Some say the aristocratic Balfour clan is cursed, a once-great family now in slow decline. Graceful Lily Balfour is her family's last hope, and she has come to London with one goal-to marry a rich man. Her well-laid plans are balked, however, by the irresistible Major Derek Knight, a handsome highborn soldier and adventurer newly returned from India.
Hardened by battles on India's lawless frontiers, Derek is not just a fighter but a skilled and insatiable lover-a master of the Eastern arts of pleasure. Though Derek finds no shortage of willing women in London, it is the untouchable, aloof Lily who haunts him. After one stolen moment, he hungers for nights of sensual abandon to fulfill her fantasies and free her from her self-imposed prison. But he has come to England on a vital mission, and when Lily is pledged to a wealthy man suspected of corruption, Derek must thwart the treachery that ensnares them both-for only then will ecstasy and the sweet promise of her heart be his to claim.
Waving her fan a bit in the heat of the crowded ballroom, Lily’s gaze wandered to the line of French doors that opened off the ballroom to the terrace beyond. Perhaps this was the perfect time to sneak out and visit the garden folly . . .
Longing to explore the moonlit garden and the grounds, with a sudden surge of boldness, she decided to chance it.
She lifted the hem of her sparkly pink skirts a bit and was hurrying down the crowded marble staircase. She employed all the stealth she could muster, determined that none of her party should spy her and stop her from sneaking away.
But then, as she was escaping, a ripple of excited murmurs spread through the ranks of the female guests clustered on the staircase and lined up along the railing.
“No, that can’t be true. He made her weep with pleasure?”
“I heard that her servants couldn’t decide if they should leave the pair their privacy or call the constable, what, with all the screaming coming from upstairs!”
“Screaming? My word!”
“She told me he broke her bed.”
“How very--energetic!”
“He’s welcome to break mine,” another purred, staring down into the ballroom.
“Better not let your husband hear you say that.”
“As if he’d care. He still thinks I don’t know about his latest mistress, fool.”
Lily tiptoed past them in shock, trying not to let the ladies notice she was eavesdropping on their indecent gossip. Who on earth were they talking about?
“Did you hear about his tryst with Lady Campbell?”
“What? No!”
“Tell!”
“Poor dear, she couldn’t even go riding with us in Hyde Park last week because of that delicious pagan.”
“You don’t mean--?”
“Indeed. I don’t know what he did to her, but she could barely walk, let alone sit her mount that afternoon.”
“Good heavens!”
Scandalized laughter.
“Trust me, dear, she didn’t seem to mind it.”
Astounded by their wicked talk, Lily followed the direction of the ladies’ collective gaze down to the center of the ballroom, and when she spotted the source of their excitement, she halted abruptly on the stairs.
Oh--!
Oh, my.
Lifting her fingertips to her lips, Lily stood mesmerized by the dangerous-looking man who had arrived, staring right along with all the other ladies.
No wonder all the women had gone mad.
He was . . . beautiful.
Sun-browned and raven-haired, over six feet tall with an iron physique, he wore his resplendent uniform with such pride that it was clear this was no costume for the masked ball. He carried himself like a military man, too--spine erect, chest out, shoulders back, his square chin high. And the self-assurance in the way he walked, a wary glide, part strut, part saunter, seemed to suggest that, indeed, he was master of more than one kind of conquest.
“Who is he, Mary?” some woman asked her friend.
Having walked in a sort of trance down a few more of the stairs, Lily now overheard the fevered conversation of another knot of gossiping women.
“La, dear, don’t you know? He’s only the stud of the Season.”
Giggles followed, giddy and girlish.
“Shh! Do you want the world to hear you?”
“He’s Major Derek Knight,” the first woman revealed in satisfaction. “The Duke of Hawkscliffe’s cousin, newly arrived from India.”
