When Charm and Persuasion Fail…Only Seduction Remains...

On the night of her betrothal, Lydia Trent receives just a taste of what ecstasy will be at the hands of her fiancé…and then he leaves her wanting. After waiting six years, and tired of being neglected by her exceedingly reluctant husband-to-be, Lydia decides to break it off.

When Marcus, Lord Russell, receives Lydia’s letter requesting a release from their contract, he is stunned by her audacity. Confident he’ll have her eating out of his hand with his usual wit and charm, he’s determined to repair the damage. However, the headstrong woman she’s blossomed into is equally determined to thwart his every effort to win her back.

Marcus discovers, in spite of her conviction to end the union, Lydia is more responsive to his touch than he ever imagined. He just needs to get her alone to unleash the promised passion he sees within his wanton virgin. Marcus will use any tool in his arsenal to exploit her weakness—his kisses, his hands, his mouth…her own body. In short, he’ll just have to ruin her!

PROLOGUE (The Betrothal Party)

Derbyshire, England—1742

Lydia Albinia Trent was giddy with anticipation as her new abigail, Molly slid the fine silk over her petticoat and stays. Lydia ran her fingers over the luxurious fabric with sheer delight. It was a custom-made confection of soft petal pink with white bows and matching pink satin slippers especially ordered for this momentous occasion, and her first silk gown.

Now dressed, Molly put the finishing touches to Lydia’s hair, pinning her customary braids into a ladylike coronet atop her head and ornamenting the coiffeur with pink ribbon and white roses.

A soft tap sounded at the door. “Are you ready, my dear?” her father called softly through the wooden panel. “The guests are nearly all arrived.”

“One, minute more, Papa!” Lydia called. With a deep intake of breath she stood and turned to the pier glass expecting to behold a young lady of sophistication, one who would prove to Marcus she was now a woman grown. To her chagrin, the image that greeted her fell short of expectations. Beribboned and bowed, in pink and white, Lydia was struck by the ludicrous thought that she more closely resembled her birthday cake.

She exited her room and dipped into her well-practiced curtsey. “Do you approved, Papa?” she asked with uncertainty.

His warm dry lips brushed her cheek. “You are the image of your dear Mama.” He pulled her hand to the crook of his elbow.  “Shall we, my dearest treasure?”

Lydia had looked forward to her engagement party to Marcus Russell since…well…since as long as she could remember. She had thought herself the happiest girl in the world to know that Marcus Russell would one day be hers. Now with the arrival of her seventeenth birthday, it would become official at last.

Although the event was an intimate gathering with only family and close friends in attendance, Lydia was still a bundle of nerves, descending on her father’s arm with a tremulous smile and a racing pulse. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, Lydia bit her lip and her gaze flickered over the assemblage of well-wishers seeking the one who made her heart race and knees quiver.

“Where is he?”she whispered. “Where is Marcus?” She had expected him to be first to receive her. Seized with trepidation, she looked to her father for reassurance.

Sir Timothy covered her small hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Have no fear, child, he will be here. Any manner of things might have delayed him in London.”

Though her father’s words and manner were confident, she could detect the anxiety behind his eyes. “Of course you are right Papa,” she replied with a serenity she could not feel. In this nightmare daze of distraction, Lydia moved about the room to greet her guests.

“Lord and Lady Russell.” With heat stealing into her cheeks, Lydia made her deepest obeisance to the parents of the elusive groom-to-be. Pasting on a false smile she fought the nervous churning of her stomach and grappled the powerful urge to flee back to her chamber.

“My dear girl, how lovely you look!” Lady Russell kissed both of her cheeks and gushed, “Your mother would have been so very proud.”

“Enchanting, simply enchanting,” Lord Philip Russell agreed, all the while stealing  anxious glances to the doorway. In obvious embarrassment, he conjured several possible, if unlikely, scenarios for Marcus’s delay. Lydia murmured an appropriate reply but refused to meet their discomfited gazes.

After waiting nearly two hours for the missing bridegroom, the elaborate dinner proceeded in an awkward but telling silence. Mortified to raise her eyes from her plate, Lydia picked at each course, fighting back tears and wishing with all her heart that the earth would just swallow her up.

At the meal’s conclusion, after all had given up any hope, the antechamber echoed with the sound of raucous laughter. With glazed eyes and drink-induced affability, Marcus Russell burst into the dining room to execute an unsteady and over-flourished bow.

“Marcus!” Lydia’s heart skipped a beat.

