Captured Love (9 page)

Illicit
Love

MARLOW INTRIGUES – BOOK 1

BY JANE LARK

An excerpt

Perfectly positioned to view
one of the ton’s fairest sons, Ellen’s eyes were drawn from Lord Gainsborough’s
playing cards to the man seated across the table—Lord Edward Marlow, the second
born son of the tenth Earl of Barrington. He was newly in town and therefore a
novelty, an enigma. Every mistress and courtesan in the room had been watching
him all evening and she was no exception.

Lord Edward’s long, manicured
fingers moved, poising above his cards. Ellen openly stared, the low light in
the room and its stale hazy air, thick with tobacco smoke, hiding her scrutiny
from the watching crowd.

His hair was dark brown and
gentle curls tumbled from his crown, licking his forehead and the high collar
of his black, tailed evening coat, Brutus style. In the candlelight, thrown by
the chandelier above, his hair glistened with a variety of rich, roasted coffee
bean shades.

His head lifted and she
indulged her eyes with his severe yet perfect, profile. He exuded authority.
The man was sleek strength and sophistication. The muscle of his jaw tight, his
lips rose as if to smile, but hesitated as though some thought stopped him, and
she saw doubt or indecision pass across his expression. Then his eyelids lifted
and his dark, intense gaze clashed with hers, a deep blue, more like slate-
gray
.

Embarrassed and a little
flustered, Ellen’s appraisal fell to his hands.

His fingers teased out a card
and threw it to the table while she felt his gaze burn into her.

Desire
stirring
,
she pictured the pleasure those fingers could give a woman and the air in the
room was suddenly hot and thick, despite the cool winter night outside.

Ellen lifted her open fan and
fluttered it gently to cool her skin as her gaze drifted back to his face. He
was watching her still. One dark eyebrow rose and his broad lips smiled. Her
gaze hovering on his, she mirrored his smile, her heart pounding as though she
was already coupling with him. She imagined his mouth on hers and a hot blush
touched her skin. The sweeps of her fan increasing, her imagination drifted on
towards indecency—impossibility—picturing tangled limbs and warm flesh.

Light caught the jet-black
pools in his eyes, as though he saw the pictures she was forming in her
thoughts and his captivating smile twisted with implied agreement. It turned
his features from handsome to utterly devastating.

A hot flush spread like a
caress down her throat to her breasts and lower, racing across her skin.

“I shall raise you a hundred,
Marlow. Will you match me?” Lord Gainsborough’s brusque challenge sliced
through the silent communication she shared with Lord Edward.

His gaze tore away, his blank
expression cutting her, apparently dismissing their flirtation. Instead it
focused on Lord Gainsborough.

Ellen stood behind Lord
Gainsborough and slightly to his side, in her protector’s shadow, oppressed.
Oppression was Lord Gainsborough’s pleasure and Lord Gainsborough’s pleasure
was her life. Her gaze fell to the seam at the
center
of the back of his black evening coat. The pressure of his bloated body
strained it. Excess was another of his passions.

Revulsion stirred. She
despised the man—her protector. Yet preference was irrelevant. She was tied to
him, trapped by him. He had blackmailed her into obedience five years ago and
now here she stood, her soul and conscience dead while her body lived on,
fulfilling his dissolute desires. She was empty, a vessel,
deaf
to the voice of morality and blind to shame.

Laughter hovered behind her
closed lips, ringing in her thoughts, a sound of silent madness.

Lord Gainsborough liked
flaunting his pretty vessel—his precious trophy. Sometimes he let others touch,
taunting them with what they couldn’t have. Wickedly she wondered how he would
react if she let someone of Lord Edward’s ilk touch her. He’d be furious.

Hiding her self-deprecating
smile behind her fan, Ellen glanced over its top at the gorgeous man across the
table. Was it very wrong for her sinful body to want a man like that? How would
it feel? How would it feel to be free from her so-called protector for an hour
or two and play his games with a man of her choice? Choice was a holy grail; a
cup fallen woman longed to drink from. And she’d love defying Lord
Gainsborough.

As though pulled by an
invisible cord winding between them, Lord Edward’s gaze lifted to her while he
contemplated Lord Gainsborough’s call. His eyes widened, darkening, perhaps
reading hers, and what appeared to be amusement twitched his lips before he looked
back at his cards.

Ellen snapped shut her fan and
lowered it to her waist, turning her attention to the game. Only Lord
Gainsborough and the younger Lord Edward were left in play. The others sitting
about the table simply watched, and behind them stood a crowd three deep. The
dense ring of silent observers, were men in the formal black evening dress
Brummell had made popular, with the occasional female, mistress or courtesan,
draped from their arms. They were men enjoying the hedonistic lifestyle of the
sleazy gentlemen’s club, or gaming-hell as it was more commonly known.
Gaming-hells, like this one, provided the thrill these men craved from high
stakes games, with women and wine to ease the rush.

For Gainsborough, she knew
this place fuelled something else—his desire to be envied. He brought her here
to show her off. Lord Gainsborough wore her as women wore their jewels. She was
an adornment—his precious, beautiful, trophy. He’d not even dislike Lord
Edward’s attention—he’d relish it. Yet if Gainsborough knew she was enticing
Lord Edward, she would pay a price.

“I will meet your hundred,
Gainsborough, and raise you ten.”

“Are you sure you have it,
boy?” Lord Gainsborough’s tone rang with condescension, ridiculing Lord Edward.
It fell flat. Lord Edward was younger, but he was in his prime. She would place
him at his peak, mid-twenties at the least.

