The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe (10 page)

 

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

C
arolina was grateful that her governess had forced her to repeat the dance steps incessantly. If the moves had not been ingrained in her body, she was certain she would have stumbled and ruined the dance.

Bosworth's words resonated through her body.

“I want you again.”

Hadn't he said it wouldn't hurt the next time? She wanted to know the pleasure. She shook her head slightly, trying to banish the thoughts. This was absolutely ridiculous. She'd already compromised herself completely and now she was thinking of continuing to act wantonly, disregarding all society's mores.

Who would want to marry her now?

That thought fled as quickly as it had come for she didn't really care. She knew that no matter what she wanted, she was only in town to be shown off, that her father would make the negotiations, pick a husband without any consultation.

And here, dancing with her, was the man who had captured her imagination all those years ago, who had actually possessed her just minutes ago.

She wanted him, too.

Six years ago, after he'd spotted her watching, he'd slid off the maid and dismissed the woman with a sensual pat on the rump. Carolina had looked curiously at the then much smaller manhood he hid away in his breeches. The mystery of the biology had fascinated her.

But then he'd hooked his finger and beckoned for her to come down and she had. There in the library, after the most fascinating visual lesson she'd ever had, in a room that smelled of sex, she got to know and fall in love with Henry Bosworth.

Stanton
, she reminded herself firmly. She must call him Stanton now.

The dance ended.

He took her arm in his and even that slight contact made her dizzy.

“Meet me . . .”

He didn't finish his sentence. Her father had come forward to join them, his arm extended to take Carolina away.

“She looks a bit overwrought for her first night,” Alistair said firmly. “But later I'll be at that club we used to frequent, if you're of the mind for it.”

That
club
.
More of a house of sin, where every hour of the night was an exercise in excess. Not a bad way to spend an evening, or a thousand evenings as Henry had. As Henry and Alistair had together.

He'd shared more women with the man than he could count. Now he'd had the man's daughter, too.

The baron had warned him off a good half hour too late. Alistair should have hung a sign around the girl's neck proclaiming her identity.

Or maybe even that wouldn't have stopped Henry from stalking her across the room and ascertaining if indeed she was as aroused by watching as he'd guessed.

He studied their figures disappearing into the crowd in the direction of the entryway. Carolina's skirt swayed with each step, clinging ever so subtly now to the left side of her derriere and now to the right. Henry was as hard as a rock.

He thought briefly about finding Lady Islington and finishing off where they had started.
No.
The club would do well enough.

 

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

SABRINA DARBY has been reading romance since the age of seven and learned her best vocabulary (dulcet, diaphanous, and turgid) from them. She started writing romance the day after her wedding when she woke up with an idea for a Regency; she's been back in the early nineteenth century ever since. She can be found online at TheBallroomBlog.com, SabrinaDarby.com and Twitter.com/SabrinaDarby.

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Also by Sabrina Darby

On These Silken Sheets

 

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new

e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

Available now wherever e-books are sold.

CIRCLE OF DANGER

By Carla Swafford

HEAT RISES

By Alice Gaines

SOMEBODY LIKE YOU

By Candis Terry

A MOST NAKED SOLUTION

By Anna Randol

 

An Excerpt from

by Carla Swafford

The top-secret assassins of The Circle are back and on the hunt for a dangerous drug lord capable of bringing women to the brink of pleasure . . . and devastation.

Marie Beltane, a lowly data-entry specialist intent on proving she's worthy of being a full operative, has just been injected with the drug responsible for the death of four local women . . . a drug that puts her sex drive into overdrive.

Arthur Ryker wants nothing more than to protect Marie, even if it means fulfilling her drug-induced . . . needs. But now a new evil has reared its ugly head—how far is Arthur willing to go to find an antidote and save the woman he always loved?

 

AN AVON RED NOVEL

 

A
rthur Ryker sprang out of bed and immediately stood at attention, feet apart, his scarred hands in the “ready” position at waist level. One hand cupped by the other, restrained but prepared to kill. He shook his head and sighed. Just once he wanted to leave his bed like a regular person and not like a trained monkey.

“A bad dream?” a deep voice asked from the bedroom entrance. With one pierced black eyebrow lifted, Jack Drago leaned against the doorjamb.

Ignoring the question, Ryker walked naked into the bathroom. When he returned to grab some clothes out of the closet, Jack hadn't moved, but his gaze had most likely inspected every inch of the room. There wasn't much to see. A king-sized bed sat in a corner while a mirrorless dresser was centered against one wall—no pictures or the usual bric-a-brac to give away the occupant's personality. Then again, maybe it did. Rather stark for a man who owned enough properties and businesses to keep his organization in the best covert weapons money could buy. He didn't care what Jack thought about his bedroom. Except for a few hours of sleep and a shower and shave, Ryker rarely spent time in the room.

“What do you want?” he asked, glaring at his second-in-command.

With cold blue eyes, Jack studied him, then his gaze shifted away.

