The Lady's Wicked Proposition (Wicked Liaisons series) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other Books by Vivienne

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  About the Author

  Excerpts

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  The Lady’s Wicked Proposition

  (Wicked Liaisons, Book 1.5)

  By Vivienne Westlake

  © 2014 Vivienne Westlake

  Love is…Yielding to Desire

  A late night game of cards turns into something far more intriguing when Edwina Merriweather confesses a secret to one of the most charming and debauched men in London. Contrary to popular opinion, Edwina is not in town to find a husband. Instead, she’s resolved to find a rake.

  Francis Chevalier is fascinated by the drunken spinster offering up her virginity like a piece of cake. Torn between the need to have her and the desire to protect her from her own stupidity, he politely declines.

  Undeterred, Edwina returns with a proposition so daring even Chevalier cannot refuse.

  Other titles by Vivienne Westlake:

  Lady Northam’s Wicked Surrender (Wicked Liaisons, Book 1)

  A Marquess for Christmas

  Tempting the Governess

  Coming Soon:

  The Rake’s Wicked Seduction (Wicked Liaisons, Book 2)

  To sign up for Vivienne’s newsletter and learn about upcoming releases, follow her online at:

  http://www.viviennewestlake.com

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  Chapter One

  London, May 21, 1816

  As the heavy sighs of his lover quieted to slow breaths, Francis Chevalier stroked her collarbone and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. The dark night enveloped them in the secluded corner of the garden, far from the other guests.

  “I wish I could stay.” Lady Braun twirled a lock of his ash-brown hair around her gloved finger. “My husband returns from Vienna tomorrow.”

  He nodded and then kissed her again. The flavor of champagne and strawberries lingered on her tongue, and she smelled as sweet as she tasted.

  The sound of voices cut through the still night air. Had Simon and Rowena come looking for him? To linger would risk the lady’s reputation, and he had no desire to face the baron over pistols at dawn.

  With a soft kiss and a squeeze, Lady Braun whispered, “You must go. Please.” The silk curtain of her dress fell to the ground, signaling the play had ended, and it was time for his final bow.

  “One kind kiss before we part, drop a tear, and bid adieu; though we sever, my fond heart till we meet shall pant for you.” The sweet line from The Parting Kiss seemed fitting.

  She smiled. “I shall think of you fondly.” He squeezed her hand one last time before he walked away.

  As the cool night air enveloped him, he sighed. Another lover lost. Tomorrow, the game would begin anew.

  Down the path, he saw Simon, the new Earl of Waverly, with his bride. Their bright smiles seemed genuine, and the way her arm pressed into his, looped close together, spoke of an intimacy that Francis envied.

  ***

  Two Weeks Later

  After nine glasses of champagne, Edwina Merriweather had lost all pretense of modesty and conceded that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. This was so unlike her last visit to London, when she’d been too meek and tongue-tied to speak to a man as captivating as Mr. Francis Chevalier.

  What a difference five years and a new-found fortune could make.

  “You have spent most of the night playing cards,” Mr. Chevalier remarked, studying her from across the card table. “I suspect you are avoiding someone, or you are keen to spend your family’s fortune post-haste.” He patted the pile of bank notes and markers he’d won from her.

  “I should say the same to you, sir.” This was the third party where he’d spent hours in the card room rather than on the dance floor, though Chevalier had no shortage of available dance partners. “A flock of admirers follow you at every soiree, yet you’ve been at the tables all evening.” They’d been playing Vingt-et-un for two hours.

  “I confess. I see no need to spend the evening letting naïve debutantes step on my toes and make silly declarations of love. I am not in the market for a wife.”

  She lost herself in the deft manipulations of his strong, firm hands as he shuffled the deck. His gloves lay casually discarded on the polished walnut table. On the back of his hand, she saw a pale, thin scar. Another marked his chin. Were those from the war, or from a brawl?

  He handed her two cards. No doubt she’d lose another hundred pounds before the night ended—he was a far better card player than she, even when she hadn’t been drinking—but she had no inclination to walk away and look for her friend, Lady Swinton.

  “Since we are making confessions,” she said, taking another sip of champagne, “I shall admit that despite the current rumors, I am not in the market for a husband.”

  She glanced at the ace and the two in her hand and determined that the round was already lost. He had a king visible, and if his other card was a ten, he’d win.

  “What is it that brings you to town, then?”

  “I could answer that I simply wanted the freedom to enjoy myself. However, it is much more than that.” She fingered the crystal glass, nearly toppling it over in her clumsiness. So much for impressing him with her grace and charm.

  When she looked up, his stare caught hers. What if she admitted her true motivation? Would he find it amusing? Salacious? It was rather funny. The first thing she wanted to be rid of—now that she was as rich as Croesus—was her most prized possession.

  What use was her virginity now that she never needed to marry?

  She whispered, “I did come to Town in search of a man, but I have no interest in marriage. To my mind, women marry for security, and I am convinced that whatever security I have will vanish the moment I take a husband. My fortune will no longer be my own, and I intend to enjoy every shilling before I die.”

