Carolyn Davidson - The Seduction Of Shay Devereaux

Her arm swept toward the shaded, grassy lawn. “I almost wish I hadn’t stopped you,” she whispered.

“Would you stop me now?” So softly she could barely hear the words, he whispered temptation in her ear. Leaning forward, ignoring the hand she thrust against his chest, he bent to her, his breath warm against her face.

She shivered, beguiled by the thought of his hands against her skin, lured by the dark splendor of his scarred face, enticed by the image of their coming together. And then she thought of the emptiness she would face, once she’d known the joy of loving Shay, only to have him walk away. It stretched before her, and she closed her eyes against the pain.

“Could you do that? Take everything I’ve offered you—and then walk away from me?”

The Midwife

“…an earthy, emotional love story, peopled with unforgettable characters.”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Tender Stranger

“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges, portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist within ordinary marital love.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Wedding Promise

“…a tense, involving love story…a beautiful, old-fashioned romance with a charmingly sensuous touch.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

Harlequin Historical #556

#555 ONE KNIGHT IN VENICE

Tori Phillips

#557 GALLANT WAIF

Anne Gracie

#558 NIGHT HAWK’S BRIDE

Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and CAROLYN DAVIDSON

Gerrity’s Bride #298

Loving Katherine #325

The Forever Man #385

Runaway #416

The Wedding Promise #431

The Tender Stranger #456

The Midwife #475

*The Bachelor Tax #496

*Tanner Stakes His Claim #513

One Christmas Wish #531

*“Wish Upon A Star”

Maggie’s Beau #543

The Seduction of Shay Devereaux #556

*Edgewood, Texas

Because you read whatever I hand you,

and give me your unbiased opinion…

Because you clean up my messes when

I’m running behind schedule…

Because you cook for my family

when I invite you for dinner…

Because we share a love of books

and discuss them by the hour…

Because you call me “friend”…

This book is dedicated to you, Betty Barrs

And to the man who tells me

he loves me every single day…

I love you, too, Mr. Ed

Prologue

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

Epilogue

The hand reached for him. Cold, skeletal fingers wrapped around his wrist with unbelievable strength. Shrinking from the grasp, Shay groaned aloud, and the sound of his own voice wakened him. He sat upright on the narrow bed, his eyes searching the darkness, his breathing harsh and rapid.

A dream…another nightmare. The second this week. And yet, more than a dream, for the memories evoked by that groping hand were all too valid. All too painfully real.

Rolling from his bed, he stalked to the open window, looking out upon the thick greenery hedging his hideaway. Moss hung from oak trees, silver in the moonlight, and the grass held glistening drops of moisture, where dew lay heavy on each blade. It must be nearly dawn, he decided, resting one hand on the wide window frame.

He watched as an owl spread wide wings, swooping soundlessly across the span of sky between barn and trees. Dangling prey hung from sharp talons, and Shay felt a strange affinity for the hapless creature. His low chuckle was without amusement, holding instead dark shreds of bitter remembrance. He knew only too well the feeling of being captured, of the torment endured as soul and body were torn asunder, until all that remained was a shell of manhood, its essence swept up in hours and days of misery. He closed his eyes and saw another glimpse of that place called Elmira.

Another name for Hell.

Men with little to live for had been freed at the end of the conflict. He counted himself among that number. Some, with wives and children awaiting their return, had been buried beneath the northern soil. One of them, Carl Pennington, had been his friend, his commanding officer. During the time they served together, they’d discovered their families lived less than a hundred miles apart. Taken prisoners during the same battle, Shay had survived. Carl had not lived to be released.

He’d given Shay his last bits of food, aware that his own life was fast ebbing, yet grimly determined that Shay should survive. And survive he had, kept alive by another man’s sacrifice.

“Promise me, Gaeton.” Death molded Carl’s features, yet he’d struggled to breathe. The same fever had killed many, perhaps hundreds, in this camp. But Carl’s strength lay in his love for the wife and child he’d left behind.

“Promise me, Gaeton.” Again he’d demanded the pledge, and Shay’s heart plunged within him as he recalled the answer he’d given.

“Gaeton Devereaux died the day he walked into this prison,” he’d muttered. “I’m not sure there’s enough of him left to make a promise.”

“Take care of them.” Carl had gasped the words with his last breath, and Shay’s hand had closed the staring eyes. Shay looked out upon the darkness, reliving once more that hellish day. Remembering the promise he’d refused to make. It had haunted him for four years. As had the man who’d trusted him.

“Damn you, Carl.” The curse breathed softly upon the humid air and Shay bent his head in surrender.

For four years he’d sought peace, making his way from one town to another, one ranch to the next, regretting the words he’d swallowed, the promise he’d refused to give. He’d managed to win more hands of poker than any man had a right to claim, and found his ease with less than a handful of women. And all the wandering had brought him back to where he’d begun. Louisiana…where his family lived and worked the home place. Louisana…where Carl Pennington’s wife and child lived from hand to mouth, or so he’d heard only yesterday.

Here where Shay’s name had been Gaeton Devereaux.

The curse he’d spoken was beyond recall. Ahead of him waited the task he would undertake, the promise he would finally speak aloud, and honor.

“Rest in peace, Carl,” he whispered. “I promise you. I’ll do what I can.”

March, 1869

Four years. She’d given herself four years, measuring the days since the letter had come, telling her of Carl’s death. At first, when his horse had carried him away, she’d been hopeful. Sure he would return, the battle won. Soon, he’d come back to her and the long days and nights would be in the past.