And The Widow Wore Scarlet (Scandalous Sons 1)

The woman beneath it all. A simple woman who wanted simple things. A woman with so much love to give it took a wall of Norse shield-maidens to keep it at bay.

“Wait on Rupert Street, Cutler.” Wycliff’s commanding voice drew Scarlett from her reverie. “When a man needs to make a quick exit, the front door is often the best choice.”

“Mr Flannery is not a man who makes trouble.” Not unless provoked. “No doubt he will be grateful to you for giving your assistance.”

“Grateful?” he mocked. “Based on my reputation, he will think the worst.”

Oh, she had met men with exceptional manners, with pure bloodlines, with the grace and poise of princes. Most were devious liars. Indeed, when it came to deception, sincerity was the perfect disguise.

Damian Wycliff was often rude. His tainted blood fed an anger worthy of Ares, the god of war. Virtue and etiquette were foreign words to him. But while he kept his private thoughts hidden, he never lied. He hated with the devil’s passion. And if he ever loved, he would do so from the depths of his soul.

“Mr Flannery can see through men’s bravado,” she said as Wycliff escorted her to the door at the end of the long, dark alley. “He will learn to trust you, just as I have.”

“You trust me?”

“I do. More than anyone else in the world.”

She felt the penetrating heat of his stare before he drew her to an abrupt halt and swung her around to face him.

“Scarlett.” Her name breezed from his lips as his fingers brushed against her cheek. With a gentleness she was unused to, he captured her chin and pressed a long, chaste kiss to her lips.

Her defences crumbled. Every barrier she’d raised to protect her heart from this man lay like rubble around her feet.

“What was that for?” she said, touching her fingers to her lips when he broke contact and stepped away. Was it because she was one of the few people who believed in him?

“I have no idea. The urge came upon me rather suddenly. And I’m a man who indulges his whims.”

“I see.”

“Do you wish to raise a complaint?”

“No. I have no complaint.” She could still feel the essence of the man on her lips and so resisted the need to moisten her mouth for fear she might lose his taste. “Might I expect more surprises?”

“I imagine so.” He cupped her elbow and drew her to the wooden door.

“There is no need to knock.” Scarlett delved into the pocket of her black pelisse and removed the iron key.

“So no one knows of your association with Mr Flannery? No one knows you possess a key to the door of a club where a substantial amount of money is kept on the premises?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She led him into the narrow corridor before closing and locking the door.

“I wonder if the intruder had another motive for entering your home.”

Until now, she had been reluctant to recount the events of that night. Fear choked her throat whenever sh

e pictured the image of a fiend dressed in black looming over the bed.

“Theft was not the motive. He could have stolen jewellery, silver, but took nothing but the breath from my lungs.”

“And you’re sure it was a man?”

“Other than Alcock, I know of no woman with such size and strength.”

“Hmm.” Wycliff leant back against the wall, his brows drawn in thoughtful contemplation. “And how did Alcock come to work as your coachwoman?”

Scarlett jumped to attention. “Do not think she had anything to do with what happened. Alcock believes she owes me a debt of gratitude she can never repay.”

Wycliff raised a brow. From the glint in his dark eyes, it was clear he had made the logical assumption. “You were the one who gave her the money to buy her freedom.”