wildness of her own. Gazing into his eyes, she saw his face darken with the approach of climax and felt a surge of emotion so powerful that she convulsed with ecstasy.
For long moments afterward, she lay in his arms, utterly content and sated. The aroma of roses enveloped them along with the musk of their lovemaking. Her wedding ring glinted in the firelight. She stretched and sighed, cuddling against his warm, hard form. How she had missed this—not just the closeness of their bodies, but the sense of completion, the feeling that she belonged with Drake, now and forever.
His hand traveled in lazy strokes over her hip. “I see my lady is pleased with her slave.”
The arrogance was back in his voice, and she thrilled to it. Smiling, she plucked a petal from his shoulder. “I believe I’ll keep you after all.”
“So long as you don’t expect me to dress like a damned fool anymore.”
“What, and deprive Fergus of his amusement?” she teased. “I can see you clad as an Indian in a loincloth, an Arabic prince in gauzy trousers, a—”
“Enough.” His eyes twinkling, he kissed her. Then, with a look of concentration, he tipped up her chin, touching her as if she were beloved to him. His voice gruff, he said, “In all honesty, Alicia, I’d have come crawling on my knees to get you back. I even considered selling the club, since you so despise gambling.”
She quickly shook her head. “Oh, but you mustn’t put Mr. Cheever and Mr. MacAllister and all the others out of work. Where would they go?”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought—and what I’d hoped you would say.”
“But surely you won’t be spending as much time here. You’ll have other duties now.”
“Quite so.” All charming rogue, he let his fingers circle her breast, causing the rise of arousal in her. “I shall be keeping my wife contented.”
“I meant your duties as the Marquess of Hailstock,” she said gently.
Grimacing, he flopped onto his back, sending rose petals fluttering off the bed. “Don’t call me that. I never wanted the damned title.”
Seeing his discomfort, she perversely reveled in it. “Such are the wages of vengeance, my lord.”
“Jade. Don’t forget that vengeance brought me into your life.”
“Jackanapes,” she said tartly, wriggling against him. “Don’t you forget that I made you a better man.”
He focused his scoundrel’s smile on her, the smile that always made her heart beat faster. “You’ll have a lifetime to remind me of my sins. But for now, dear wife…”—his hands drifted possessively over her—“for now, I intend to seduce you again.”
Turn the page for a sneak peek at
Olivia Drake’s latest book
Stroke of Midnight
Available June 2013 wherever books are sold
Chapter 1
She had no reason to fear the constable.
Holding fast to that thought, Laura followed the burly officer through the graveyard. The cloudy afternoon cast a gloomy pall over the rows of headstones and wooden crosses. A few of the mounds had been carefully tended, though many others showed signs of neglect. Rough masculine laughter came from one of the gin houses in the surrounding slums. It was the only sound besides the squelching of the constable’s boots on the sodden ground and the patter of her own footsteps.
Though any woman in her circumstances might feel a bit nervous, Laura had more reason than most to be wary. She reminded herself that the constable could have no notion of her true identity. A decade had passed since she and her father had fled London. She had been someone else then, leading another life under a different surname. A lady garbed in silk and jewels rather than the drab commoner she was now.
No one in this vast city knew her anymore. Miss Laura Falkner, toast of society, was as dead as the poor souls in this paupers’ cemetery.
The constable glanced over his shoulder, the dark sockets of his eyes boring into her. “Almost there, Miss Brown.”
Laura kept her face expressionless. Had a stray curl escaped her bonnet? She hoped not, for the police surely had a description of her that included mention of her distinctive tawny-gold hair. “You’ve done more than your duty, sir. If you’ll point me in the right direction, you can be on your way.”
“’Tis no trouble to take ye there. No trouble at all.”
His insistence increased her disquiet. He continued onward, his large head moving back and forth to examine the gravestones. What was his name again? Officer Pangborn. She had not wanted an escort, but he’d insisted that no decent