Relentless Lord

  He is a hunter at heart…but her heart is no easy prey.

  Hannah Walpole suspected the etiquette lessons her parents insisted upon were a wasted effort. Now, looking around at the ton at her debut, she’s sure of it. Her home is the African continent. She simply does not fit in English Society. Nothing will convince her otherwise, especially not a devilishly handsome lord with black hair, vivid green eyes and a wicked reputation for debauching innocent young women.

  Lord Miles Whitely admires Hannah’s adventurous spirit and cool composure in the face of adversity. It doesn’t hurt that their first encounter provides him with the delightful opportunity to get his hands beneath her skirts.

  When the lady declares she cannot be seduced, he cheerfully takes up the gauntlet she has unwittingly thrown down. But Hannah has no intention of succumbing to his striking gaze or honeyed flattery. Until a crisis leads her to suspect he’s not truly the cad everyone warned her about…

  Warning: Contains one misfit debutante, one shamelessly flirty rake who finds humor in nearly everything, and a long, hot summer party in the country. Deploy your fans, ladies. Things are about to get steamy.

  Relentless Lord

  Amy Sandas

  Dedication

  To December Gephart, my friend, critique partner and an amazing writer. Thanks for all the honesty and encouragement, the brainstorming sessions and the late-night talks over bottles of wine. You rock!

  And to the Wausau area Wisconsin RWA group, a wonderful bunch of writers who continue to inspire and motivate me.

  Chapter One

  Lancashire, England 1815

  Hannah Walpole had never in her life faced such an unique and exasperating challenge. And that was saying something since she had been in some harrowing situations in her twenty years of life.

  If there was one thing she had learned since coming to England two years ago, it was that a lady must maintain decorum at all times. Even when her garter twisted so badly it pinched the sensitive skin at the back of her thigh. Hannah initially thought the pinched garter would resolve itself and continued on her way toward the grand drawing room where everyone was gathering to start off the weeklong party. Unfortunately, with each added stride, the discomfort increased.

  By the time she decided to do something, she had reached the main level of the country house. Guests milled about in every direction as they greeted each other and began the endless socializing that would be expected during the visit. The idea of traversing back through so many curious gazes while pretending not to feel the agonizing pinch of her garter made the trek back to her guest bedroom seem like a journey of a thousand miles.

  She would never make it.

  Following one of her father’s oft-repeated rules—If your chosen path becomes impassable, simply change direction—Hannah looked about for other options.

  That was when she recalled the location of a water closet along one of the hallways extending from the back of the grand hall. Sidling around the growing crowd, Hannah made her way one painful step after another toward the dimly lit corridor. The tour of the house she had been given earlier in the day had been extensive and she was fairly certain she remembered the way to the water closet.

  She was wrong.

  In a house like this, cobbled together over generations of additions and remodels, she soon got turned around by the myriad junctions and secondary hallways that branched off in every direction. Finally acknowledging her predicament, and frankly, because the pain of her garter would not allow another step, Hannah stopped and assessed her situation.

  Hannah Walpole, daughter of two of the most experienced and extensive explorers of the African continent, had gotten herself lost in a house.

  Certainly, it was a palatial estate made up of various wings and towers and other added structures that spread out over several acres.

  But still…it was a house.

  She stood in the middle of a short hallway, really just a passage that connected two other longer hallways, both of which Hannah had already been down with absolutely no evidence of a water closet. She was not opposed to finding an alternative room to use, but that meant she now had to retrace her path. And at the moment, she did not think she could move another step.

  To test it, she gently shifted her weight. There was an immediate tightening of the garter and a quick gasp of pain.

  “Bloody ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, then quickly glanced around.

  Thank goodness, there was no one about to hear her crude curse or witness her humiliating degradation. As the thought finished in her mind, Hannah realized an added benefit of that fact. She stilled to listen for any nearby movement.

  She was quite alone.

  After only the briefest hesitation, she grasped her skirts and flipped them up to her hip as she reached down the back of her leg for the offending clasp. The farther she reached, the more strain was put on her leg and the tighter the damned thing pinched.

  She muttered another furious curse and straightened with a grunt of pain.

  “May I be of some assistance?” Though the words offered aid, the deep masculine tone suggested amusement.

  Hannah dropped her skirts over her legs and whipped her head toward the voice. The swift movement caused another sting of pain and another sharp inhalation. The lighting was dim in the short passageway, but it was enough for Hannah to determine she now stood in the awkward presence of an extremely attractive gentleman.

  She guessed him to be in his late twenties. He held his gloves in his hands, but other than that, he was dressed at the height of gentlemanly fashion in elegant black breeches and a dove-gray coat over an emerald-colored waistcoat. He had thick black hair, a hard angled jaw and a broad forehead.

