Beauty and the Earl (29 page)

“Well?” he asked, trying to keep his raging desire from being too obvious. Desperation was never an attractive trait.

She nodded, a bit slowly.

“Good. I would like to know more about you—”

Before he could ask more, she shook her head hard, her eyes going wide and wild. He frowned.

“Nothing to identify you,” he reassured her. “You say I have not seen you here before—have you
been
here before?”

She seemed to consider the answer. To consider running away, but then she slowly shook her head in the negative.
 

“I see.” He looked her up and down. “Is there a reason you came here?”

She dropped her chin, breaking their gaze and leaving him feeling strangely…lost. She nodded.

“Hmm, that is very interesting,” he said, stroking his chin. He thought of all the possibilities of why a woman…perhaps a lady…would come to this desperate and debauched place.

“Did you come to gamble?”

She immediately shook her head.

“Not to gamble. Then that must mean you came for the…
other
diversions this place offers.” He couldn’t help but grin, for that had been his hope with every step toward her.

But to his surprise, she took a side-glance at some of the couples engaging in public sensuality. There were moans in the air, flashes of flesh. Her breath caught and she blushed, but he sensed her deep arousal beneath her shock. So she liked to watch…well, so did he.
 

She shook her head, though it was much slower and less certain than the other times she had indicated the negative.

“Then did you come looking for someone?”

She nodded, lifting her face back toward his, her desire faded in an instant.
 

“Your father?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Your brother?” Another hesitation and the negative, indicated by the shake of her head. He took a deep breath. “Your husband?”

Her cheeks filled with heated color as she shook her head.

“Ah, I see. Someone you care for, though.” He tilted his head to watch her more carefully. This answer meant something to him, though he had no idea why.

Her response was slow, but she nodded once. He scowled despite himself. So the woman had a lover…or a love she was seeking. It could not possibly matter to him. He had no ties to her.

And yet he felt irritated. Frustrated. As if something had been stolen from him.

“Do I know him?” he asked.

She nodded swiftly and his body clenched. “I thought you said you did not know me. How would you know I was acquainted with the gentleman you seek?”

Her lips parted and she took a step away. “I—” she gasped, then lifted her hand to cover her mouth.
 

“Who are you?” he asked, covering the distance she had placed between them and then a little more, so that he crowded her closer to the wall behind her.
 

“Please,” she whispered, and he narrowed his eyes.
 

Her voice—though she masked it by making her tone lower, huskier—bordered on the familiar, but he couldn’t place her no matter how hard he tried.
 

“Who are you?” he repeated.

She moved, but he caught her elbow and drew her closer. She staggered against him, and the length of her body molded to his. He stared down into dark brown eyes, wide with fear, lips parted in surprise. She was warm in his arms and her shallow breath echoed in his ears and blocked out anything else in the busy room.

He should have asked her again who she was. Or slid a finger beneath her cheap mask and pulled it away from her face to reveal her identity then and there. He did neither. Instead, he lowered his face, covered her mouth with his and kissed her.

For a moment, she was stiff and shocked in his embrace. But then her mouth softened and she relaxed against him, surrendering to what he was taking.
 

He parted his mouth over her, darting his tongue to trace the crease of her full lips. They parted on a surprise gasp and he delved inside, tasting mint, a hint of sherry, the beginnings of desire as their molded bodies tangled.

Then, just as suddenly as she had offered a sample of surrender, she pulled back. He was too surprised by the abruptness of her departure to grasp her arm, and she slipped from his embrace, turned on her heel and bolted from the room and out the door into the street.

He watched the hem of her dress disappear into the night and felt like time had slowed. There was a pit low in his belly, something he recognized all too well, though he hadn’t felt it for a long time.
 

He
wanted
this woman with a power that thrummed with his heartbeat and made him rock hard and achy. He would have her.
 

But first he had to find out who she was.

It’s his last night on earth…and his final wish will be her command.

One Night Of Surrender

© 2014 Evie North

The Brothers Mortmain, Book 1

Like his two brothers, Sir Gervais Hawley, son of the Earl of Mortmain, is reckless and wild. But now his days are numbered. Given up to the Bow Street Runners for robbing a coach, he has been sent to Newgate to hang.

Every man on death row is granted a final wish—if he has the money. Gervais has more money than most, and his final wish is for a taste of something sweeter than mere food. He wants Katherine, a woman falsely imprisoned. For one night in her arms, he will pay the debts that will set her free.

From the moment she saw Gervais in the corridors of Newgate, Katherine felt the spark of attraction. In exchange for her freedom, she agrees to his terms: one night in his bed, obey his every command.

Their passionate encounter is more than Katherine ever expected. And as the cock crow draws near, her body and heart crave more. But Gervais is headed for the gallows…unless fate intervenes.

Warning: A handsome lord and a bewitching woman having a great deal of hot and enjoyable sex together. And a tiny bit of bondage to finish off.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
One Night Of Surrender:

Katherine could not stop shivering as she followed Turnkey Martin along cold stone corridors and up narrow, grimy stone stairs. It might have been the chill air in the underground prison cells where she’d come from, or it could have been the hasty, lukewarm bath she’d been forced to undertake before she was dressed in some cast-off, ill-fitting clothing, which was at least clean, and had her wet hair bundled up under a white linen cap.

She couldn’t believe this was happening.

That he’d asked for
her.

And she couldn’t believe she’d said yes.

