anne said.

“Very well. I will write to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Anne’s hands tightened in his as she leaned forward and brushed her lips on his cheek in a ghost of a kiss. Passion fought with tenderness inside him at the unexpected contact. She remained close by. “Would you like me to guide you back to the house?”

It was he who hesitated this time. Dare he agree and admit his fear of stumbling? Or would refusing upset her? Damnation, he wished he understood women better. He’d lived with his sisters for years and was intelligent enough to admit he knew next to nothing about the feminine species or their complex and often unfathomable views of humankind. Perhaps it was wiser to accept her offer than to upset her. “Yes. That would be good of you.”

Cedric was surprised when she tucked her arm in his and they proceeded along the cobblestoned path in silence. But it was not a rigid silence like he expected. Something between them had changed. He only wished he knew what it meant. But he would soon find out. They were to wed, after all. How odd that he was torn between dread and fascination.

2

“I think it only fitting that he’s been deprived of sight, devil that he is. May he never fix his lecherous gaze on another virtuous woman ever again,” Lord Upton announced to the men in the main card room of Berkley’s, an elite gentlemen’s club. There were several murmurs of agreement on this, but an equal number of disgruntled mutters.

Cedric entered the card room, fighting off the natural panic of being in a room where he felt intensely vulnerable. “Stow it, Upton. I’m blind, not deaf. Do not make me call you out.”

His cane swung back and forth across the carpet as he navigated his way through the tables. He could not see Lord Upton’s face, but the disquiet in the area of where he heard Upton’s voice was telling. Cedric smiled and waited for his friend Ashton Lennox to join him.

“Cedric?”

He flinched at the sudden sound of his friend’s voice. Ashton had a way of walking softly as a cat.

Although Cedric could no longer see, he remembered well enough how Ashton looked. Tall, pale blond hair and sharp blue eyes. Ashton was one of his closest friends and the one Cedric trusted most to help him survive without his sight. Ash had always been more patient than the other League members, and he needed that dependable patience to help him muddle through now. He could imagine the intense gaze his friend fixed on him at that moment. Even in a world of darkness, he still sensed when he was being watched.

“It’s fine. Upton is a damned fool, that is all.” He discreetly gripped Ashton’s right arm and let Ashton lead him toward the private parlor that was reserved for him and his friends. Although his pride demanded he make his way on his own, reason reminded him that if he were to be so foolish as to walk without someone to guide him, he’d likely trip and give that bastard Lord Upton just what he wanted from Cedric, to be the laughingstock of the room.

Sleep with a man’s daughter one time and don’t marry her…he acts like I burned down his house.

Cedric’s ears picked up on the sneer in Upton’s voice, which seemed far too close for comfort. “Dueling with a blind man? His honor is not worth that foolish endeavor.”

Cedric stiffened and cursed his remaining senses, which had heighted in awareness since his loss of sight, especially his hearing.

“Pay him no heed,” Ashton said coolly.

“Unfortunately, he’s right. I’d have to have my second point my pistol in the right direction, and even then the shot would be unlikely.” He let this slip in his usually sardonic tone, but the truth of it ate away at his insides.

That was perhaps one of the worst things about losing his sight and having his balance diminished. He could no longer ride, shoot, or hunt. He couldn’t do anything he used to do. Even going to his gentlemen’s club had become a nuisance. He felt exposed without one of his friends accompanying him. Over the past several months he’d learned to recognize men based on their voices and the way they walked, but it wasn’t enough to feel secure when he was out and about in London. Every sense was heightened, yet his concern that he could be attacked remained just as high. Having his sight last December hadn’t saved him from danger, and now he was even more vulnerable.

An assassin almost certainly hired by Sir Hugo Waverly had tried to kill him last Christmas. The assassin had almost succeeded, and it was because of this Cedric had lost his sight. Trapped in a burning cottage with his sister Horatia, he truly thought they were going to die. At the last moment, Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, had found them and dragged them both bodily from the burning building as flames leapt around them. The last thing Cedric remembered was the sound of a wood beam groaning as it broke from the ceiling and collapsed on his head, forcing him into this world of darkness.

The doctor who had seen to him had been unable to determine whether his condition would be permanent. But Cedric had accepted it as such after the first two months passed. Cedric had opened his eyes each morning to a slate of gray; every night he’d forgotten in his sleep that his eyes were sightless, and every morning he awoke anew to the agony of his loss.