  His roguish expression struck Hannah most disconcertingly, because despite his attempt at casting his features into a solemn expression, he did not quite manage it. There was a rather exaggerated downward pull on his mouth, suggesting he was doing everything he could to hold back his laughter. As if in an attempt to compensate for the rebellion of his mouth, he had his dark eyebrows drawn low over a striking gaze.

  It was in those eyes that Hannah became momentarily lost.

  Eyes that continued to stare at her curiously from the short distance separating them.

  Eyes such a vivid green beneath the sweep of black lashes they reminded her of the lush vegetation that spread along the Nile during growing season.

  Eyes that laughed despite his solemn expression.

  She had heard tales of eyes like his.

  Hannah stiffened abruptly, sending another shot of pain through her leg.

  She scanned his features. Indeed, they matched a description she had heard spoken of numerous times in the past. Hannah suspected this was the very rake who had seduced and rejected her poor cousin two years ago. And, if rumors were to be believed, at least a dozen other young women just like her.

  Of all the people she could have encountered at this moment, it would be her luck that it should be a notorious scoundrel known for ruining innocent young women.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered, all of her cousin’s warnings about this man tumbling over themselves through her thoughts. “I should go.”

  She would be better served to take her chances in the labyrinth-like hallways than stand another minute with this man. She turned to head in the opposite direction. In her haste, she forgot about the situation with her garter. The fierce twisting motion of her body as she spun around caused the thing to catch even more of her flesh in its grip.

  Her breath hissed between her teeth and she closed her eyes tight against the prick of tears. How humiliatin
g to be brought low by an incessant piece of lady’s underwear.

  “You are obviously in distress,” the green-eyed scoundrel said as he came toward her. “Allow me to help.”

  “No. I am quite all right.” Hannah lifted her hand to him in a gesture to keep him at bay.

  There had to be a way out of this.

  He obeyed her silent request and stopped his advance. His gaze was open and direct as he stared back at her. After a moment, he tipped his head and widened his lips in a smile.

  “I understand your reticence in accepting my assistance, but you may have no other choice. From what I can tell, your problem lies somewhere beneath your skirts.”

  Hannah narrowed her gaze. He was no gentleman at all if he would speak so plainly about her person.

  When she did not reply, he arched his brows in question. “Unless, there is some other reason you felt a need to throw them up.”

  Hannah scowled. Now that was definitely not a gentlemanly thing to say. And if she were in her right mind, she would have come up with something terribly scathing to say in reply.

  As it was, she was still a bit stunned by the smile he had flashed at her. The man was ridiculously handsome. And really, did a man that attractive need such a potent gaze?

  He took a couple steps closer, spreading his hands to his sides. “I can help. Tell me what is causing your pain.”

  She eyed him warily. She would be stupid to trust a man with his reputation.

  “Do you have a choice?” he asked, a note of reckless challenge in his tone.

  Did she?

  Another of her father’s rules came to mind.

  Not all challenges one may face can be predicted. Outside assistance may occasionally be required.

  Surely, that could not apply to her current situation.

  But the rogue with laughing eyes was right. What choice did she have? The longer she remained here, the sooner her absence would be noted. And Hannah had no wish to incite her uncle’s wrath.

  After a slow breath, during which she questioned her sanity, Hannah replied, “The clasp of my garter is pinching my skin. I cannot release it without making it worse.”

  “Then you are in luck, sweet damsel, for I happen to know my way around lady’s garters quite well. I shall have you freed in no time.”

  Before she could think twice or attempt to stop him, he took two long strides to her side and lowered himself to one knee. He smiled up at her with his hand hovering over her skirts; those green eyes boldly meeting hers.

  “May I?” he asked. His voice was low, almost intimate if not for the humor still present in its layered tones.

  Hannah stared at him, her body taut and resistant except for the wild flutter racing through her insides. “Just do it,” she whispered. She glanced away from him to study the grain pattern in the wood paneling on the wall beside her. “Quickly, please.”

  “Is it your right or left leg?” he inquired casually, as though he did this sort of thing all the time.

  “Right,” she answered with a tight jaw.

  Rather than raising her skirts as she had done and as she expected, he reached beneath its embroidered hem. Hannah felt the lightest brush of his fingers over the delicate bones of her ankle before he moved his warm palm up the curve of her calf. Hannah pressed her tongue firmly against the back of her teeth, resisting the urge to jump out of his reach.

  It was disconcerting in the oddest way to have a gentleman kneeling at her side, reaching beneath her skirts while she just stood there allowing it.

  She must have lost her mind.

  His touch was self-assured and unhurried as he wrapped his hand around her leg. The tips of his fingers tickled a sensitive spot behind her knee and Hannah instinctively pulled away. It was only a very slight movement, but it was enough for the garter to twist so sharply a small sound of pain escaped her throat.

  If not for his firm grip around her knee, she likely would have stumbled.

  “Easy, sweetheart. Almost there.”