Failing to acknowledge her, he announced to the room at large, “I offer my most profuse apologies to our dear host for my unavoidable delay, but I’ve just received news that is truly worthy of celebration.”

The winsome smile froze on Lydia’s face.

“Did you indeed?” Lady Russell asked, directing a sidelong glance to Lydia.

The look only confirmed Lydia’s fears that Marcus’ high spirits were due to an event he deemed far worthier than this long-awaited betrothal party.

Marcus paused for dramatic effect. “You are now looking at a newly appointed under-secretary to the Foreign Ministry. Word is that I’m to be assigned to Lord Sandwich at The Hague.”

“Capital news, my boy!” Lord Russell beamed with paternal pride.

“Congratulations are most certainly in order,” Sir Timothy agreed. “Simpson, bring the port!”

To Lydia’s dismay, even her father seemed now to forgive his tardiness as a venial offense. With the final covers removed, Lydia was forced to retreat while Marcus joined the gentleman for port and political talk with nary a thought to his fiancé.

*****

Darting sporadic glances at the door, Lydia stumbled over the keys of the spinet, fumbling the elegant notes of Scarlatti’s Sonata Number Twelve in B Minor, and then falling off completely once he deigned to appear.

Marcus entered the drawing room with the deliberate gait of one who had over imbibed and survey the occupants with an unfocused stare. “Sh-shampagne,” he cried, when he finally lit upon Lydia, as if he suddenly recalled the evening’s true purpose. “We must have champagne to toast the blushing rose that is now become my betrothed.”

His lingering gaze sent a hot flush creeping from the base of her neck to the tip of her nose, and when Marcus smiled, her breath seized as abruptly in her chest as her fingers on the spinet keyboard. To be the object of his full attention, even for this brief moment was akin to the sun appearing from behind a dark and dismal cloud to blaze its full radiance upon her. And in that moment under the giddy his smile, Lydia thought she could forgive him anything.

When Charm and Persuasion Fail…Only Seduction Remains...

On the night of her betrothal, Lydia Trent receives just a taste of what ecstasy will be at the hands of her fiancé…and then he leaves her wanting. After waiting six years, and tired of being neglected by her exceedingly reluctant husband-to-be, Lydia decides to break it off.

When Marcus, Lord Russell, receives Lydia’s letter requesting a release from their contract, he is stunned by her audacity. Confident he’ll have her eating out of his hand with his usual wit and charm, he’s determined to repair the damage. However, the headstrong woman she’s blossomed into is equally determined to thwart his every effort to win her back.

Marcus discovers, in spite of her conviction to end the union, Lydia is more responsive to his touch than he ever imagined. He just needs to get her alone to unleash the promised passion he sees within his wanton virgin. Marcus will use any tool in his arsenal to exploit her weakness—his kisses, his hands, his mouth…her own body. In short, he’ll just have to ruin her!

Chapter One

Bloomsbury Square, London—1748

 

Marcus, Lord Russell, slumped in a chair indolently paring his nails while his former school chum, now personal secretary, attended to his correspondence.

“You’ve a letter from Cotesfield Hall,” said Mr. Nicholas Needham.

“Do I?” Lord Russell answered in a bored drawl, but then furrowed his brows in a fleeting frown. “I must say it’s been a very protracted interval since I heard from Miss Trent, but if she’s learned of my return to London, she’ll no doubt be importuning me to set a date. Will you fob her off for a while longer, Needham? Just use the stock excuse.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes heavenward and answered by rote, “That to your everlasting and abject dismay, urgent business of State must take precedence over any private matters, regardless of your personal inclinations, etcetera and etcetera.”

Marcus smirked. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s one of the chief perquisites of the Foreign Service, Needham; it gives one a valid excuse to ignore all domestic responsibilities, or at least to put them off until a more convenient time.”

“But what if she’s already aware of your return? It has been well over a month now.”

“You’re right, Nick. No doubt she’s already got wind of it from Mother.” Marcus gave a resigned groan. “I suppose there’s no avoiding her this time.”

If given a choice, he’d have postponed the reunion indefinitely. He’d not seen Lydia for six years—not that he’d had any burning desire to do so. When Marcus had departed for the Foreign Service on the heels of their engagement, she was still far too young to wed. Although he had left with every intention of honoring his troth within two or three years, three had turned to four, and four became five. His string of paramours in this interim only compounded his guilt until it became easier not to think of Lydia at all. Now, the idea of facing her again as a husband-to-be seemed altogether impossible.

“What does she write?” Marcus asked, his impatience growing with his agitation.

