Strictly Seduction Historical Re-release ISBN-13: TBD Release Date: Nov, 2011 Genre: Historical Romance Download eBook: EPub/Sony/Others | Kindle | Kindle UK | Nook | All Romance ebooks | Sony PURELY PASSION As an innocent girl, Madeline Sedgewick learned that nothing comes without a price—even desire. Five years later, now widowed and deeply in debt, she’s certain that the stranger who bought her last husband’s notes of credit will demand swift, steep repayment. But she never imagines her creditor will be Brock Taylor, her baseborn former stable-hand turned newly wealthy entrepreneur—the man who stole her virginity and her heart. She’s even more stunned when he says that he’ll forgive her debts only if she becomes his wife. Brock’s memories of their parting are no less bitter than Maddie’s, and his plans for their future are hardly a rekindling of their blissful first love. But seeing Maddie again—just as spirited, strong, and beautiful as ever—reawakens a desire he thought long dead. When she refuses his proposal, they strike a dangerous wager, with Brock’s self-made fortune and Maddie’s treasured independence at stake. It’s a wager only one of them can win—as long as they resist the other’s passionate seduction . . . and falling in love again. Read Reviews | Read Excerpt

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CHAPTER ONE

London – March, 1834

“My late husband’s bills have been settled? Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Hockelspeck?” Madeline Sedgewick asked, resisting the urge to wring her hands.

“You did.”

To assure herself he hadn’t told some terrible joke, Maddie opened her reticule with deceptive calm and withdrew a few bills—the bulk of her remaining funds. “I need not pay you this installment, then?”

“It’s quite unnecessary. As of yesterday, you owe nothing.”

Jubilation raced through her. Blindly, she reached for her young daughter beside her, squeezing her small hand, though Aimee was too young to understand.

“Are you happy, Mama?” Aimee asked beside her.

Bending to her daughter, Maddie smoothed the blond curls around her daughter’s pink-cheeked face, unable to find the words to adequately express her profound joy to a four-year-old. “Very much, sweeting.”

Since her late husband’s death, she had prayed for some miracle to save her from Colin’s obligations. Now, relief surged so powerfully within her, she fought back tears. True, the amount owed Mr. Hockelspeck was not the sum of all her debt, but it was a start.

Her nightmare might soon end. Perhaps she could make a few repairs to Ashdown Manor, buy Aimee new shoes—a million needs came to mind… Then the tailor’s words replayed in her head. Her euphoria crumbled.

“My debt was settled, you say?”

He sent her a crisp nod. “Precisely.”

“Can you elaborate how?”

“I...I mustn’t—” Hockelspeck hesitated. “A man purchased your debt. That is all I am at liberty to say, Lady Wolcott.”

Sudden fear crashed through her. Maddie tried to rein it in. Someone had purchased her notes and would expect repayment. She still owed far more money than she possessed.

After three years of saving each farthing, of quietly letting servants go one by one, of selling her late mother’s prized furnishings, of seeing her sweet daughter silently suffer the winter chills of fireless hearths, so she might slowly pay off each of her late husband’s demanding creditors, now some stranger had purchased this note without a word to her. What would she do if her new creditor demanded immediate repayment in full?

“Who acquired my debt? I must ask.”

And why would anyone do such a thing?

“I cannot say, my lady. Now, you must excuse me. I have paying customers...” The odious tailor’s lips thinned to an impatient line.

Anxiety gripped Maddie anew. The few remaining family members had refused to aid her when asked, her father having alienated them long before he died. Her late husband’s relations had all departed, save his sister Roberta, who had never welcomed her. She’d gone to great lengths to hide her dire financial situation from her acquaintances, hiding in Hampstead Heath behind widow’s weeds instead.

Maddie grabbed Mr. Hockelspeck’s arm. “Wa-wait.”

He turned back and raised a thin brow.

Maddie pasted on her best smile to hide the desperation and fear tearing at her hard-won composure. She didn’t like mysteries. Good rarely came from them.

“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I cannot credit who would buy such a debt and not present his terms to me. Can you not give me his name?”