At first he’d suffered from a stifling panic, but he’d forced himself to calm down with slow, deep breaths. What followed then was an aching sadness, a helplessness that made him furious and terrified. He was resigned to darkness and to living life at a slow pace, doing little with himself until yesterday when he’d received Anne in the garden.

It was Anne’s visit that had him calling a meeting of his closest friends, known to most of London through the society papers as the League of Rogues. The League consisted of Godric, the Duke of Essex; his half brother, Jonathan St. Laurent; Lucien, the Marquess of Rochester; Charles, the Earl of Lonsdale; Ashton, Baron Lennox; and himself.

Cedric felt Ashton’s muscles in his arm shift as Ashton opened the door to the private parlor. The rumble of familiar voices surrounded him as he and Ashton entered the room.

“Good to see you, Cedric,” Godric said somewhere to Cedric’s left. Godric had somehow managed to leave the arms of his sweet wife, Emily, to join them at the club.

He remembered how Godric had convinced the League to abduct the poor woman last year when her uncle had embezzled money from Godric. She was meant to be a pawn in a larger game, only it turned out Emily was far better at moving the pieces. That abduction had landed Godric with a wife who had been up to the challenge of taming him. Cedric grinned. Nothing had been the same for the League since Emily had become a part of their lives.

“Is everyone here?” Cedric listened to the shuffle of boots and the rustle of clothing as the men took their seats nearby.

“All here,” Lucien announced. That red-headed devil had recently married Cedric’s sister, Horatia, even facing a duel with Cedric to do so. More than once it had occurred to him that his blindness might somehow be God’s punishment for his stubbornness on the matter.

Cedric trusted these five men with his life. With the exception of Jonathan, they had survived countless close calls with death and been a party to many scandals in the ton. But above all they were friends, and it was as friends that he needed them the most now.

“What’s this you said in your note about news?” Jonathan asked.

“Can someone pour me a scotch and push me toward a chair?” he asked with a half-joking smile. His friends chuckled.

Ashton urged him a few steps forward, and Cedric’s knees brushed the firm cushion of a chair. He took a seat and set his cane down on the floor.

“First, before we hear what Cedric has to say, I have some news of my own,” Lucien said, his voice a little breathless with excitement. “Is it all right if I speak, Cedric?” His voice carried some secret weight, at least to Cedric’s heightened hearing. What could make Lucien, one of the boldest men he’d ever known, become timid?

Cedric nodded.

“Horatia and I…well…we are expecting. The doctor confirmed it this morning.”

“A baby?” Cedric sat up, elated at the thought. He then thought of Anne and himself. Would they someday be announcing such news? Was he ready to be a father? Instinct said no, but his heart still stirred at the thought.

“Yes. The doctor said she has been with child for two months now. We can expect the child in November.” The pride and warmth in Lucien’s tone was obvious.

Four months ago Cedric had been appalled and infuriated when his friend, a rakehell who could make Lucifer himself blush, and Cedric’s sister had become lovers. It had felt like he’d lost his sister, a companion he’d relied on so much, and one of the two people in his life it was his duty to protect from rogues with wicked reputations. Now it was one of the most wonderful things in the world to know that his friend and sister were so in love and so happy with each other. Secretly, he’d feared that a marriage between them would put some distance between him and Lucien, but it hadn’t.

Cedric and Lucien’s friendship had been through a rough patch last December, but Cedric couldn’t deny the truth. Lucien loved his sister with a depth Cedric hadn’t thought possible. And soon Lucien would love the child who was on the way. Envy slithered inside Cedric, curling and twisting. He wanted a marriage like that, with love and children.

He sighed wearily. Lord, I’m getting sentimental. Time and circumstance had changed them all, it seemed.

The cheers and teasing commenced all around Cedric as the warmth of his friends cloaked him.

“Congratulations!” Charles and Ashton said from either side of Cedric.

“A baby Russell,” Jonathan marveled with a devious chuckle. “Your mother must be pleased as punch, Lucien.”

Cedric was unable to stop his grin. “I’m to be an uncle then?”

Lucien laughed. “Many times over, I hope.”

Cedric glowered. “Have a care, man, that’s my sister you married, not a broodmare.”

“Very well, I’ll let Horatia decide the number of children. But you will have to deal with my mother when she doesn’t get her ten desired grandchildren.”

“Now,” Jonathan prompted. “Let us hear your news, Cedric.”

“Oh…right. Well, Ashton and I have just come from the Doctors’ Commons where I procured a special marriage license. I’m to be married within the week.”

There was a spewing sound and brandy sprayed over Cedric’s face.

“Bloody hell! Who did that?”