Ryker grunted. Not many people could deal with looking at the thick scars down the side of his body, but it was his blind eye that bothered most. White from the scar tissue damaged in a fire so many years ago, it was normally hidden beneath a patch. But Ryker'd be damned before he slept with one on. So if Jack decided to make a habit of waking him in the morning, he could fucking well get use to the sight. Considering the man had four visible piercings—and who knew how many hidden—along with tattoos covering one arm, Jack shouldn't have a problem with his scars. The man understood pain.

With sure, quick movements, he thrust his legs into jeans and yanked on a black T-shirt. After tugging on his boots, he strapped a small pistol at his ankle. With his patch in place, using his fingers he combed hair over the strap securing its position. Hell, he needed a haircut again. Maybe he'd shave his head like Jack. A simple enough solution. If only the rest of his problems could be so easily solved.

“She's in trouble,” Jack said in an even tone as if his voice could defuse a bad situation.

Ryker's stomach and chest tightened as if he'd been hit. He knew who Jack referred to without adding a name. She happened to be part of why his life was so complicated.

“Did you hear me?” Jack straightened his stance.

“Yeah.” Desire to break someone's neck raced through his body. “Where is she? What happened?”

With a sharp snap, he inserted a snub-nose into the shoulder holster hanging at his side and jerked on his leather jacket. He gritted his teeth for a few seconds to regain his composure. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and exhaled.

“Last time Bryan heard from her, she'd entered the target's house in Chattanooga and was downloading information off a laptop. He lost communication with her.” Jack quickly stepped out of the way for Ryker to move into the dark hallway. “They believe she's still in the house. If the Wizard sticks to his MO, we'll have about three hours before he takes her away or kills her.”

Ryker wasted no time in reaching a massive room with mirrors from ceiling to floor. When the mansion was built in the eighteen hundreds, the room was used as a ballroom. It was empty now, except for a Steinway covered with a white sheet, and the high-sheen hardwood floor sounded hollow as he tramped across it. He used the room for one purpose only—to reach the stairwell hidden behind one of the mirrors.

“Took you long enough to spit it out.” Ryker glanced at his second-in-command.

Jack remained quiet, staring straight ahead. Ryker didn't really expect an excuse. The man knew how he felt about that. No excuse for failure, especially when it came to protecting Marie.

Four months earlier, Ryker had moved The Circle compound from the suburbs of Atlanta to an area near the Smoky Mountains. The mansion was situated in the middle of almost ten thousand acres, which included a large mountain filled with a network of tunnels and bunkers perfect to house the facility he needed. Last year, the final phase of the project was completed and now they were training new recruits in the underground Sector. The nearly fifteen square miles provided the privacy he needed. In a world filled with evil people, his covert organization of assassins came in handy.

Their footsteps echoed in the long, well-lit tunnel. A semi could pass through the passageway without scraping the side mirrors or the tips of muffler stacks.

“Who was her backup?” Ryker asked.

When a few seconds passed without an answer, Ryker stopped and faced Jack.

“They're handling it.”

Ryker continued to stare.

His second-in-command sighed. “She went in without a backup.”

Jaw clenched, Ryker strode to the iris scan next to a large metal door. A buzz sounded and he slammed the door against the inner wall.

The gripping pain in his belly grew and reminded him of the fear he had lived with for years before he took over control of The Circle. She could not keep doing this to him. He refused to allow anything more to happen to her. She knew this and still didn't listen.

The noise level in the basketball court-sized room almost broke the sound barrier with printers running and people shouting or talking to those sitting next to them—or to others on the Internet or satellite phones—along with the clicking of keyboards. Each wall covered with large screens captured a different scene of people living their lives in various parts of the world. In the center of the room, faces bleached white by the monitors in front of them, the supervisors and handlers communicated with their operatives.

Ryker stopped in the middle of the bullpen, searching for his prey.

The balding, whipcord-thin Bryan Tilton stood over a handler shouting instructions and pointing at the screen. Maybe a sixth sense alerted Bryan. He looked up and his eyes widened.

Ryker charged toward him, ignoring the people ducking for cover behind partitions and beneath desks.

“You son of a bitch!”

His fist clipped Bryan on the chin, sending the man sliding across the floor. Desire to flatten the asshole's pointy nose almost overrode all of Ryker's control. Good thing Bryan remained sprawled out on the linoleum.

Standing over the man, Ryker opened and closed his fists. The temptation to punish him further for his stupidity warred with the fear of jabbing the cartilage of the idiot's nose into his brain.

“I swear, sir, I told her to wait until I could get backup in place, but she wouldn't listen.” Bryan cupped his jaw and shifted it from side to side. “Two of our operatives are held up in a traffic accident about twenty-five miles from her last location.”

“Last location?” Ryker gritted his teeth.

“The target's house, off Riverview Road.” Bryan scooted back when Ryker took a step. The man's head bobbled on his skinny neck. “As soon as Phil and Harry reach it, they'll extract her.”