“No. He asked very particularly to remain anonymous. However, I feel certain he intends to present himself and his terms to you very soon.”

#

Two weeks later, spring hovered a breath away. Maddie couldn’t stop thinking about anything other than the mysterious stranger who now owned her future.

After leaving Mr. Hockelspeck and visiting the rest of her creditors, each had indicated that a mystery gentleman had purchased her debt and insisted on remaining anonymous. She still had no notion who, what, or when to pay—much less why. Each day that slipped by frayed her nerves a bit more.

In the interim, Maddie had purchased Aimee a new pair of much-needed shoes, and Aunt Edith had persuaded her to splurge on a chicken for stew to celebrate her freedom from Mr. Hockelspeck’s incessant demands. Maddie hadn’t had the heart to worry her elderly aunt about the money she still owed and the enigmatic stranger to whom she owed it.

Though creditors had ceased hounding her, she still felt the shameful sting of her impoverished state, worried her anonymous creditor could appear, demanding what she could not give.

At a sudden knock on her door, she gazed at the mantle clock. Nine o’clock in the evening. A very late hour for visitors, especially in quiet Hampstead. Frowning, Maddie set aside Aimee’s tattered frock that she’d been mending and strode to the parlor door.

As her butler Matheson’s heels clicked across the floor, her stomach twisted as she waited.

After a low-voiced exchange, Matheson approached.

“Who is it?” she whispered, then bit her lip fretfully.

His brow knit in puzzlement. “He says he’s a gentleman who wishes to remain anonymous.”

Her heart stuttered. Maddie drew in a deep, trembling breath, knowing the moment she had dreaded had unflinchingly arrived.

“Is he anyone I know?” she whispered to her butler.

“I’m afraid he is,” drawled a deep voice beyond the parlor’s portal.

It was a voice Maddie never, ever thought to hear again.

A sudden, dizzying spike of shock swept over her. Mouth gaping, she reached for the wall to steady herself. She peeked past Matheson, hoping her ears had deceived her.

They had not. Brock Taylor had returned to Ashdown Manor.

As bold as could be, here stood the cad who had broken her heart five years ago when he’d left her to seek his fortune. From gossip and reputation, she knew he had more than found it. Now refined and wealthy—and more handsome than ever—he stood in her foyer wearing a faintly wry smile and a stylish green coat that perfectly matched his mocking eyes. The thick waves of his mahogany hair still wouldn’t quite behave. Maddie remembered running her fingers through them with a bittersweet pang.

“Brock.” His name tumbled from her lips on a whisper.

“How kind of you to remember me, Lady Wolcott.”

He spoke her married title with contempt, matched by the disdain in his eyes. She swallowed. Why was he here? What did he want? Had he, of all people, truly bought her debt? She fought for her next breath, trying to beat back the panic encroaching.

Brock turned to her butler. “Your name?”

“Mine? It is Matheson, sir.”

“Splendid. Matheson, fetch your mistress a spot of tea. She looks unwell,” Brock said, displaying the urbane charm he had refined to an art.

Her butler sent her a measuring stare. “Indeed, sir.”

Matheson quit the room before she could object, leaving her alone with the man she’d sworn to hate for the rest of her life.

“You are not welcome here.” Maddie lifted her chin sternly.

“Have you no kind words for an old...friend?”

Mouth dropping open, she glared at him. Five years after betraying her, Brock Taylor stood in her parlor as if he belonged here. Of all the things she’d envisioned saying to him over the years if she ever saw the cad again, not a single one came to mind.

“Friend?” She raised a disdainful brow at him.

“May I sit?” He did so without waiting for her reply, dwarfing the ancient rosewood armchair. “Perhaps you should sit as well. You really do look pale.”

Though Brock’s voice had acquired a definite upper crust clip, one of the few qualities that had not changed about the scoundrel was his smile. The wicked tilt of that wide mouth still bespoke sin, as potent and beguiling as ever. Once upon a time, she had been innocent enough to fall prey to the charm of his grin.