Receiving no answer, shifting
in his seat, her protector pulled at the cuffs of his evening coat, while the
eyes of their crowd turned to Lord Edward.

“Now your brother is back,
Marlow, surely you have lost your portion. Should I request security for your
funds?”

That barb seemed to hit a
mark. Suddenly leaning back in his chair, Lord Edward’s eyes
narrowed,
his nonchalant air shattering as anger flashed in their blue-black depths. For
all his beauty and youth he lacked nothing in masculine strength. Ellen sensed
ruthlessness in the look he threw back at Lord Gainsborough.

“Play the game, Gainsborough.
I’ve no desire for conversation.”

“But you are able to honour
your debts? I need not wait for you to tug your brother’s purse strings for
payment?”

Ellen watched Lord Edward’s
grip tighten on his cards while his other hand reached for his glass. A slowly
indrawn breath and he appeared back in control.

Everyone had heard the talk.
He’d been running his brother’s estates since the age of eighteen, while his
brother, the eleventh Earl, wasted both time and money abroad. Now his brother
was back. Potentially to bleed dry the estates which were prospering under Lord
Edward’s careful hand.

Lord Edward had arrived in
London a week ago, angry and bitter, from the reports of the gossipmongers in
the ton, and his behaviour this evening certainly concurred with the tale. His
mask of serenity had slipped, revealing the man beneath the façade. He appeared
out of sorts with the world, playing hard and deep, drinking heavily—and this
from a man known for his dislike of vice.

His gaze lifted, meeting hers,
anger and mockery in the look, as once more he caught her contemplating him.
The determination in his eyes seemed to challenge her to speak. To what, agree
with Gainsborough? Does he think I would condemn him? I am in no place to cast
judgement.

Again his gaze ripped away
from hers. “I have enough of my own blunt, Gainsborough,” he said, looking at
his cards. “I have no need to beg from my brother.”

The nuance in his voice made
her feel as though the words were said for her.

“I’m glad to hear it. Then I
will raise you another two hundred, guineas.”

Lord Edward’s narrowed eyes
lifted suddenly to look at her protector.

He didn’t have it, she was
certain of that. He could not afford the stakes but would stupidly bury himself
in debt because of some bizarre falling out with his brother, or stubborn male
pride.

Unwilling to play audience to
his downfall, she lowered her gaze and saw Lord Gainsborough’s cards had
changed. The ten had become an ace, and the eight exchanged with a king.
Disgust twisted Ellen’s stomach. Gainsborough would win by deceit and Lord
Edward would be neatly leashed with the debt a whip in Lord Gainsborough’s
hand. Her protector had no decent, honest bones in his body. He manipulated
people. That was Gainsborough’s art; he used, broke and discarded people like
puppets. She prayed daily he would cut her strings and cast her off—set her
free—even though she had nowhere else to go. But he never seemed to tire of the
power she gave him. Yet she need not watch him secure another victim in his
sadistic sway.

Her heart pumping hard,
looking up, she found Lord Edward’s eyes on her again. An odd feeling assailed
her, a sense that he saw into her thoughts. His assessment was no longer
admiring, nor mocking or angry, instead his gaze intently studied hers,
searching for something.

She darted her gaze down and
up, trying to direct his attention to Lord Gainsborough’s cards with her eyes
while simultaneously flicking open her fan and then fluttering it beneath her
chin to distract attention from their silent communication.

Lord Edward’s brow furrowed.
She could see he didn’t understand.

Widening her eyes, she once
again looked to Lord Gainsborough’s cards, then snapped her fan shut and tapped
the tip against the long sleeve of her satin glove.

Smiling, or rather smirking,
Lord Edward looked down at his cards.

Ellen glanced about their
audience but she saw no one watching her.

“I will meet your stake,
Gainsborough, and double it to see your hand. Show me your cards.”

Passionate
Love

MARLOW INTRIGUES – BOOK 2

BY JANE LARK

Available Autumn 2013

When Lord Robert Marlow, the eleventh Earl of Barrington, stepped
forward, Jane’s heart stopped. The last time she’d seen him they had both been
young, innocent and naïve.

She’d considered this meeting a thousand times since their last and
she’d pictured herself as someone he would admire. Yet now she felt everything
the opposite. The gulf he’d left in her life ripped wider.

Robert’s eyes tracked Her Grace, Jane Gray. The only woman who had the
power to disturb his equilibrium had just appeared from nowhere and was now
walking away from him,
again
. Jane’s
beauty had always outshone every other woman in his head and now he’d seen the
reality once more he doubted any woman could ever ease the need he had for her.

He’d heard Sutton had died, and known Jane was free, but he’d had no
intention of seeking her out. He’d always thought he desired revenge, not her.
Yet today, he was like a dog, chasing after her bloody bones. But, yes, he
would like to see her face in the morning when he was the one to say it has
been nice, but goodbye.

The Earl of Barrington played a game; he took women only for one night,
and they all desired to break his nomadic ways, yet no one could refuse such a
handsome, skilled man — except Jane. How could she trust him?

Robert felt Jane’s fingers trembling. She was nervous and agitated.
She’s vulnerable
. He was frustrated and
a little riled. He was not playing games. She was the one who kept flying from
hot to cold. There was something wrong she would not admit to him, and nor
would she admit she liked him. She did. She was a liar.

When will the wounds of love be healed?