  His voice was soothing, as though he spoke to a skittish horse.

  On one level, Hannah rejected the patronizing tone as righteous pride rose in her chest. But on another level, a deeper and more visceral level, the tactic worked and she felt her muscles softening. Of course, the fact that he moved his hands over her limb with such gentle pressure and tantalizing confidence may also have contributed to the easing of tension in her body.

  As he smoothed his hand higher, she felt a teasing brush against the bare skin of her thigh, causing gooseflesh to spread over her body. In the very next second, pain flared where the clasp of her garter caught her flesh.

  He paused his tactile exploration the moment she drew in the swift breath.

  “It seems this task will require some visualization,” he explained.

  “Drat,” Hannah muttered before she could stop herself. She had gone this far, may as well see it through. “Just get it done, please.”

  She kept her gaze trained on the wall as she felt him lift her skirts with his free hand. The air against her silk-clad legs sent a delicate shiver across her skin. She wondered if other young ladies making their London debut had to suffer such humiliating indignities.

  Likely not.

  Such a thing seemed specifically suited for her.

  Just one of the many ridiculous faux pas she had committed since arriving in England two years ago. Except this was a little different in that she knew the impropriety of allowing a man to touch her in such a way, let alone view her nearly naked limbs.

  If anyone should find out…

  Maybe she would be sent back to her parents?

  The possibility had merit.

  Hannah winced as he probed around the clasp with gentle pressure. Though he was obviously trying to be careful, his touch still increased her discomfort tenfold. Hannah tightened her hands into fists, distracting herself with the pain of her fingernails cutting into her palms.

  “I must say, you are in possession of a gorgeous pair of legs.”

  Hannah gasped at his crude compliment and whipped her head about to glare at him for the blatant indelicacy. He took that exact moment to grasp her garter and give a swift tug.

  Pain flashed brightly and then—relief. She was freed.

  Her breath expelled in a whoosh as she twisted her upper body to glance down at the back of her thigh. She could just barely see his hands still wrapped around her leg and a purple mark forming above the spot where his thumbs pressed firmly.

  “You will have a nasty bruise and the skin was punctured a bit, but you should heal fine.” He glanced up at her from beneath thick lashes, his emerald-green eyes flashing with wickedness. “Is there anything else you require while I am at your service?”

  The mischief in his gaze went straight to her center. “No, that is quite enough.”

  Hannah stepped out of his reach as he straightened to his full height. Her muslin skirts floated down to the floor, repairing her modesty. She would have liked to walk off without another word but had to acknowledge she still did not know how to get back to the grand hall. Too much time had already been spent for her to waste another minute.

  She turned back to her erstwhile savior. He stood leaning one shoulder against the wall while he pulled on his gloves. His casual posture and the tilted little half-smile curling his lips grated on her nerves, but Hannah was a reasonable person.

  “Would you perhaps be able to point me back in the direction of the party?” She kept her tone cool and aloof.

  He arched a single black brow. “What? I do not even earn a thank you for my assistance?”

  Hannah narrowed her gaze. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he replied.

  Though his stance was relaxed and his expression too amused to be considered seductive, Hannah felt his implication in the very tone of h
is voice.

  “I will find my own way,” she said sharply as she turned and walked away.

  His low laughter followed her into the longer hallway before he called after her.

  “Take the second left, then another left just past the ancient tapestry, then a right when you come to the dead end. You will reach your destination.”

  Hannah kept walking. She considered ignoring his instruction out of pitiful spite. But the thought of her uncle’s anger should he notice her delay had her deciding to take the rogue’s word for it.

  His direction proved valuable as less than five minutes later, she heaved a sigh of relief when she found herself back in the grand hall.

  Chapter Two

  Miles Reginald Whitely could not put his finger on just what it was about the woman that kept drawing his interest. Despite himself, he glanced her way yet again, tilting his head in consideration as he studied her from beneath his brows.

  She was passably pretty, he supposed, with her pale-blonde hair and fresh complexion. Though he stood too far to see the exact color of her eyes at that moment, from their earlier interaction he knew they were a light shade of blue. She was of average height with a figure that was fashionably slim. Modest-sized breasts pressed against her beaded bodice and the fall of her muslin skirts draped over gently curved hips.

  Nothing mouth-watering there.

  Yet he could not stop looking at her.

  He was starting to annoy himself.

  Of course, there was the fact that barely an hour before he had had his hands around her bare thigh—and a lovely thigh it was.

  Miles had caressed many a female beneath her skirts. His interaction with this particular lady had not been specifically amorous. Still, he could admit to himself that the shapely lines of her legs and the subtle catches of her breath as he’d moved his hands over her bare skin had certainly put him in a sensual state of mind.

  Miles understood sexual attraction, and though that was certainly present as he gazed at the unknown blonde, he acknowledged there was something else besides…