9780743437875: The Devil You Know
Softcover
ISBN 10: 074343787X ISBN 13: 9780743437875
Verlag: Pocket Star, 2003

Inhaltsangabe

From acclaimed author Liz Carlyle comes a spellbinding new novel in which the ton's most charming ne'er-do-well meets his match in a most unexpected fashion and discovers the true meaning of desire....
The Devil You Know
Frederica d'Avillez is sure she will never marry. She's had a disastrous London season, and now her longtime beau has thrown her over for a more eligible miss. But if Freddie can't have a husband, she's hell-bent on experiencing at least one night of unforgettable passion. Where better than in the arms of the dashing rogue Bentley "Hell-Bent" Rutledge? So what if he's a rake, scoundrel, and all-round devil?
Scandal trails in Bentley's wake and fair maidens usually steer well clear of him -- and vice versa. But when the opportunity presents itself, Bentley can't resist Freddie's exotic beauty. When their wild, reckless passion has dire consequences, Bentley is forced to choose between honor and freedom. And Freddie soon realizes that Bentley's devil-may-care façade is just that -- for she has unwittingly unleashed his dark secrets...and secret desires.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

During her frequent travels through England, Liz Carlyle always packs her pearls, her dancing slippers, and her whalebone corset, confident in the belief that eventually she will receive an invitation to a ball or a rout. Alas, none has been forthcoming. While waiting, however, she has managed to learn where all the damp, dark alleys and low public houses can be found. Liz hopes she has brought just a little of the nineteenth century alive for the reader in her popular novels, which include the trilogy of One Little Sin, Two Little Lies, and Three Little Secrets, as well as The Devil You Know, A Deal With the Devil, and The Devil to Pay. Please visit her at LizCarlyle.com, especially if you're giving a ball.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

In which Mrs. Weyden's warnings go Unheeded.

"Tout vient à celui qui sait attendre," muttered Frederica d'Avillez. Her tone made it sound more like a curse than a proverb. It was, she supposed, just a remnant of some long-ago French lesson which now kept repeating itself over and over in her head until it became maddening, rather like that big green and yellow bird she'd once seen swinging on a wire in a Piccadilly shop window. All comes to him who knows how to wait. What a bloody stupid saying. And an egregious lie, too.

At the stable door, she stared grimly into the night for a long, uncertain moment, then forced back her shoulders and marched off in the direction of the terraced gardens. As she paced, Frederica tapped her crop impatiently against her thigh, the muted sting somehow keeping her tears at bay, much as her silly proverb had done for the last several months. The words had given her hope during a miserable come-out season in London. And they had sustained her at home here in Essex while she anxiously awaited Johnny's return from his grand tour.

Well, much good her patience had done her! She should have gone to Scotland with Zoö and the little ones. Instead, she was stuck here with Aunt Winnie and the menfolk, and she and Johnny were done for. Ruthlessly, Frederica shoved a bough of hemlock from her face and pushed on through the shimmering moonlight, her riding boots digging hard into the gravel as she hit the garden path. Here, at the bottom terrace, the gardens were allowed to grow thick and natural. High above in the distance, someone had left a lantern burning by the back door. Frederica should have found it welcoming, but she didn't.

The night was cool but not damp, the air thick with the scent of freshly turned earth. She drew in another steadying breath, and a sudden sense of despair almost overwhelmed her. It drew at her lungs and wracked her shoulders, but she fought it down and picked up her stride. Anger was a better emotion. And she was angry. Spitefully so. The fierce desire to hurt someone was almost frightening. She had come home from London for no good reason. She had been mistaken. Despite all his whispered pleas and smoldering glances, Johnny Ellows, it seemed, had not meant to marry her at all.

Abruptly, she jerked to a halt, scarcely seeing the next flight of steps which loomed up in the moonlight ahead. How could she have been so mistaken? How could she have been so stupid?

Because she was a silly little girl.

Well, the truth hurt, did it not? Things were no different here at home than they had been in London. The surroundings were just more familiar. Society, and apparently even the rural gentry, could always find cause to look down on her. Suddenly, Frederica felt as inadequate in Essex as she had in town. At that thought, something inside her snapped. As if it possessed a will of its own, Frederica's riding crop struck a whacking good blow at the next swag of evergreen, sending snippets of foliage spinning into the night. Unleashing her rage felt oddly satisfying. She was tired of being so perfect, so placid, so bloody damned...restrained. So, again and again, she thrashed at the greenery which verged on the paths and steps, all the while making her way briskly up the terraces.