“Apologies,” said Charles. “You just caught me off guard. Did I hear you correctly?”

Cedric removed his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face, trying not to scowl in Charles’s direction.

“Married to whom?” Lucien asked, his tone echoing Charles’s disbelief.

“Anne Chessley.” He waited for any sort of reaction, but he hadn’t expected the silence he met instead. What were they doing? Staring at him with gaping mouths or glancing at each other in concern? Damn my eyes. A chair creaked nearby as someone shifted in their seat.

“What? No congratulations?” Cedric tried to joke, but his grin faltered as the silenced continued.

Finally Ashton broke the quiet. “I think they are merely surprised as you gave up on courting Anne last year.”

Lucien cut in. “And she is supposed to be in mourning for her father.”

“Marriage next week seems extremely scandalous, even for gentlemen like us,” Ashton added.

Godric spoke up, his tone gentle. “Ashton makes a fair point. Not that I care one whit about what society considers scandalous. Not when there are true injustices in the world. I am deuced glad to hear you are marrying Anne. I know Emily will be ecstatic to hear you and Anne finally settled down together. She was always convinced that you cared more about Anne than you let on.”

“The only reason I’m not congratulating you, old boy, is because you’ve now evened the odds of sane men versus married men in this room.” Charles’s droll tone set Cedric’s teeth on edge. “Ash, Jonathan and I will have to hold out against being leg-shackled.”

Cedric snorted at this. Charles and marriage went as well together as…well…Charles and a convent full of nuns—which, in other words, was not well at all.

“Anyone else care to question my judgment in marrying Anne?” Cedric asked defensively.

“I am not questioning your judgment,” Ashton replied, “but I am most curious as to how it came about. I agreed to take you to obtain a special license, but until now you’ve been close-lipped on the matter of why.”

Cedric sighed. It was a question that had been plaguing him since Anne came to see him the day before. With any others he would not breathe a word of his true feelings, nor explain what had transpired with Anne the day before. But the League had different rules. They shared the darkest of secrets without a second thought, such was the depth of their trust in one another.

“As you know, Anne is now the heiress to her father’s estate since he passed away. Apparently the young bucks and fortune hunters are already in relentless pursuit of her fortune. She sought me out and proposed a scheme of sorts.”

“A scheme?” Godric sounded intrigued by Cedric’s choice of words. The last time the League had involved themselves in a scheme, they’d taken part in a messy abduction, and Godric ended up married.

“Yes, she asked me to ask her to marry her.”

“Hold on, you’re telling me that Anne, the ice maiden, asked you to propose to her?” Charles didn’t sound convinced.

“She’s not an ice maiden,” Cedric growled.

“Weren’t you the one who named her that?” Charles reminded him.

Cedric clenched his fists. “I was mistaken. I expect all of you to respect my wish that she never be addressed that way in or out of her hearing again.”

“Of course, old boy, whatever you say,” Charles agreed.

“So finish the story,” Jonathan prodded.

Cedric gave a little shrug. “It is that and nothing more. She suggested the scheme, and I agreed and got down on one knee and asked her to be my wife.”

There was another interminable period of silence that seemed almost to deafen his sensitive eardrums as he waited for his friends to speak. Even the other conversations in the room had died down, as if the men in the room were straining to overhear what was going on in their little corner.

“But why did you agree to ask her?” Godric inquired, the only one brave enough to shatter the quiet.

He steeled himself and spoke, soft but firm. “Not one of you in this room can comprehend what it has been like for me. I cannot live as I used to, cannot pursue the life I once had. But when Anne came to me, I realized that she may be my one and only chance left to live.”

The silence in the room now filled with tension. With that awful silence suffocating him, he started to speak. His friends had to understand why he’d agreed to Anne’s offer.

“She has agreed to marry me despite all the things I cannot give her. I cannot praise her for her loveliness. I cannot take her to balls and dance with her. I cannot even go riding with her. That she has come to me over these other men seeking her hand, it lessens the sting of my current condition. I believe, given time, that we may be able to make ourselves decently happy together.”

“Decently happy? Cedric, you deserve love, great love, not decent,” Godric replied with surprisingly deep emotion. Lucien murmured his agreement with this.

Cedric shook his head. It was so easy for them to believe that. They had both been lucky to find women who loved them. He was not so fortunate. His past was shadowed with far too many regrets and poor decisions. Fate held no such love for him, and decent was in itself a gift.