  Motioning for another card, she looked at her sorry hand and prayed for a ten. He slid an eight to her and she bit her lip to keep from smiling. There was still a chance. The next card would either be her salvation or her downfall.

  “Do you plan to spend it all in a grand fashion?” His wide smile set her heart to racing, and she felt a distinct heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

  “No. There is more than I could spend, though if I continue to play cards with you every week, I should surely lose most of it.”

  As he passed her the last card, his fingers brushed hers. What would it be like to feel those fingers everywhere? The idea conjured provocative images of him stroking her bare skin. Could he be the one? Chevalier was unattached, in no need of a fortune, and his reputation promised delicious amusements of the most illicit kind.

  “Tell me, what did you come to find?” he asked.

  Giddy from the champagne, the thrill of his attention sent her flying. Of course, she should stop before she revealed too much, but Dina felt too free, too easy with Chevalier. Once she’d said it, maybe she’d have the courage to carry it through.

  “I have come to find a rake.”

  Eyebrows raised, he set his cards on the table and leaned forward. “A rake?” When he smiled, his blue-green eyes turned as dark as sapphires. “To what purpose, Miss Merriweather?”

  The words cascaded from her lips before she could stop them. “I need a rake to do what he does best. I have a…uh…situation that needs,” she cleared her throat, “a remedy.”<
br />
  “And what sort of man will meet the requirements?”

  The heat in his voice lanced through her, white hot and unforgiving, and there was nowhere to hide. Even her toes burned.

  Glancing away, knowing he saw the flush of her skin, she covered her nervousness with a jumble of worthless chatter. “Oh, any handsome and experienced gentleman will suffice. So long as he is discreet.”

  “Discreet.”

  “Yes, of course he needs to be able to keep whatever we…discuss…private. A pleasant countenance is also essential. I could hardly relax if he were ill-featured or had boorish manners.”

  Looking at him was a mistake. Chevalier’s face was partly cast in shadow from a potted plant situated in the corner behind him. He sat still as a lion, who acknowledged his prey with the mere movement of his eyes. Dina downed the glass of champagne in one shot, causing her chair to tip back and teeter on one leg. Before she could react, Chevalier reached across the table and pushed her chair back in place.

  He took her glass and motioned for a servant to retrieve it. When the footman held out another glass of champagne, Chevalier shook his head and waved the man away.

  Just when she thought she’d be spared any more embarrassment, he asked. “Is there anything else you require?”

  Dina was a terrible liar, so she blurted out the truth before she thought better of it. “Well, the rest should be somewhat obvious. He must possess the skill to make the experience enjoyable, or the entire matter would be pointless.”

  “I see. You seek a man of discretion, who has a pleasant demeanor and some skill with pleasing a lady. Where do you expect to find this gentleman?”

  “Perhaps I already have.”

  ***

  Miss Merriweather was too deep into her cups to have any notion of what she said or did. If she’d been a widow, he would have taken her words as a direct invitation to bed and obliged without a second thought.

  She was pleasing to look at, with large, crystal blue eyes, fair skin, and the tiniest hint of freckles under her eyes. He could easily envision pulling her brown hair as she knelt before him, tempting him with a luscious round arse that was made to be kissed and spanked in equal measure.

  But Edwina Merriweather was an innocent. Well, as innocent as a woman of three-and-twenty might be, and she had no brother to warn her against soliciting a rake when she should be looking for a husband—with the title to match her fifteen thousand a year.

  “Champagne has muddled your wits. You are in danger, yet you fail to realize it. Like the cat that baited the wolf.”

  “I am certainly drunk,” she agreed. “But ask me tomorrow, and I shall tell you the same. I know what I want. While I am certain I could find a number of willing Lotharios to oblige me, you intrigue me more than any other man I’ve met this season.”

  “How many men have you approached?” He might need to make some calls tomorrow to save the lady from her own loose tongue.

  “Only you.”

  He let out a long breath. Why was he so relieved? He barely knew the woman and should not feel the need to protect her from her own stupidity. Yet the thought of her being ill-used by a man who might spread gossip about her—or worse, discard her the moment he’d spent himself inside her—made Francis ill.

  “At least you were smart enough to come to me first.”

  Dina leaned forward, giving him a nice view of what might be his, if he agreed. Her petite, slender figure seemed lithe and graceful, rather than awkward and undeveloped, and her bosom was sufficient enough for him to fantasize about what hid beneath the pale blue muslin.

  “Does that mean that you will volunteer to assist me?”

  He wanted to rub his cheek along her body from chest to ankle, longed to skim his fingers along her thighs and work his way into her cleft, but he would not ravage an innocent maid. She has not expressly said that she is untouched, he reminded himself.

  Leaning closer, he whispered even lower. “Do you have any experience? Or are you still pure?” He tried to put it delicately.