Nicholas broke the seal and scanned the contents. He looked up at Marcus with a chuckle. “Why, it appears you may get your wish for perpetual bachelorhood after all. She wants to end your engagement.”

Marcus started from his chair. “The hell she does! What’s possessed her?”

“Perhaps she realizes your extreme reluctance to tie the knot after waiting…what is it? Five years since your betrothal announcement?”

“Six,” Marcus snapped. “But who’s counting.”

“Perhaps Miss Trent?” Nick needled with a quirk of his lips.

Lord Russell squelched his secretary with a darkling look. “Read it to me, Nick.”

“By all means.” Nicholas cleared his throat. “‘My Dear Lord Russell, I pray this finds you in good health.’” Nick paused. “I say, my lord, that’s quite a moving salutation from your beloved.”

“Enough of the commentary,” Marcus growled. “Just read the damned thing!”

“‘I was indeed in expectation of your answer after sending our melancholy news six months hence, but I quite understand the unreliability of foreign mail service and am thankful that my last letter found you safely, given your extensive foreign travels.’”

“You see, Needham? The caprice of foreign mail. It’s an excuse that works every time.”

Nicholas looked up from the page. “Indeed? Yet, I almost detect a hint of skepticism in her words.”

Recalling her adoration, Lord Russell’s lips curved into a smug half-smile. “From Lydia? Don’t be absurd.”

“Nevertheless, she’ll surely expect a prompt reply this time, given our own English mail suffers no such erratic service. Shall I continue?” Nick asked.

Lord Russell nodded, abandoning all of his prior affectation. “Go on then. What else does she say?” He tilted his head in a more active listening posture as Nicholas read.

As you must know, we have had both full hands and heavy hearts here at Cotesfield Hall following dear Papa’s unanticipated demise. Although he had wished to see you and I settled before his passing, as I am yet unmarried, the estate will now fall to Cousin James, whose wife seems somewhat eager to see me settled…elsewhere.

I must also confess to the same desire, but given your continued reticence to set a firm date for our nuptials, I am confident you will have no reservations regarding my respectful appeal to release me from our marriage contract.

I look forward to your reply and am…

Sincerely yours,

Miss Lydia Albinia Trent

Nicholas dropped the letter into Marcus’ lap. “Succinctly written, and she hardly appears to have spent any tears over it,” he drawled.

“Damn the impudence of the chit!”

“But I thought you had no desire to marry her.”

“That’s not quite the case, Needham. I actually have no particular aversion to Lydia.” Nicholas regarded him blank-faced, forcing Marcus into an exasperated explanation. “You see, my friend, it’s not the idea of marriage that repels me, just the reality of it.”

“Then where’s the rub? She has set you free.”

“But you don’t understand at all. I was more than content with Lydia as my betrothed, just not as my wife. She has been my shield all these years, don’t you see? Only my attachment to her has protected me from all the ambitious mamas who only seek ties to a dukedom, even if remote ones. If I am freed, my life will become a purgatory of simpering debutantes.”

“Surely a living hell,” Nick replied.

“Precisely.” Marcus answered, ignoring the sarcasm. “And there is still the matter of her significant dowry. Should I release Lydia, God knows how long it could take to find another such prospect, let alone one acceptable to my family.”

“I can see the dilemma. The Duke of Bedford would hardly look favorably upon any of his family matched with some merchant chit.”

“Nor does my uncle wish to see me living indefinitely out of his pocket. I need a bride with a healthy dowry, Needham, and to be truthful, I haven’t the inclination to expend the effort of wooing another.”

“But you never truly wooed the first time,” Nicholas corrected.

“Precisely.” Marcus smiled. “Thank God I was saved that indignity. Our families arranged the entire business. I just showed up for the celebratory toasts. Poor thing was barely out of the schoolroom at the time. Quite a colorless little creature she was, though she did hold some promise.” Marcus’ lips quirked at the hazy memory of a young girl, whose blushing innocence he had corrupted under the tree swing.

His smile then altered into an exasperated grimace. “Now, this letter? Damn it all! I can’t afford this kind of distraction right now, not with final peace negotiations with France imminent. If I ever wish to advance beyond the post of undersecretary, we must accompany Lord Sandwich to Aix-la-Chapelle. If I don’t, the consular position I’ve worked three years for will surely fall to some far less deserving sod. It’s an opportunity I can’t afford to miss.”

“Do you not think taking a wife would be expected at such a point in your career?”