She was no longer that green girl.

Maddie feigned calm as she faced Brock. “Matheson said you are the anonymous gentleman. Is that so?”

“Yes.”

His clipped reply hit her like a blow to the chest. Legs weak beneath her, she tread slowly to the sofa and sank to its threadbare cushions. “Why? Eight thousand pounds is a great deal of money.”

He shrugged. “Or not, depending.”

Maddie fixed narrowed eyes upon him. “Depending upon what?”

“The repayment one receives.”

“I knew I could count on you to make demands.” You opportunistic blackguard.

The words were out before Maddie could stop them.

She clenched her hands into angry fists. Damn him for buying her debt. Damn him twice for taking her heart and her innocence five years ago, then leaving her in his quest for wealth. Damn him to eternity for coming here with the notion of collecting more.

A faint apology tinged his smile. “I’m not running a charitable organization.”

“I did not ask you to buy my late husband’s debt.”

“But now that I have, you owe me.”

Fury seethed inside her, like a beast fighting its chain. “And you want your precious money from me?”

“I want repayment.”

How dare he make demands of her in light of the terrible wrong he’d dealt her. He was no gentleman. But then, he never had been.

Matheson appeared suddenly with the tea. As Maddie poured, the scent of the brew tinged with milk drifted up to her, calming her to a manageable level. Taking a warm sip, she dismissed the servant, then clutched the cup in her cold hands.

“If I had eight thousand pounds,” she bit out, “I would have paid my creditors already. So you see, immediate repayment is impossible.”

Brock crossed his arms over his wide chest, but the arrogant, presumptuous cad said nothing at all about the biggest shame of her life. Or one of them, anyway.

“In fact,” she continued, “I believe you owe me a thousand pounds to repay the money you accepted from my father.”

“He told you about our...agreement?”

“Of course. He told me the very night you left that he had offered you money to abandon me. And that you quickly accepted it with a smile.”

“Abandon?” He gave her a mocking laugh. “You didn’t suffer long, Lady Wolcott.” Again, he spoke her married title with disdain. “It’s of no consequence, anyway. I returned that money to your father three months later.”

“Papa said he never saw a farthing of it.”

“And naturally you believed everything he told you.” Brock’s voice held a faint note of derision, then he shrugged. “If you want your thousand pounds, I shall credit it toward your balance. I’ll even grant you eight-percent interest. You still owe me...” He cast his gaze to the ceiling, calculating. “Six thousand, seven hundred eighty-three pounds and twenty pence.”

“I scarcely have two farthings to rub together, but I’m certain you knew that before buying up my debt.” Five years of choking resentment exploded with the force of a volcano. “What the devil do you want from me?”

“A choice, Maddie. A simple choice.”

She scoffed. Nothing about Brock Taylor had ever been simple.

“What?”

He shrugged casually, but Maddie caught the tension latent in his neck, his broad shoulders. “If you cannot repay me in full...”

“I’ve said that I cannot,” she said through clenched teeth.

Brock rose from the armchair, the muscles of his hard thighs flexing beneath chocolate-hued breeches. Maddie chastised herself for noticing as he paced closer, brushing the muslin of her gray skirt as he walked past. He turned back to her. Their gazes locked. Brock’s stare penetrated her bravado, seeking to see into her soul.

“Then you must marry me.”

Maddie nearly choked. He must be jesting, surely. But his strong, solemn face said quite the opposite. Her tea cup fell from her hand and to the carpet with a soft clatter.

Fresh fury made her whole body tremble. How could he even suggest they wed? Once upon a time, he had abandoned her. She had no wish to wed anyone, but if she had to choose between Brock and a snake, she would hope the snake would be content to share her quiet country life.

Because of this man, Maddie had suffered doubts about her moral character, her desirability, her judgment. She’d worried that her choices would someday haunt Aimee. Above all, Maddie had learned heartache.

Now she knew pure fear. The law gave a man complete power over his wife and her body. A husband could beat and belittle her without repercussion. Colin had plied his own form of torture mercilessly during their two year union. She shuddered at the thought of placing herself in that hell again, especially with an opportunistic liar who had proven his callousness so thoroughly.