“It is kind that you think so, Godric, but I do not agree. I’ve hurt both my family and my friends too often of late and have been a selfish bastard most of my life.” He held up a hand to silence the murmurs of disagreement. “I plan to marry Anne in a week, and I wish you all to attend.” He let the invitation slip out a little more quietly, suddenly afraid that his friends would desert him.

“I shall be there,” Ashton said, putting a hand on Cedric’s shoulder.

“Horatia would have my guts for garters if we missed it.” Lucien’s reply made Cedric snort. His little sister would no doubt have Lucien trussed up in the finest clothes of her choosing and sitting on the first row of the church pew. If only I could have my sight back for one moment to see that.

Godric and Jonathan assured him they too would come.

Charles was the last to speak. With an exaggerated sigh he said, “I suppose I ought to go, if only to make sure you don’t trip and knock out the archbishop. That sort of thing is likely to bring lightning down on us all, and Christ knows I’ve got enough bolts of wrath thrown at me every day.”

A rough pat on the shoulder shook Cedric as Godric spoke. “In honor of your announcement, would I be able to tempt you to dine with us tonight? Emily will send Anne an invitation as well. It would be good to have everyone together again.”

“If you wish. Just send word to me when dinner is and I shall be there.” Cedric fumbled for his cane where he’d set it down. Another hand touched his as it found the cane and pressed it into his palm.

“Thank you,” Cedric said.

“You’re welcome.” Jonathan cleared his throat. “And how does Miss Audrey fare, if I might ask? I was told she and Lady Russell are currently in France?”

“Yes. They are somewhere near Nice the last I heard,” Cedric said.

He had sent his youngest sister, Audrey, on a European tour with Lucien’s mother just a few weeks after Lucien and Horatia married in early January. Audrey was eighteen and a pretty, vivacious girl. She’d managed to do well growing up without their parents, having only Cedric as her guardian. This year should have been her second season, but Cedric’s blindness had left him unable to escort her to balls and parties, her lifeblood for entertainment. Audrey had been moping about for nearly two months, and he’d felt like he’d lamed a favorite horse. She needed to be out in the world, experiencing life, so he’d asked Lucien’s mother to take Audrey abroad to Europe for half a year.

Next year would be soon enough to unleash Audrey onto the world. She was innocent and naïve, but also determined to get a husband, a deadly combination for her virtue and Cedric’s nerves. Therefore, he had proposed her trip with the promise that as soon as she returned he would have a potential husband waiting for her. He would collect a smattering of men he approved of and would present them to her and let her choose.

It turned out Audrey’s absence had been a blow to Cedric’s social tendencies. He missed her morning chatter about the latest Parisian fashions over breakfast, missed her insistence that they go driving in Hyde Park in his phaeton so she might see the handsome bucks of London. He missed her hugs and the patter of her slippers on the stairs. He’d sworn long ago that his sisters were a damned nuisance, but he’d since eaten those words and enjoyed the pair of sisters he’d been gifted with and had stopped cursing his luck for having no brothers. Horatia and Audrey were everything to him, the only family he had left. Horatia’s marriage and Audrey’s trip had left him very alone in his townhouse.

“Well, I had best be off. Er…Ash, would you assist me to the carriage?” Asking for help wounded his already battered pride, but the embarrassment of asking his friends was lessening slowly. They did not offer pity, and once he realized this, he was thankful. They merely helped him, and that meant a thousand words he’d never say to them.

“Of course.” Cedric felt Ashton’s hand take his arm and guide him toward the door.

“I’ll send word on dinner to everyone,” Godric called out cheerfully before the parlor door swung open.

“Now, where shall we go?” Ashton asked Cedric politely. He never seemed to mind accompanying Cedric on his errands about London.

Cedric grinned. “To see my future bride.”

3

Anne Chessley stood in the entryway of her townhouse on Regent Street. Her back and neck were tense as she fought to remain poised and cool, hoping to hide her racing heart and the creeping flush in her cheeks. Had it only been yesterday that she foolishly sought out Viscount Sheridan and convinced him to propose to her?

God, please don’t let this be a mistake. What if he didn’t come? What if he changed his mind and didn’t go through with the wedding? Anne shoved the thoughts aside, though not easily.

How much difference one day can make, she thought. Since her father had passed the week before, sleep had eluded her, but last night…she’d drifted to sleep with thoughts of Cedric and that wicked kiss he’d given her. No, not given, shared. As much as it embarrassed her to admit it, she’d kissed him back.

Anne smoothed her black crepe gown over her hips and sighed. The ripples of the stiff fabric were an uncomfortable reminder of her mourning and her grief. Her father, Archibald Chessley, was dead, and she was alone in the world.