"He loves me not!" she hissed, striking a blow at the juniper on her left. "Not! And not! And not!" A row of bare-branched forsythia fell victim, dry twigs splintering hither and yon. Stems of yew twirled wildly off into the darkness. The sharp tang of evergreen surrounded her, and still she pushed on, venting her wrath on whatever shrub the moonlight spilt over. The hot press of tears threatened. Oh, Johnny! She had thought...he had said...

But apparently not.

He was to wed his cousin in May. On his father's orders, he had said. He loved Frederica madly, had always loved her, but he could not risk being cut off. There would be no estate, no lovely manor house.

Frederica had reminded him of her generous dowry, but it had done no good. Perhaps his cousin had one larger? The lump in her throat had kept her from asking. So, with a sad smile, Johnny had lifted her hand to his lips and had taken his leave of her forever.

And yet Frederica had heard too well what had gone unsaid. Her blood was not blue enough -- or English enough -- for the virtuous Squire Ellows. And her cousins' titles, money, and influence notwithstanding, Frederica had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, and so she was a bastard -- an orphaned foreign bastard -- the worst thing you could be in England, or so it seemed tonight.

She had almost reached the upper terrace which was rimmed with a low stone wall and flanked with a row of boxwoods. The lantern still swung from its hook by the back door, the pale yellow light spilling across the flagstones. Drawing back her whip, she gave the nearest boxwood one last thrashing.

"Jesus Christ Almighty!" exclaimed a raspy masculine voice.

Frederica leapt back, her hand flying to her mouth.

A broad, dark shape emerged from behind the boxwood, his hands working furiously at the close of his trousers. "Bloody hell, Freddie!" barked the man around the stub of a glowing cheroot. "Give a chap an apoplexy, why don't you?"

Heart in her throat, Frederica leaned forward to peer into the shadows. And then, as he buttoned his trousers, she saw a familiar gold signet ring winking at her in the moonlight. "Oh, good Lord!" she groaned. "Bentley Rutledge, is that you? What, pray, are you about?"

Rutledge gave a bark of laughter and hitched up his last trouser button. "What's it look like, Freddie love?" He unclamped the cheroot between his teeth and cocked one hip against the stone wall. "Try to give a little warning next time."

"For pity's sake, Rutledge! Didn't Tess put a slop pot under your bed?"

But her initial shock having faded, Frederica was not especially embarrassed. She had known Rutledge forever, it seemed. He was her cousin Gus's best friend and a favorite at Chatham Lodge, a house which was usually filled cheek-by-jowl with visitors. And although Aunt Winnie could often be overheard exclaiming that Rutledge was an unconscionable rake, her eyes were always twinkling when she said it. Frederica looked Rutledge up and down. Winnie had said some other things, too. Things unmarried young ladies probably weren't supposed to overhear.

But Frederica had overheard them, and she did not doubt for one moment that they were true. Rutledge was a tall, handsome devil with melting brown eyes, a wicked grin, and thick, dark hair which was always too long. In fact, now that she thought on it, he seemed to get handsomer with every passing year. And bigger. And broader. He was strong, too. On Boxing Day, he had caught her beneath the mistletoe. She remembered how he had set his big hands about her waist so that his thumbs almost touched. And then he had lifted her effortlessly into the air, twirling her round as he kissed her -- full on the mouth, too.

But it meant absolutely nothing. Every year around Christmastime, Rutledge would catch and kiss all the ladies -- Aunt Winnie, Cousin Evie, and even Zoö, whom no one else dared to kiss, because even though she was illegitimate, her father was the great Lord Rannoch. But this year, Rutledge had snatched Frederica up when no one else was about. He had given her the usual swift, smacking kiss. And then, strangely, he had seemed to falter. He almost forgot the twirling part, then the kiss softened somehow, as if their mouths had parted slightly. Then he had lowered her very

slowly, their bodies brushing, his eyes never leaving hers. When her toes again touched the floor, Frederica had felt all hot and strange. But Rutledge had turned away at once. And...

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Verlag
Pocket Star
Erscheinungsdatum
2003
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
074343787X
ISBN 13 
9780743437875
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
416
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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