Standing and meeting his gaze, she asked, “And if I refuse?”

“You will be a debtor, and your options will be those of most debtors. Very unpleasant, if you ask me.”

Debtor’s prison?

Maddie gasped, going cold all over again. “You would send me to the Fleet?”

He shrugged, his face mildly apologetic. “It is a common fate, is it not?”

She grappled for a retort, unable to believe the ruthless cad’s ultimatum. Fleet Prison would mean squalor, hunger, and indefinite internment. Marriage to Brock would mean loss of independence and a legally binding pain she knew too well.

“Y-you cannot mean to throw me in prison.”

Brock, looking every inch a wealthy man from the rich burgundy cravat of silk about his neck to the supple leather boots with their shiny toecaps, simply smiled. “I never say anything I do not mean.”

Liar! Five years ago, he’d uttered many untruths, including his “love” for her. He had also promised to marry her. Instead, he had abandoned her an hour after taking her virginity. She had never heard from him again...until tonight.

Purposely, Maddie raised her chin, glared at him as if he were an insect. “Marry you? It’s inconceivable.”

“Since I conceived the idea, I must disagree.”

His smooth voice chafed over her like the coarsest wool. God, how she would love to set him down.

“You are enjoying my distress, aren’t you?”

Brock only shot her an enigmatic half-smile in response. “Is it the idea of marrying your former stable hand you object to?”

“I object to the entire idea of marriage, but particularly to you. Why would you desire such a ridiculous end?”

“I doubt you’ll find your other option more appealing.”

He paced over the threadbare carpet, closer. She inhaled his spicy, musky scent with her next breath. It brought forth a surge of long-buried memories of shared kisses in the hay and racing hearts. The reminiscence mixed with anger in a potent rush. She could not deny that she had loved him desperately once...and she hated him all the more for it now.

“Of course, I could be wrong,” he continued.

His tone mocked his words. Brock would never believe himself wrong. The man was more confident than most, for he had always been smarter. And more dangerous.

A mental picture of all she imagined Fleet Prison would be rose in her mind, almost too horrible to contemplate. Darkness. Dankness. Nothing to eat. No way out.

Blackness floated at the edge of her vision.

Stifling her fear, Maddie shot him a frosty glare. “Perhaps you are wrong.”

Brock moved closer still. His nearness called forth an image of their stolen intimacies in the stable years ago. Breathless kisses mixed with urgent sighs, nurtured by the love and dreams in her heart, all of which he had trampled to pursue his burning ambitions for fortune.

“The choice is completely yours.”

Without family or the means to pay her debts, her incarceration would be long, stretching into years, possibly a decade—if she lived that long. But marriage to Brock would last until she went to her grave.

Clearly, he had honed his ruthless edge to razor sharpness in the last five years. Resisting the urge to rail at him, she thrust her chin forward with icy calm. “You planned this.”

“How? It is your misfortune your late husband liked drinking and gaming beyond his means. I had no hand in that.”

“Except to buy up his debt. It’s very much like you to take advantage of my misfortune.”

His expression never changed. “A smart man takes advantage of every opportunity.”

And Maddie knew well he saw opportunity everywhere, even under the skirts of an untried girl. The blackguard had nearly ruined her life when he had taken her innocence, along with her father's money, and left. She would not become his opportunity again.

“Stop these games. What do you truly want? I doubt you paid my creditors a staggering eight thousand pounds for my hand because you harbor any feeling for me.”

He shrugged evasively. “Believe what you like.”

She never knew what to believe where Brock was concerned. Not five years ago, not now. She had believed in him once, in his brilliant mind, in his determination, to her detriment. The fact the passionately driven boy who had labored in her father’s stables had beaten the odds and became a shrewd man of means only made him more frightening now.

“Blast you, what is it you truly seek from me?”

A thin smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he approached her again with measured steps. Rooted in place by anxiety, she watched him pace a circle around her, his fingers brushing an aging side table next to her. She shivered.

