EXCERPT:

“And what have we here?”

The slurred voice came from the direction of the study doorway, and Maura gave a startled gasp before jerking her head up to find a man standing just inside the room, arms crossed and legs braced wide in a cocky stance as he leered at her knowingly.

Even with a mask covering his features and his lank brown hair coming loose from its queue to fall forward into his face, she knew who it was.

Lord Quincy Stratton, the viscount’s son.

When she continued to gape at him in shock and dread, unable to even begin to form an acceptable explanation for her presence in his father’s study, he took another step further into the chamber and spoke again, his mouth curving into a lascivious smirk.  “If you’re planning on stealing the silver, m’tasty little morsel, I ‘gret to inform you that you are in the wrong place.  The dining room is in the west wing.”

Maura swiftly stuffed the letter back into her pocket, thankful for the concealment of the hooded cloak she had borrowed from Violet, despite the heat and discomfort that had plagued her from the second she had donned it.  Her only chance now was to stay in the shadows and pray that Stratton wouldn’t recognize her as easily as she had him.

For if he realized who she was, there would be hell to pay.

Licking dry lips, she cleared her throat and replied to his comment in a breathy, high-pitched voice that was much more girlish and simpering than her customary tone.  “I do apologize, my lord.  I was searching for the gentleman friend who accompanied me here this evening, but I’m afraid I got a bit turned around.”

“A gen’lman friend, y’say?”  Even in the faint light from the lamp, she could see through the slits in his mask that his eyes were blood-shot, and he was running his words together in a way that told her he was more than slightly inebriated.  “Not much of a gen’lman if he left such a lovely lady alone.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I shall have to look elsewhere.”  Inching around the side of the desk, she darted a glance over his shoulder at the door.  It was only a few feet away.  If she could just manage to edge by him...  “Again, I apologize, my lord.  If you will excuse me?”

Doing her best to affect a calmness she was far from feeling, she strolled forward, her sights set on the hallway outside and the safety it represented.  But just as she began to believe he was actually going to let her go, his hand lashed out to grab her wrist, bringing her to a jarring halt.

“Per’aps I could be of ‘sistance.  This is a large house and I wouldn’t want you to get turned ‘round again.”  He pulled her in close to him, and his fetid breath brushed against her cheek.  The odiferous combination of alcohol and unwashed male was so strong that she had to restrain the urge to retch.  “May I suggest we try m’bedchamber first?”

Maura’s stomach twisted into a terror-stricken knot and she shoved at his chest with her palms, trying to put some distance between them.  But the man was as immovable as a rock.  In fact, he tugged her even closer, letting go of her wrist so he could slide his arms around her waist and mold the curves of her body up against his large frame.  The swollen hardness she could feel nudging her abdomen was enough to send her into a panic.

“Please, my lord,” she whispered, wriggling in his hold, her mind working with frantic haste as she tried to come up with a way out of this predicament.

“Oh, I’ll please you,” he crooned, laughing drunkenly.  One rough hand found her breast through the material of her cloak and squeezed, wringing a pained moan from her.  “Thas right, love.  Thas what I want to hear.  I’ll have you screaming m’name before too long.”

With that, he began to back her toward a velvet-cushioned settee on the far wall.

And Maura was instantly flung back to last Season, to a darkened alcove with this same man, pawing at her, hurting her, just as he was now.

Are you really going to pretend you’re any different than your whore of a mother when we both know better?

Somewhere inside of her a small spark of righteous indignation caught fire and blazed to life, and she brought her slippered heel down as hard as she could on his instep, ramming her elbow into his midsection at the same time.

He released her with an oath and clutched at his stomach, the look of venomous fury that suffused his rapidly reddening countenance enough to send her stumbling backward, out of his reach.

“You right little bitch, I ought to--”

“I don’t think so, Stratton.”

The fatalistic tingle that raced through Maura’s veins at the sound of those deep, rich cadences told her who had spoken, even before she swung around to face the newcomer.

Of course.  Of all people to intervene, it would be the one person she wanted most to avoid.

One broad shoulder propped against the frame, the Earl of Hawksley lounged in the doorway, contemplating the scene before him with an unreadable expression.

“I believe the lady has made it clear that she isn’t interested,” he drawled silkily, those glittering green eyes never wavering from Stratton.  Though his posture was relaxed, almost nonchalant, Maura sensed an air of palpable tension that hovered just beneath the surface of that casual demeanor, a subtle indication that he wasn’t nearly as detached as he might appear.  “Perhaps you would be well-advised to brush up on your seduction technique with someone a bit less strong-minded and leave this lass to those of us who know how to handle a more spirited female.”