“I had hoped to postpone the dreaded deed, but I suppose you are right.” Marcus heaved a martyr’s sigh. “Perhaps I am only kicking at the pricks and fighting the inevitable.”

“But now you have little choice in the matter. The lady herself is calling it off.”

Marcus laughed aloud. “No, Nicholas. I beg to differ on that front. She has asked to be released. ‘Tis quite another thing.”

“I hate to gainsay you, but she was only providing you an opportunity to save face and bow out with grace. But it hardly matters. She’s clearly breaking it off. The world at large knows it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. ‘Fickle thy name is woman,’ and all that rot.”

“Then I’ll just have to change it back,” Marcus said.

“How?”

“You will write… No, wait.” Letter in hand, he flung himself from the chair with the graceful energy of a pouncing cat. “On second thought, since this is a matter of considerable delicacy, I’d best handle it myself.”

Needham gave him a dubious look.

“What? I’m a damned statesman, aren’t I? What kind of diplomat would I be if I could not even make peace with my own betrothed?”

“I only question your ability to sound suitably contrite. Humility has never been your strong suit.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Marcus drawled. “Lydia is nothing if not malleable. She will be begging me to wed her when I am finished with her.”

“Indeed? And just how do you expect to achieve such an about-face?” Nick asked.

Marcus stood at the mantel mirror, fussing with his lace cuffs, adjusting his cravat and openly admiring his reflection. “I’ll beguile her with the full power of my persuasive charm.”

“And should that fail?”

Marcus turned to his secretary with a slow, devious grin. “Why, Nick, I’d have thought it obvious. I’ll just have to ruin her.”

 

When Charm and Persuasion Fail…Only Seduction Remains...

 

On the night of her betrothal, Lydia Trent receives just a taste of what ecstasy will be at the hands of her fiancé…and then he leaves her wanting. After waiting six years, and tired of being neglected by her exceedingly reluctant husband-to-be, Lydia decides to break it off.

When Marcus, Lord Russell, receives Lydia’s letter requesting a release from their contract, he is stunned by her audacity. Confident he’ll have her eating out of his hand with his usual wit and charm, he’s determined to repair the damage. However, the headstrong woman she’s blossomed into is equally determined to thwart his every effort to win her back.

Marcus discovers, in spite of her conviction to end the union, Lydia is more responsive to his touch than he ever imagined. He just needs to get her alone to unleash the promised passion he sees within his wanton virgin. Marcus will use any tool in his arsenal to exploit her weakness—his kisses, his hands, his mouth…her own body. In short, he’ll just have to ruin her!

EXCERPT

Bugger it all! This was not going at all according to his plan. The blasted woman was bound to defy and repulse him at every turn! He raked a long, lust-filled gaze over her and felt his frustration growing in more ways than one until a disconcerting thought jolted through him. “There is someone else!”

“There is no one,” Lydia answered. “Though I may be a fool for having waited for you, I am not a faithless fool.”

“Why else would you break with me?” Marcus persisted, more convinced the longer he considered her. What man would not give his eyeteeth to have such a woman? “I demand to know who it is.” So I can hunt him down and throttle him.

Her chuckle began as a low sound in her throat and grew to a hearty eruption of wry mirth. “Is it truly beyond your comprehension that I might wish to salvage such a pitiful thing as my self-respect? Your vanity is a truly wondrous thing, Lord Russell.”

“You make unfair accusations, Lydia.”

“On the contrary,” she replied. “I think I have your full measure simply by observation. Actions, or perhaps I should say inactions, speak much louder than words.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you are not to be trusted.”

Marcus gave an inward groan. Why was she making this so bloody difficult? She was right of course, but it would be a cold day in hell before he’d grovel. He opted for a new tack. “Lydia, will you at least agree to a détente?”

“What do you mean?”

“A truce of sorts.”

“I know what détente means! I just fail to see how it applies.”

“I’m asking for a relaxation of hostilities.”

“You believe I bear you hostility?”

Marcus’ answering rumble only emphasized his point. “You positively bristle with it, my dear.”

She gave an indignant sniff. When she tried to avert her face, he captured it in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Lydia, there are many things you don’t understand.” Like his guilt—something he could hardly reconcile even with himself. “Can we not let bygones be bygones?” he asked. “Simply let go of the past and deal with the here and now?”

“There is no point. I already know we will never suit.”

Marcus scowled. Regardless of what she might think, he had never really been averse to her. Indeed, he recalled with fond amusement the memory of her tippling champagne from the tree swing, if perhaps a bit less fondly the clumsy events that followed.