Brock had a scheme in mind, and he only tortured her by withholding it now for his perverse pleasure, no doubt.

Suddenly, he stopped before her and met her stare. In his eyes, she saw scalding desire and a frightening determination to possess her. Maddie couldn’t breathe.

“We were compatible lovers, sweet girl.”

She couldn’t hold her gasp in. “Do not call me that!”

Her memory bombarded her with images of their spring together, the first time he’d nibbled her tingling neck and whispered that endearment. An ache she’d thought long dead flickered inside her.

“You liked that name. And I liked saying it.” His eyes burned. “Years ago, your skin tasted sweet as a pastry. Does it still?”

Maddie gave Brock her back and drew in a trembling breath. He was toying with her, as a cat does a mouse. He wanted her off balance. She must not give him the satisfaction of recalling anything about that night, particularly not the feel of his callused palms sliding across her skin, between her thighs, making her writhe with the sort of pleasure she had never before imagined and never again experienced. Focusing on his betrayal and abandonment would better serve her.

She whirled to face him. “Certainly you do not expect me to believe that you bought up all of my debt and created some elaborate scheme of marriage simply so you could take me to your bed again.”

He raised a dark brow. “Why not?”

“That is hardly logical.”

“I am a wealthy man now. I can afford to be illogical, if I choose.”

Maddie saw his hand coming, knew he intended to touch her. She couldn’t move. Brock caressed her face with his fingers. Fire screamed across her skin. She flinched at the contact, but he did not let her go, damn him. Instead, he cupped his fingers around her neck and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

Her heart beat like an anvil, kicking the wall of her chest as he traced a torturously slow line down her jaw. Sensation burst through her. They played a dangerous game. She could not afford to be his toy.

Jerking away, Maddie sneered, “If it’s a companion you seek, crawl back to the gutter and buy yourself a two-pence whore.”

He looked unruffled by her insult. “Tsk, tsk, Maddie. That no longer suits me. I accept only the finest; I accept it on my terms. Now—” he brushed her collarbone with his fingertips— “I choose you.”

She willed her racing heart to slow. But it was impossible with Brock’s commanding gaze squarely on her, sliding down her body. Her stomach clenched. After all the hurt he had heaped upon her, she should never respond to him as a woman again.

But Brock gripped her wrist in his hot palm, then slid his thumb over the pulse point, a slow journey that wound to the center of her tingling palm and back. Maddie gasped as she felt the hot, needy clenching of her womb. With her heart beat quickening beneath his touch, he smiled.

Maddie pulled on her wrist, only to find herself locked in his steely grip. “Release me.”

Brock held her a long moment—to prove that he could—before he let go. “Once we’re wed, Maddie, I will never release you.”

“I do not believe you’re willing to bind yourself to me for the rest of your life to—well, simply for...”

“Sex?” His low voice rang with mischief. “It will be interesting to see if you still blush when I undress you.”

“Stop dallying and tell me what the hell you want.”

“My, my, my. What shocking language, Lady Wolcott. What would the ladies of the ton think?”

Maddie pursed her lips, refusing to reply.

Turning away, he paced past an armchair and gazed into the empty hearth, his expression contemplative. “Money has afforded me almost everything I’ve ever wanted, except entry into society. I count some of the wealthiest lords in England as my clients. I’ve helped them regain their fortunes with well-placed financial advice. They come to my office willing to pay staggering fees for my guidance and connections to lucrative investments. Some have even begged. Those same men ignore me when they see me on the street. I rival their fortunes, sometimes exceed them, yet they will not recognize me.”

That hardly surprised Maddie. Brock, a self-educated man born to the serving class, had little hope of that. The ton fraternized only with those who possessed the proper bloodlines.

“They never will.”

“Wrong. They will invite me into their homes, to their balls. I’ll make certain of it.”

“You cannot force people to like you,” she pointed out.

“I hardly care if they do.” A wicked grin curved his mouth. He relished the challenge.

