The Seduction
Authors: Julia Ross
The Seduction
Julia Ross
Praise for
Μ
y Dark Prince
"With this thrilling adventure of the heart, Julia Ross establishes
herself as a powerful, distinctive force in the evolution of the romance genre.
. . '. A new legend in heroes, Ms. Ross's mercurial, complex prince embodies
every woman' s secret desire for a love beyond the ordinary. Darkly erotic and
sensually stunning, this innovative and spellbinding romance will enslave your
heart and fill your dreams."
-Romantic Times
(41/2 stars)
"Don't miss this beautifully written, intensely satisfying love
story. . . . Passionate, complex, and compelling. . .
Ι
am in awe.
Highly
recommended."
-Mary Balogh
"
Ι
thoroughly enjoyed
Μ
y Dark Prince.
If you enjoy exciting,
entertaining, wonderfully written romance, read this book."
-Jo Beverley
"A fantastic cast of characters . . . Julia Ross traps the reader
from page one . . . outstanding . . . a breathtaking and mesmerizing historical
romance. This is romance in its finest hour."
-The Romance Journal
"Lovers of tortured heroes and intense stories will take this one
to their hearts. . . .
Μ
y Dark Prince
has a plot filled with
complications and dangers-real dangers. . . . [Nicholas] is as dark and hurting
as any hero of Anne Stuart's. . . . A tale that will grab you and compel you to
finish it in one sitting . . .
Ι
don't
think I'm going to forget this one any time soon."
-All About Romance
"A powerful story of the redemptive power of love, with one of the
most tortured heroes
Ι
have
come across in quite a while . . . a tour de force of plotting and
storytelling… An extremely well crafted story that succeeds in making what
should be unbelievable seem perfectly reasonable. . .
Μ
y Dark Prince
has loads of danger and adventure. . . compelling . . . poignant . . .
the definition of a 'keeper:"
-The Romance
Reader
"Enjoyable. . . fast-paced . . . the lead couple is a divine
pair."
-Harriet Κlausner
B
Α Berkley Book
Published by The Berkley Publishing Group
Α division of Penguin Putnam Inc.
375 Hudson Street
New York, New York 10014
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance tο actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright @ 2002 by Jean Ross Ewing.
Cover art by Greisbach and Marrucci.
Text design by Tiffany Kukec.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without
permission. BERΚLEY and the "Β" design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition
Ι
June 2002
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ross, Julia.
The seduction
/
Julia Ross.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-425-08469-2 1.
Country life-Fiction. 2. England-Fiction. Ι. Title.
PS3618.0846 S43 2002
813'.6--dc21
2002019037
PRINTED
IN THE UNITED STATES OF
AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
This book is respectfully dedicated
to the memory of
Dorothy Dunnett.
Lymond will remain forever unequalled.
PROLOGUE
HE HAD LOST.
INCONCEIVABLY HE HAD LOST!
Shock reverberated, choking.
Everything he owned - investments, jewels,
weapons, even his home, Gracechurch Abbey - would not be enough to cover what
he had just wagered and lost.
Lace cascaded as Alden pressed his handkerchief
to his lips.
He had piled risk on risk with reckless abandon.
Yet he had been almost abstemious tonight - or had he? He couldn't quite
remember. His pulse careened with an unnatural excitement, as if he might
dissolve at any moment.
Shadows raced over the candlelit study, sliding
over bottles and glasses, across the cards and the mad deluge of promissory
notes on the table, to lose themselves at last in the mullioned windows. Beyond
that wavering glass, King George's London schemed and reeked, indifferent to
the fate of Alden Granville-Strachan, Viscount Gracechurch, who had just gamed
away everything.
Dread desiccated his mouth and hammered in his
veins.
Ι am obliterated!
Lord Edward Vane, long jaw sleek, as polished as
ivory, pinched out a guttering candle. "Ι’ faith, Gracechurch! Still
so unmoved by your losses, sir? What the deuce would excite you? Double the
stakes?"
Alden met the man's cold, oddly vacant stare - a
petty nastiness not uncommon among the younger sons of peers - last faced that
morning across the point of a rapier. An exhilarating fencing partner, the lean
and hungry Lord Edward Vane: Alden had never been quite sure that the duke's
son would not, on a whim, thrust home to the heart.
Yet that interesting exercise had brought Alden
here, to game away the night in Lord Edward's townhouse. Α chance
encounter. Α narrow victory against a more skilled swordsman than himself.
An invitation to cards - to give the duke's son his chance at revenge. Alden
had no one to blame but himself.
Perfume from the handkerchief uncoiled like a
snake in his nostrils.
He was not among friends.
The third player's powdered wig grew like an
excrescence above his red face. In his garish coat and dirty lace, Sir Reginald
Denby seemed a deuced odd companion for the duke's exquisite son. Yet Denby's
heavy fingers splayed over his winning cards, where Alden's queen and knave lay
stiff with unconcern as they faced their little court of fellows, all trumps.
To have lost such inconceivable sums to Lord Edward Vane was to have plunged
directly into the jaws of the beast. To have lost even more to a bluff country
squire like Sir Reginald Denby seemed almost ludicrous.
Yet the repercussions echoed, tolling deeper and
deeper. Devastation. Ruin to innumerable blameless souls.
Alden did not expect mercy, not even for the
innocent.
So he must find a way out. There was always,
always a way out. Failure was unthinkable.
His heart raced. The room seemed fuzzy at the
edges. He was aware of nausea, as if he were at sea once again, returning home…
With a flamboyant gesture Alden dropped the handkerchief
and scrawled his signature across another unholy slip of paper.
"I believe Ι am ruined, Lord
Edward." He pitched his voice to be careless, bored, as if such losses
meant nothing. "Allow me to give you another vowel, though if Ι
continue to play, you'll be dunning me without hope of remittance. Ι shall
have to leave the country and become a hopeless old roué in Paris."
"
Hopeless,
Gracechurch?" Lord
Edward laughed. "Not from what Ι hear! Yet it is my little conceit to
ruin at least one fellow libertine a year. Α small amusement of mine. So
what hazard would tempt you to stay in the game?"
Denby triumphantly gathered cards. "Triple
the risk, what?"
"When Dame Fortune is robbing my purse
without recompense?" Alden yawned. ''I never allow a lady to be so coy,
sir."
Α heart-shaped patch creased at the corner
of Lord Edward's mouth. It seemed almost obscene. "The infamous
Gracechurch
doubts the favors of a harlot like Dame Fortune? They say no woman has ever
refused you, sir."
"Rumor exaggerates," Alden said. Though
it did not, of course.
Lace burgeoned at his wrists. It graced the backs
of his hands and foamed at his throat: a witty froth of cherubs and tiny bells,
like snowflake babies cavorting in sea spray. He was decadent with lace. It
spoke of wealth, of taste, of refinement, with - in the circumstances under
which he was known to have obtained it amusing overtones of wickedness.
It was among the more famous witticisms ever
offered in St. James's: Surely Viscount Gracechurch could only obtain such very
feminine lace from a certain unmentionable place?
Amid much masculine hilarity, several such places
had immediately been mentioned.
Alden had, naturally, won the indelicate wager
that had followed.
How could Lord Edward not have heard the tale?
This was how the world worked. To survive at the tables, in the fashionable
drawing rooms, the clubs and coffeehouses, appearances were everything.
Alden leaned back in his chair and winked.
"Alas, my pockets are as empty as my wit, Lord Edward. Ι have not the
head for cards tonight. If you insist on more play, pray offer me a hazard
Ι can win."