Visibly bristling at the slight, the viscount’s son drew himself up with a glare.  “Stay out of this, Hawksley,” he snapped.  “Go find your own woman.”

The petulance that laced the other man’s voice had the earl arching a golden brow in lazy amusement.  “And what if I want this one?”

“That’s jolly well too bad!  I saw her first and I won’t be handing her over to the likes of you.”

Maura bit her lip.  Dear God, but the situation was getting worse by the minute.  She had to come up with a way to get herself out of this or they were going to tear her apart like two stray dogs fighting over a bone!  “Please, this isn’t necessary.  I--”

But she didn’t get the chance to finish her appeal, for Stratton spun on her with a snarl and reached out to grasp her arm, shaking her with such brutal force that her head whipped back and forth on her neck.  “Just shut up!  Haven’t you caused me enough trouble already without yammering on?”

At the man’s actions, every trace of mockery fled Hawksley’s visage and he levered himself away from the door, his gaze turning cold and hard.  “Let the lady go, Stratton.  Now.”

“Lady?”  Thin lips twisted into a malicious sneer.  “What sort of lady would attend an affair such as this?  Slut, more like.”

As Maura watched in amazement, the earl’s fist shot out with a speed and precision that would have made Gentleman Jackson proud, connecting with Stratton’s arrogant face and knocking him backward into the settee, where he collapsed among the cushions in a heap.

There was an instant of stunned silence, then Stratton sat up rather woozily, his hands flying to his nose to staunch the sudden flow of blood.  “Damn you, Hawksley, I think you broke by dose!”

“If luck is with me.”

“Do you doh what by father will say when he finds oud aboud dis?”

“I’m sure I have no idea.”  Leaning over, Hawksley seized the older man by his collar and yanked him to his feet, propelling him the short distance across the room to the door.  “Why don’t you toddle on your way and tell him all about it?”

“I’ll jusd do thad, you hell-born bastard!”  Jerking free from the earl’s hold and nearly overbalancing himself, Stratton leveled the earl with a look of scathing contempt, the impact of which was lessened somewhat by the blood pouring through his cupped fingers and the fact that his mask had been knocked askew.  “And you can have the liddle doxy.  Prob’ly pox-ridden anyway.”

When Hawksley advanced on him in a menacing manner, the lordling beat a hasty retreat, and Maura winced when his exit from the chamber was immediately punctuated by a loud crash and a muttered curse.  Similar noises accompanied his unsteady progress down the corridor until he finally passed through the archway at the end and all fell silent once again.

And she was alone with her rescuer.  A man who was quite likely an even worse threat than the one he had saved her from.

The Devil’s Own.

Lunging for the desk, she snatched up the closest thing to a weapon she came across among the clutter--an engraved letter opener—-and whirled to brandish it at Hawksley just as he turned back to face her.

“I’d stay where you are if I were you, my lord,” she advised him, hoping against hope that her mask and the hood of her cloak would continue to shield her identity from that piercing stare.  “Though I thank you for your intervention, I’m obliged to warn you that you are much mistaken if you believe you’ll be brushing up on your seduction techniques with me.”

To her consternation, Hawksley didn’t seem at all disturbed by the fact that she held the pointed tip of the office implement only a hair’s breadth from his throat.  Instead, she could have sworn she saw a gleam of humor in the depths of those green eyes as he observed her.  “Ah, the lady is armed and prepared to defend herself by any means necessary.”

“Precisely.  Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping aside...?”

“Actually, I’m afraid I do mind.”

And in a move too swift for her to anticipate, he plucked the opener from her trembling fingers, tossed it onto the desk, and caught her in his arms, spinning her about so that he held her back pinned against his front.

“You know,” he husked close to her ear, “little girls really shouldn’t play with sharp objects.”

Unable to believe he had disarmed her so easily, Maura let out an outraged cry and began to fight him like a woman possessed, kicking, screaming, and clawing in a desperate bid to free herself.  She would not let this happen.  She refused to be this man’s helpless victim.

“By all that’s holy, woman!  Will you hold still!  I promise you, I have no designs upon your person.”

The peremptory rap of his exasperated voice cut across the sound of her struggles and she froze abruptly, aware all the while of the heat of that muscled body pressed against her spine.  Unlike Stratton, the scent that emanated from him was musky and pleasant, saturating her senses.  “Y-you don’t?”

“I’d have to be bloody mad, wouldn’t I?”

For some reason, that stung.  But before she could even begin to think of a suitably caustic retort, her hood was gently tugged from her head, and a warm palm cupped her chin, tilting her face upward for his perusal.  “Now, why don’t you try telling me just exactly what it is you’re up to, Lady Maura Daventry?”

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