She was too logical not to be aware that part of her still denied he was dead. She had witnessed his lifeless body when she’d found him in his chair in the library, cold as marble, after a chambermaid had rushed to her bedroom to tell her he was gone.

The emptiness of her home had cut her deeply and driven her to action. She couldn’t stand the silence anymore. A part of her still expected him to emerge from his study, cigar smoke wafting from him, or to have him join her outside and offer to go riding together in Hyde Park. It had just been the two of them since she was four when her mother, Julia, had died from pneumonia.

And mere days after his death, she’d been forced to endure suitor after suitor leaving their cards on silver trays, hoping she’d give them a chance to court her. All for her blasted inheritance. If they acted this way while she was still in mourning, the fortune hunters would become more determined to compromise her, even at the risk of scandal, in order to coerce her into marriage. Such a marriage was an unimaginable fate that she needed to avoid at all costs. She could only think of one person who wouldn’t care about her money and whom she could stand to marry. Viscount Sheridan.

She smiled faintly. He was a tall, handsome gentleman with brown hair and warm brown eyes. A stubborn jaw and aquiline nose gave him a rebellious and imperious look, but his full, sensual lips revealed his humorous streak. She loved to watch him grin. His smiles always sent her pulse dancing and erased her rational thoughts.

She’d gone to him because she knew she could be honest with him, let him know the truth about why she needed to marry with haste. What she hadn’t realized until last night, when she’d returned to an empty house, was how desperate and lonely she was. No more late-night conversations by the fire with her father, no morning breakfast chatter. Just deafening silence.

She assumed that a man like Cedric would not understand her wish to marry out of loneliness and it might not engender his sympathy. Yet he was the only man she could stand the thought of marrying. They shared a surprising number of interests, and could likely make a go of it, if he went through with it.

It was why rushing to him had seemed so natural. He always had something of interest to say, even when he wasn’t trying to shock or seduce her. Being around him, she’d never felt alone.

But seeing him yesterday had been unexpectedly painful. He’d been sitting by the fountain, hands cut and bleeding, trousers and shirt dirty all along the front. It had been obvious he’d fallen shortly before she’d arrived. Seeing the blood on his hands and the almost casual way he’d forgotten about it jolted her heart. It seemed he’d grown used to falling, to getting hurt. No one should be in such constant pain that they grew accustomed to it like that.

Anne had wanted to wrap her arms about the wounded viscount’s neck and comfort him, but she resisted. They knew so little of each other, and he didn’t know her well enough to see the difference between pity and compassion. He would despise her if he thought she pitied him. She only desired to comfort a man who had been deeply hurt. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he might have endured since he’d lost his sight.

It had been ages since she’d seen him. All the balls she attended, the dinner parties, were empty without him there. He’d closeted himself up in his house and no longer participated in life. It was as though he’d given up, and something about that made her chest tighten. A man like him should be experiencing life, not closeted at home. Perhaps if they married he could find some peace and she would ease the sting of her lonely heart by keeping him company, perhaps even easing him into some activities again.

Yes, I’ll convince him to live again. Why that mattered so much, she didn’t want to consider too deeply.

So here she stood, waiting for him to arrive so they could discuss the details of their new life together. But try as she might to focus on the future, her mind kept reliving their kiss from yesterday. In all of his seductions last spring he’d never kissed her. He’d teased and hinted about it, but she’d politely rebuffed him each time. Then yesterday he’d taken control and changed her life with one fiery meeting of their mouths. After that Anne knew she would marry him. The hunger tinged with desperation in his kiss sent her spiraling with mirrored longing. It was as though something ancient and soul deep had stirred to life, and she couldn’t deny the urge to satisfy that hunger any longer.

It hadn’t been her first kiss. Her first had been taken—stolen—by a man she despised. A man who still frightened her. And he’d stolen more than just a kiss. He’d taken something that she could never reclaim. At only eighteen years old, she’d lost any right to a marriage like her friends. Any potential bridegroom would have realized she was no longer a virgin, and the scandal it created would be unbearable.

She would have to tell Cedric, but not yet. Not until after they were married. It felt wrong to conceal such an important truth from him, but she couldn’t risk losing his agreement to their union.

She’d learned firsthand that men had but one goal, to pleasure themselves, often at a woman’s expense. But Cedric’s kiss had promised something different. It had teased, then instructed and then encouraged her to seek her own pleasure from him. He’d then said that he would only marry her if she promised to respond to him like that. He wanted a willing bed partner, a willing lover.