Christine Merrill - A Wicked Liaison

She ignored the heat rising in her. “Yes.”

His voice dropped to a sensuous murmur, and she could feel the words dancing along her nerves. “Be warned, I have an extremely vivid imagination.”

Suddenly so did she. She closed her eyes tight and the fantasies that rose at the sound of his voice became more intense. Her blood sizzled as she imagined what it might be like to submit to the whims of a man who was little more than a stranger: a hardened criminal, accustomed to taking what he wanted.

“Anything you wish.”

A Wicked Liaison

Harlequin ®Historical

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When I started writing nine years ago, I never imagined that my stories would find their way to Harlequin Books ®. It is a source of great pride to know that my “imaginary friends” are in the care of a company whose history stretches back sixty years.

I hope you enjoy my story of Constance Townley, a lonely widow who is about to meet the man who will spoil her plans for a respectable remarriage. But how can she settle for a life without passion after Tony Smythe steals her heart?

I’ve grown quite fond of both Tony and Constance, who have been my close companions for several months. They are quite an exciting pair. When I sat down to write their story, I was never sure if I would be waltzing at Vauxhall or climbing into windows and picking imaginary locks. And together they do indeed have some wicked liaisons, and manage to live happily ever after.

The Inconvenient Duchess #821

An Unladylike Offer #862

Hallowe’en Husbands #917

“Master of Penlowen”

The Mistletoe Wager #925

A Wicked Liaison #953

#951 THE DISGRACEFUL MR. RAVENHURST—Louise Allen

Dowdy cousin Elinor’s family connections are extremely useful, but Theo Ravenhurst is convinced her drab exterior disguises a passionate nature. He’ll give Elinor the adventure she’s been yearning for—and in the process discover she has talents beyond his wildest imagination!

The latest tantalizing installment of Louise Allen’s

Those Scandalous Ravenhursts!

#952 MOUNTAIN WILD—Stacey Kayne

In the snow-dusted mountains of Wyoming, a blizzard brings a blond-haired cowboy and a blue-eyed mountain woman close. The two isolated souls, Garret Daines and Maggie Grace, share a common enemy. The bond they forge to overcome the threat against them is unbreakable—and when the storm is over, a connection lingers that is as wild as the mountains, yet seductively tender….

A love worth fighting for

#954 THE CONQUEROR’S LADY—Terri Brisbin

Giles Fitzhenry is a born warrior. Lady Fayth is a Saxon heiress, forced to marry this Breton conqueror. Though she yearns to be rid of him, a deep desire ignites each time she holds her new husband’s piercing gaze. Giles has conquered all: title, lands and respect. But the ultimate battle is for his new lady’s love—and her utter surrender.

The warrior’s unwilling wife…

To Maddie Rowe, editor extraordinaire.

You make this so much fun that I forget I’m working.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Anthony de Portnay Smythe sat at his regular table in the darkest corner of the Blade and Scabbard pub. The grey wool of his coat blended with the shadows around him, rendering him almost invisible to the rest of the room. Without appearing to—for to stare at his fellows might prove suicidally rude—he could observe the other patrons. Cutpurses, thieves, petty criminals and transporters of stolen goods. Rogues to a man. And, for all he knew, killers.

Of course, he took great care not to know.

The usual feelings of being comfortable and in his element were unusually disconcerting. He dropped a good week’s work on to the table and pushed them towards his old friend, Edgar.

Business associate, he reminded himself. Although they had known each other for many years, it would be a mistake to call his relationship with Edgar a friendship.

‘Rubies.’ Tony sorted through the gems with his finger, making them sparkle in the light of the candle guttering on the table. ‘Loose stones. Easy to fence. You need not even pry them from the settings. The work has been done for you.’

‘Dross,’ Edgar countered. ‘I can see from here the stones are flawed. Fifty for the lot.’

This was where Tony was supposed to point out that they were investment-grade stones, stolen from the study of a marquis. The man had been a poor judge of character, but an excellent judge of jewellery. Then Tony would counter with a hundred and Edgar would try to talk him down.

But suddenly, he was tired of the whole thing. He pushed the stones further across the table. ‘Fifty it is.’

Edgar looked at him in suspicion. ‘Fifty? What do you know that I do not?’

‘More than I can tell you in an evening, Edgar. Far more. But I know nothing about the stones that need concern you. Now give me the money.’

This was not how the game was to be played. And thus, Edgar refused to acknowledge that he had won. ‘Sixty, then.’

‘Very well. Sixty.’ Tony smiled and held out his hand for the money.

Edgar narrowed his eyes and stared at Tony, trying to read the truth. ‘You surrender too easily.’

It felt like a long hard fight on Tony’s side of the table. Tonight’s dealings were just a skirmish at the end of the war. He sighed. ‘Must I bargain? Very well, then. Seventy-five and not a penny less.’

‘I could not offer more than seventy.’

‘Done.’ Before the fence could speak again, he forced the stones into Edgar’s hand and held his other hand out for the purse.

Edgar seemed satisfied, if not exactly happy. He accepted the stones and moved away from the table, disappearing into the haze of tobacco smoke and shadows around them, and Tony went back to his drink.

As he sipped his whisky, he reached into his pocket to remove the letter and his reading glasses. He absently polished the spectacles on his lapel before putting them on, then settled his chin in his hands to read.

Dear Uncle Anthony,

We are so sorry that you were unable to attend the wedding. Your gift was more than generous, but it does not make up in my heart for your absence on my most happy of days. I hardly know what to say in thanks for this and so many other things you have done for my mother and me over the years. Since Father’s death, you have been like a second father to me, and my cousins say the same.