Once Tempted by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online Page B

room at the height of a ball his mother had thrown not a month after their secret courtship had begun. She’d only too willingly allowed him to steal her away from the propriety of the crowded ballroom and into the solitude of his private sanctuary.
    How foolish and headstrong she’d been that night. Believing his lies as he’d carried her across the threshold and set her down in a rush of silk and lace onto his bed. It had been there atop his downy coverlet that he’d declared his undying devotion for her. That since he’d met her, he’d spent nothing but lonely nights dreaming of her in that very bed . . .  and longing for the day when she would share it with him.
    His earnest declaration, softly whispered endearments and a long, slow kiss had left Olivia believing in his dreams, and a few of her own.
    And they all had to do with sharing his bed.
    He’d kissed her again, this time, he confessed, to seal their love. And then he had done oh-so-much more. Not that she hadn’t been only too willing. She’d have given him anything that magical night.
    And in a sense she had. They’d played a game of decoding and seduction. He’d given her a paper with an undecipherable message, and with each word she discovered, he rewarded her with kisses and promises until she’d untangled the entire message and he’d removed all her clothing.
    Breathless from his touch and dizzy with his heady promises that one day very soon she’d be sharing this chamber with him as his marchioness, their ruinous play had continued until they were interrupted by his valet.
    The memory of her idiotic indiscretion brought a blush of shame and regret to her cheeks. If only she’d seen through his deceptions. If only she’d realized that the Marquis of Bradstone had no intention of making her his bride.
    Certainly not her, the bluestocking daughter of a disgraced knight.
    If only she’d known that he’d had no intention of doing anything other than using her intellectual prowess and her oh-too-willing body for his nefarious purposes.
    She shook off her memories and focused on the here and now. ’Twas time for the two things she’d been dreaming of since she’d learned Bradstone was alive.
    Revenge and redemption.
    Robert stood on the other side of the spacious room with what seemed like an acre of Turkish carpet between them. He remained in the shadows, outside the ring of light from the brace of candles on the desk, with his back to her.
    She hadn’t remembered him being so tall or his shoulders as imposing.
    When she’d cocked the pistol, he’d flinched. But now his stance seemed poised and ready—for death or action, she couldn’t tell.
    Like Hobbe.
    Egads, where had that stray thought come from? The marquis and Hobbe sharing any similarity? Never.
    “Can I help you?” he asked.
    That smooth voice. She’d heard it in her dreams, whispering to her from his watery grave. Now it called to her in real life, bringing forth the memory of that long-ago time when she’d fancied herself in love with him. And believed that he loved her. And trying now to edge its traitorous way back into her shuttered heart.
    Remembering Robert’s true feelings for her, she steadied Jemmy’s wavering pistol, aiming it at his head.
    She would have preferred to direct her shot at his heart, but she knew from experience he hadn’t one.
    “Are you going to shoot, or must I die of boredom waiting for you to get your aim correct?” He stood there for another moment or so, then he slowly turned around in an easy, fluid motion.
    His features remained much as the rest of him, concealed in the obscurity of his lair.
    “Yes?” he asked, his tone almost blasé about finding a pistol bearing woman gracing his bedchamber.
    Then again, this was the Marquis of Bradstone. Unrepentent rake. Despoiler of the innocent. Scenes like this probably happened on a regular basis.
    He took a step toward her, bringing himself into the light and out of the darkness that had