  A red flush spread cross her skin, from her cheeks down to her chest. “I am untutored in the ways of love. This is exactly why I seek someone of your savior-faire.”

  He sat silently for a moment. If he turned her away, she might find another man to service her. The consequences could be disastrous, depending on the man she chose. If Francis accepted her request, he would ruin her. She’d be ostracized and never find a husband—though an unscrupulous man might forgive her indiscretion for the promise of a fortune.

  With a quick glance around the room, he checked for onlookers. The three ladies who’d watched him earlier were gone, and everyone else was either engrossed in their game or too drunk to notice the conversation.

  “Miss Merriweather, you are inebriated. You’ve gone through at least one bottle of champagne—“

  “Two,” she corrected.

  “Two bottles.” He raised his eyebrows. “As much as your suggestion flatters me, I cannot take it seriously. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up mortified and regret your offer. What shall I do then?” He smiled and took her hand. “Your retraction would break my heart.”

  “I am perfectly serious,” she countered. When he looked into her glassy eyes, he knew he’d made the right decision. She’d forget about the whole thing tomorrow, when the sober light of morning touched her beautiful face.

  “Let us resume the game.”

  Picking up the cards, he knew he needed a hit. Unfortunately, the next card took him from sixteen to two-and-twenty. Miss Merriweather could have five and she’d win the game. He handed back her marker from the last hand and picked up her cards to shuffle the pack again. Curious, he stole a peek at her hand. Twenty-one.

  Miss Merriweather had out-played him, whether by design or by luck, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he’d underestimated her and he wondered if she might surprise him in other, more intimate ways as well.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  After the third young coquette presented herself in the theatre box, hoping to see—and be seen—with Francis, he rolled his eyes and considered escape. Six months of being the prize buck of the season had taken its toll.

  Bored, he searched for Miss Merriweather in the crowd. His gilded quizzing glass revealed no sign of her. Strolling behind the private boxes in his row, he heard nothing of her voice, saw no hint of her petite figure behind the thick, red curtains.

  Last night’s confession was still on his mind. He wanted to see her again, but would she prevaricate and feign ignorance?

  “You are popular tonight,” Simon remarked.

  “Jealous?” Francis teased. Simon and Rowena had only come to London recently, and news of their marriage had shocked the haute ton. Everyone wanted Lord and Lady Waverly at their dinner tables and soirees.

  “I am enjoying your popularity far more than you are.”

  Francis grinned. “Perhaps I should hide beside the chamber pots until the opera begins.” His grandmother had convinced all and sundry that he wanted to find a wife.

  “The ladies will merely send a footman after you with more notes,” Simon gestured behind them where an usher stood, carrying two missives.

  Giving a tip to the usher, Francis retrieved the notes. One was from a bold chit he’d never heard of, begging for an introduction. The other…was far more intriguing.

  Are you tired of being chased by this season’s debutantes? If you want to hear a proposition far more interesting than this evening’s theatricals, come and meet me outside. I will be waiting in a black hackney. The coachman wears a yellow rose.

  -M.

  Francis passed the note to Simon, whose eyebrows raised. “Will you meet her?”

  “I see no reason to refuse. I confess I am intrigued.”

  “Then go. Go before Rowena and Delphine return and badger you with questions.”

  With a quick bow, he made his exit and hurried down the stairs. He prayed that he would not cross paths with Simon’s sister-in-law
, Delphine, who would insist on a thorough explanation for his departure. She ferreted out secrets faster than anyone he knew.

  When he stepped outside, the chill air whipped his face, and he pulled on the brim of his top hat as he looked for the hackney. The lantern light made the black carriages look the same. Where was the driver with the yellow rose?

  “Good even’, my lord. By chance ye be lookin’ for a lady?”

  Francis eyed the man up and down, but he wore no yellow rose. Perhaps the driver was soliciting for a prostitute, though it seemed unlikely.

  “I am meeting a friend,” he said, neutrally.

  “There’s a hackney been waitin’ for a while, down the end there, with a pretty Miss inside.”

  His hand reached out, and Francis dropped two shillings into the man’s palm.

  Sure enough, the fellow with the yellow rose was at the end of the street, sitting atop a black carriage. A dark figure sat inside, but the woman’s face wasn’t visible, only the black folds of her cloak.

  “Good evening. I am here at the lady’s request.” He held up the letter, but the driver waived his hand in dismissal.

  Francis opened the door to the hackney and stepped inside.

  “You came.” Edwina. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or relieved.

  “I never disappoint a lady.” Taking the seat beside her, he pulled off the hood of her velvet cloak.

  “We shall see.”

  “I confess I am curious as to how you plan to save me from this season’s crop of fortune-hunting debutantes?”

  Edwina shivered and clutched her cloak tightly. He debated on whether to pull her against him to minimize the chill.

  “My plan is simple. You agree to become my lover, as we discussed, and I will, in turn, agree to become your fiancée. You can parade me around town, introduce me to your family, and let everyone believe we are going to wed.”