But then again, wasn’t anything worth it, if it meant she could escape the filth and horror of the most infamous prison in England? Newgate, despite being rebuilt twenty years earlier, was the worst of places. When she’d been brought here six months ago Katherine had felt as if she was entering one of Dante’s circles of Hell.

She, the teacher’s daughter. Well-read, ladylike, unassuming…how could
she
have come to this?

Onward they went. Katherine’s ill-fitting clogs clattered on the bare stone floor. When she wasn’t holding up the h em of her too-long skirt to prevent herself from tripping over, she kept the handkerchief to her nose, with its faint scent of better days. And to remind herself that the man she was going to now had been kind to her, once.

“How are you feelin’, Kathy?” the turnkey asked in hushed tones, glancing around.

“Resigned,” Katherine whispered back.

Turnkey Martin was a decent man, and therefore like gold dust in a place like Newgate, where everyone was after something. Bribes were commonplace. Clothing was stolen from sleeping or dead prisoners and sold on, and if you wanted something better than the stale piece of bread and gruel for your supper, then you had to find some coins to pass on down the line.

But this turnkey had been kind to her. He once confessed he’d taken the work because he’d been a prisoner himself, and had no option when the outside world would no longer consider him. So he remained here, in Newgate, and Katherine for one was glad of him.

“This is where they put the toffs,” Turnkey informed her. “See, it’s cleaner. And the torches are lit. And you can smell proper food,” he added, and lifted his large nose to sniff the air.

He was right. They had reached the area of the prison reserved for the important prisoners; the wealthy gentlemen.
 

The
crème de la crème
of Newgate.

Soon she would be given over to her fate and that fate was Gervais Hawley, gentleman highwayman currently residing in Newgate.

She’d seen him strolling about the prison, dressed as if he were attending a society ball in his tight breeches and well-cut superfine jacket, his dark hair brushed neatly, his handsome face cleanly shaven.

Gervais Hawley.
The Honourable
Gervais Hawley
.

Wealthy aristocrat. Gentleman. Darling of London society.

Highwayman. Thief. About to be hanged at the gallows tomorrow morning.

Men who were about to be hanged had a final wish. Turnkey had explained it to her. If that wish could be granted by the Keeper of the Gaol, and if the prisoner could pay enough bribes and fees and grease enough palms, then it would be.

Gervais’s wish was a night with Katherine.

“You don’ have to do it,” Turnkey had assured her, when the offer was first mooted, his monkey face screwed up with concern. “But if you do then Gervais has said he’ll pay off your creditors and Keeper will let you out. Freedom, Kathy, eh? How does that sound? And it’s not as if—”

“As if I haven’t done it before?” Katherine had finished for him.

Well it wasn’t, was it? She’d had a man in her bed, and surely all men were much the same?

Perhaps she made a noise because once again the turnkey glanced at her over his shoulder. They’d reached a thick blackened door and now he had found the right key from his bunch and held it poised over the lock.

“Ready?” he asked.

Was she? She opened her mouth to say that no, she wasn’t ready and she didn’t want to do this. She wanted to go back to her filthy, crowded cell and spend the next year or so locked in there, awaiting the money to pay Edward’s debts. Money Edward owed, and just because he had run off didn’t mean the debt could be wiped clean. She’d begged his family to help but they’d never liked her, never thought she was good enough for their son—and besides she and Edward weren’t married, though he’d always promised her father that he would. It came down to the fact that someone had to pay off the debt, and the rest of the world had decided that someone was Katherine.

Not surprisingly, Katherine shut her mouth again and nodded.

Martin turned his key in the lock and the door creaked open. Light spilled out like a ray of sunlight, reaching toward her. Suddenly she could feel warmth and smell food. Katherine felt light-headed with hunger—she hadn’t been able to eat her gristle-filled gruel today. The sight of the sour bits floating on top of the watery soup, along with her worries about this meeting, had turned her stomach.

“Lady to see you, sir!” Turnkey called into the room, with some humour, and a wink at Katherine. He waited until she took an awkward step over the threshold, and then another, before swinging the heavy door shut again behind her. She heard it lock.

Her blue eyes grew wide and she looked wildly about her.

This wasn’t a cell, surely?

With soft thick rugs on the floor and rich tapestries to hide the damp stone walls it had all the appearance of a wealthy gentleman’s residence. And there were furnishings! A comfortable divan set with cushions, a table groaning with platters of food, and candles in silver sconces blazing from every surface. And amid all this luxury… Her gaze came to rest upon the man at its centre.

The Honourable Gervais Hawley, standing with a glass of red wine in his hand, watching her with a half smile curving his sensual mouth.

She stared back. With his dark hair and eyes, his narrow face and aristocratic nose, he was so handsome she felt as though she was frozen to the spot, afraid to move in case he vanished in a puff of smoke. Newgate was not a place for beauty, but Gervais was tall and well made, his white shirt open at his throat to show a swathe of brown masculine skin. The snug fit of his trousers delineated his strong muscled thighs and long legs, ending in highly polished boots.

Gervais was every inch a toff. How on earth had he come to be in this awful place?

“Sit down, Katherine.” His voice was deep and warm, and it seemed to delve inside her so that its echoes tingled, fizzing through her blood.

The first time she’d seen him was in the courtroom of the Old Bailey next door, where she had been sentenced to prison for Edward’s unpaid debts. Gervais Hawley had been passing, surrounded by guards and admirers, but when he’d seen her tear-streaked face he’d stopped and produced a snowy white handkerchief.