Wicked Husbands Book Two
She married him for his title…
Maggie, Marchioness of Sandhurst, is trapped in a loveless marriage of convenience. Her husband refused to consummate their union, and she hasn’t seen him in over a year. But she has a plan to win back her freedom. All she needs to do is create the scandal of the century.
He married her for her fortune…
Simon, the Marquis of Sandhurst, vowed he’d never touch the wife he didn’t want. When he seeks pleasure in the arms of a masked siren at a wicked country house party, he’s shocked to discover the woman in question is actually his marchioness.
Will their marriage of convenience become a love match?
As the truth unravels, husband and wife are estranged no longer, spending their days and nights exploring the desire burning hot between them. But when Simon’s past comes back to haunt them both, their newfound happiness could be forever dashed.
“…love is love for evermore.”
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
England, 1878
aggie, Marchioness of Sandhurst,knew when to concede defeat, and now was proving just such a moment. She watched the first evening of Lady Needham’s infamous country house weekend unfolding in all its raucous glory. How had she ever thought she could find the courage to start a scandal to rival the debauchery before her?
Straight ahead, a masked lady’s nipples were nearly visible above the décolletage of her black evening gown as she sipped champagne and flirted shamelessly with a masked gentleman. To her left, a gentleman had a lady pinned to the wall as he feasted on her neck. At her right, another couple’s furtive motions suggested they were engaged in something far more depraved.
She’d thought that she was made of stern enough stuff to do what she must to regain her independence. Any man would suffice, she’d told herself, no matter how disagreeable the task. He could be old or young, short or tall, balding, round about the middle. She didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t cruel or malodorous, she could bear it.
Fool,she chastised herself.Coward.
For here she stood, mouth dry, heart thundering in her breast, fingers clenching her silk skirts. Too afraid to step forward, throw caution to the wind. Too fearful to free herself from the prison of her mistakes.
There was no hope for it. She wasn’t cut from the same cloth as her fellow revelers, for watching them only made her want to retire to her chamber, snuggle beneath the covers, and read the volume of poetry she’d brought along with her. If only she hadn’t chosen duty instead of love.
With a sigh, she turned away from the swirls of skirts and the dashing sight of masked rakes wooing their eager female counterparts. After two steps, she froze as she heard an unmistakable sound above the laughter and the music and the rumble of inebriated voices. It was the one sound a lady never wanted to hear, the sound that invariably made her shudder in her silk shoes.
The awful sound of fabric rending.
Her train, to be specific. The lush fall of silk designed by Worth himself. Hopelessly torn. Dismay mingling with true despair within her, she turned to find the culprit. He was dressed to perfection in evening black, taller than she, his identity obscured by an equally midnight half-mask. The lower half of his face revealed a wide jaw, a sculpted mouth. There was no denying that he was handsome, but he didn’t appear to notice her, his glittering green eyes instead traveling the sea of iniquity above Maggie’s head.
What a lout. Perhaps he was a drunkard as well. Stifling the urge to roll her eyes in frustration, she attempted to gain the man’s attention, for he still stood upon the mangled remnants of her beautiful violet silk. “Pardon me, sir?”
He either ignored her or didn’t hear her, caught up in the madness of the ball. For a moment, she had the distinct impression his mind was far away from the ballroom crush. He seemed to look past them all, lost in his own meandering thoughts.
But this man and his thoughts were not her concern. Be he inebriated, enthralled, or distracted, unfortunately he was still on her skirts. “Sir?” She raised her voice, trying not to call too much attention to herself for she was ashamed she’d even deigned to attend the notorious party in the first place.
He remained oblivious. Perhaps he suffered from a hearing problem. Oh dear. It seemed she had no choice if she wanted to save her train from further damage. Maggie reached out and laid a tentative hand on his arm. “Sir?”
He gave a start and turned the force of that startling mossy gaze on her. “Madam?”
His arm was surprisingly well-muscled, his coat warm with the heat of his large body. She withdrew her touch with haste as if he were a pot too long on the stove that she’d inadvertently touched with her bare hand. He still didn’t realize he trampled her gorgeous evening gown. It took her a breath to regain her composure under the force of those piercing eyes.
“Sir,” she began hesitantly, “I’m afraid you’re standing upon my train. If you’d be so kind?”
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, startling her with his blunt language. His penetrating stare dropped to the floor and he quickly removed the offending shoes from her silk. “Ah Christ, it’s ripped to bits, isn’t it?”
She cast a dreary eye over the effects of his feet. “I expect it will require some correction, yes.”
Correction was rather an understatement. Her silk train, complete with box-pleated ribbon trim and a lace-and-jet overlay, was badly torn. She wasn’t certain a seamstress’s hand could make repairs without them being obvious to the eye. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford a new gown, but this had been her first occasion wearing it, and it had been unbearably lovely.
“I’m truly sorry.” His voice sounded cross, drawing her attention back up to his frowning mouth. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll be happy to have it repaired for you.”