He was suddenly struck with another disconcerting notion—could it be that Lydia held that night in quite a different light? Did she anticipate dissatisfaction in their marriage bed? If that was her concern, he was determined to lay that vagary to rest.

“On the contrary, my pet. There is one area at least where I’m certain we would suit very well.”

Her eyes flashed. “You actually think I’m still attracted to you?”

“You dare deny it?” He flashed a smile meant to disarm if not to altogether devastate.

“It matters little whether I am or not. Animal lust is a most feeble foundation for marriage.”

“Animal lust?” He laughed outright. “Mayhap my appeal is stronger than I thought?”

Lydia’s eyes flashed. “You twist my meaning!”

Marcus stroked a finger down the column of her neck and noted her heaving breasts with satisfaction. “I think not. Nevertheless, attraction, magnetism, lust, whatever you choose to call it, is a stronger basis than most marriages seem to be founded upon. Why do you suppose so many men take mistresses? And why so few offspring are produced in aristocratic marriages? Never underestimate sexual desire, Lydia. It is a powerful and often overwhelming force.”

“You will never persuade me that it’s a sound basis for marriage.” Lydia’s pink tongue flicked over her lips, clearly betraying her confident words.

“Is that a challenge, Lydia? Shall I prove it to you?”

“There is absolutely nothing to be gained by the effort.” Her convulsive swallow once more gave her away. She added with greater force, “Like a mountain, Marcus, I shall not be moved.”

Marcus relished the sudden apprehension in her wide eyes when his gaze slid down to her mouth and held there. “Fair enough, my pet. If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, let Mohammed go to the mountain.”

Lydia was transfixed, powerless under his intense stare, as if he’d put her under some wicked spell. Though she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. His eyes—dilated pools of blackness—held her, spreading heat from her core to every tingling inch of her. Her pulse thrummed with the sheer awareness of his physicality.

She closed her eyes against the sensations but they only intensified, his sweet tangy scent thickening the air and causing her breath to come in short, quick rasps, his warm breath fanning her skin. His gaze fixed upon her mouth and his hand brushed over her cheek to cup her jaw. Ignoring her inner protest, her body acted on its own volition, upturning her face and softly parting her lips. Her whole body quivered in anticipation of this kiss.

Her breathing hitched when his lips met hers, at first brushing over them in a warm caress, then sliding, nipping, melding until he took utter possession. Her feeble attempt at protest gave him added purchase to take her lower lip between his teeth and gently tug on the soft flesh. His tongue followed, deliciously teasing, tasting her lips before sliding into her mouth.

She had been kissed once before but nothing like this. His hot, wet tongue tangling with hers made her stomach flip and her passage clench, pooling with warmth and dizzying desire. He deepened the kiss, his hands working into her hair, pulling it down, scattering pins. “Don’t fight me, Lydia. I can show you paradise if you’ll only let me.” When Marcus murmured those seductive words against her skin, she yielded with a muted whimper.

The kiss was uninvited, unexpected, and shocking…and Lydia found herself clinging to it for dear life.

Lydia tore away with a stifled cry, confounded how he managed to exert such a terrifying magnetic force on her with seemingly no exertion at all. Outrage mixed with self-recrimination, she gathered up her skirts and fled, nearly running smack into Mariah upon her reentry through the terrace doors.

“I was coming to find you,” Mariah said. “Lud, Lyddie!” She gaped at her cousin’s rumpled and bewildered appearance. “You look positively debauched! You mustn’t let anyone else see you like this.”

Mariah pulled her into the empty music room, where Lydia caught sight of herself in the gilt mirror poised over the mantel and gasped in horror. Her color was high, her eyes shone feverishly bright, and clumps of her hair hung in disarray.

“Did that vile scoundrel accost you?” Mariah asked.

Heat infused Lydia’s already flushed cheeks. “Sadly, no. Although I would like nothing more than to accuse Marcus of importuning me, the fact is I made not the slighted protest.”

“What did he do to you?” Mariah asked in an excited whisper.

Lydia’s lips quivered in outrage. “The worst thing imaginable. He has kissed me senseless.”

 

“Reckless hearts, battling wits, and plenty of steam in a wonderfully well drawn Georgian setting.”- NYT Bestselling author Grace Burrowes

**TRS CAPA Nominee 2012

 *TBR PILE Book of the month September 2012!

 *LASR Erotic Reviews 5 STAR/BOM Nominee

 *The Romance Studio 5 Sweetheart Nominee

 *Night Owl Reviews “Top Pick”

 *Reading Romances “Pen Award”