Afraid he would crack the man's chicken neck, Ryker turned away and pointed at the nearest handler. “You! Sal?”

Mohawk trembling, the pale man nodded.

Ryker said, “Tell Phil and Harry to call me on my cell as soon as they reach the house. Do not go inside! Jack and I will be there in twenty minutes. Have them wait for us.AHH” He turned back to Bryan. “Have the Spirit ready in five minutes.” His helicopter could cover the miles quickly and land almost anywhere.

M
arie Beltane struggled against the chains restraining her on a cot that reeked of sex and urine. She stifled a groan. No, no, no. Nausea traveled up her throat.

All the beams and pipes overhead felt like they were squeezing the air out of the room. Basements were never among her favorite rooms. The dampness and creepy-crawly things always gave her the willies.

She still couldn't believe she'd been caught. Bryan had sworn it would be an easy gig. Prior surveillance had revealed the man worked each evening at a massive bank of computers. Go in and download a flash drive load of info and get out. The target always left his house at nine in the morning and didn't return until nine that evening. Breaking into the house when most people ate dinner in the surrounding homes had sounded so easy. Few would look out their windows as they settled down in front of their plates or televisions or both. Hours would pass before he returned home. But he came back early.

Oh, God, she'd screwed up big time!

He looked like a fourteen-year-old with his cartoon-themed T-shirt and his mop of hair, but she knew from his file he was between twenty-six and twenty-eight. During their surveillance, they never got a clear photograph of him. Whenever he entered or exited his house, he did so through his garage. His SUV had tinted windows, preventing anyone from seeing inside.

The man standing with his back to her had outmaneuvered every defensive tactic she'd been taught. He didn't fight like a kid. Jack was right. She needed to work harder on her moves. If she had, she wouldn't be in this predicament. The nerd had surprised her, taking her down with unexpected ease.

She refused to cry even though she couldn't stop the trembling in her body. Every inch ached from his battery of hits and kicks. For a scrawny man, he'd moved fast and hit hard.

Her head hurt from holding back tears. She'd hoped never to be in this position again, to be under someone's control. No matter how many times she reminded herself this was different from before, the horror of repeating history pushed her to keep her eyes open. Staying aware of her enemy helped to keep her calm.

“You're not very smart. I'm efficient in seven different types of martial arts.” His stiff words failed to impress her. He moved, revealing what he held in his hand. The huge syringe with a shiny green substance in the barrel had a needle longer than her forefinger. “Just because I'm a geek doesn't mean I'm unacquainted with ways to defend myself.”

Marie stared at the needle. The duct tape covering her mouth muffled her scream. Ever since he jumped her, she'd tried to see a way to escape, while keeping calm.

She tried to be brave. She kept telling herself that screaming would only be a waste of energy. Stifling the panic engulfing her would keep her alive.

“Wait until this stuff hits your bloodstream. I'm told the sensation is similar to that last second before reaching an orgasm. In other words, you'll do anything to get off.” He chuckled and lifted her shirt. He tugged at the waistband of her jeans.

She flinched when the needle slid into the soft skin near her hip.

“Perfect for where I'm sending you.” He jerked on the jeans until the tips of his fingers brushed her pubic hair. “White American women—especially petite, natural blondes like you—are quite popular in parts of the Middle East and Asia. Virgins are preferred but rare here unless we go much younger.” He shrugged. “Then you get into Amber Alerts and they're too much trouble. Anyway, bitches like you are plentiful and disposable.”

He pulled harder at her jeans, taking her panties down.

She froze. Her stomached churned with the thought of what he might do next. Then he pushed the needle deeper. The liquid burned, becoming hotter as he eased the plunger down. The pain took her mind off her fear for only a second. When she tried to move away, the rattling chains reminded her she wasn't going anywhere. Tears pooled at the corner of her eyes and she turned her head, refusing to let him see her cry.

“A formula created by . . . a fucking genius! Especially created to use on sneaky sluts like you. The Wizard is a god!” He laughed. The back of his hand grazed her cheek. “I know it stings, baby. Sorry . . . no. I'm not sorry. You have the look of an ice princess. I love seeing an uptight cunt like you suffer. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. This wonder drug is highly addictive and from what I'm told, it has long-lasting effects. You'll grow to love it.”

The grin on his smooth face terrified her more than anything else he'd done. Her vision blurred. The man leaned over her, his brown eyes dark and merciless. She whimpered. Every cell of her body tingled.

“Do you feel it? It takes a little while to set in. The Wizard said it tingles all over and next, for a small time, you'll feel like you're floating on water. Then you'll get sleepy and then—
bam!
—you'll be like a bitch in heat.” He cackled and thrust his groin several times against her leg and the side of the cot. He punched the air with his fist and did a little dance. When he turned his back, he reached for something on a table nearby. “Now let's see what all of you looks like.”