Did he see her as a challenge, as well?

“Let them loathe me, in fact. But if they want my help, they must accept me in their midst. The right social connections will enhance my business. But to gain entrée, I need you. After all, with a well-born wife, like an earl’s daughter, the ton could not ignore me quite so easily. The doors of my clients—and their friends—would open for me.”

The realization that Brock’s plan might indeed work zapped Maddie’s last hope that he had been trifling with her for the mere sport.

No! She would not sacrifice herself for his ambition. Nor could she conceive of placing her body legally in his possession. Instinct told her he was not the same boy who had taken her in a sweet but hurried loving once upon a time. Gossip painted him as feral, ruthless to his enemies. He would treat her no differently. Though she had endured much during her marriage to Colin, Brock frightened her more. He was more calculating—and dangerous for it.

Maddie could not let him use her again or coerce her back into matrimonial hell.

“So you seek to buy a well-born wife,” she said with contempt, refusing to show fear. “Tongues will wag about our reasons for wedding.”

He scoffed. “Let them. That will not change the fact that we’re married.”

“I will not marry you.”

In a handful of strides, he was across the room, his hot green stare drilling into her. “Are you certain? Think very carefully.”

She swallowed. Fleet was a terrible place, infested with vermin and lice. She would be made to exist on one tiny bowl of flour-based slop each day. She would never see the sun.

Maddie pushed aside her fear, praying he merely sought to scare her. “No.”

“You have more than yourself to consider.” He sent her a thoughtful stare. “What of your daughter?”

Maddie felt her face drain of blood. A buzzing roared in her head as blackness crowded her vision. Dear God, when had he learned of Aimee? How? And what exactly did he know?

“And though your late husband was stupid, I doubt he ever intended a debtor’s fate for his only child.”

Oh, God. Aimee would go to prison with her or be transported to a workhouse where children were forced to labor under cruel conditions—sometimes to death. But wedding Brock would hardly ensure Aimee’s welfare either. Certainly a man merciless enough to seduce an innocent young woman for financial gain would think nothing of destroying a little girl’s life.

Hate pounded fiercely inside her. “Of course not. I love my daughter.”

A fleeting smile softened his features. “I never doubted you would be a wonderful mother. I will require your answer within a week.”

#

The clock hanging in the hall chimed midnight when Brock returned home. Dismissing the butler, he jerked off his gloves before slapping them down on a convenient hall table.

He stalked into his study to find his father waiting there. Jack had never been one to keep his opinions to himself. Brock supposed it was too much to hope the man would leave him in peace after tonight’s debacle with Maddie.

“Well?” his father prompted. “What happened?”

Sighing, Brock sank into his chair, wondering when this day would end. “I think it’s safe to say that she hates me.”

Jack’s disapproval of the plan had never been more apparent than in the scowl he now wore. “What did you expect?”

Good question. Deep down, Brock supposed he’d hoped she would be pleased to see him, perhaps beg his forgiveness for marrying another so soon after pledging her love to him. Something other than staring at him like a pile of refuse she wished to God she’d never shared her innocence with.

Lowering his aching head into his hand, he gave a bitter grunt. “She resisted the idea of wedded bliss.”

“You’ve backed her into a corner.”

“She said I abandoned her. What was I to do, stand around like a lovesick swain while she gloated over her marriage to a viscount? Damn it, I left everyone and everything I knew to come to London and make a fortune for her. I nearly broke my back to be worthy of that woman.”

And her sudden marriage to Viscount Wolcott mere weeks after his departure from Ashdown Manor proved she felt none of the aching love he’d felt in return. Five years ago, she had clearly seen him as a servant to be trifled with, an unworthy admirer who’d foolishly fallen in love. Trusting and naïve, he had believed that a young lady of quality who gave a man her body had also given her heart. Perhaps he should have guessed that her father would tell her about their agreement. But that wasn’t why she’d married another. Maddie had known that he must go to London and earn his fortune. They had discussed that fact. She had to have known that her father’s money had given him a much-needed start. But she hadn’t wished to wait for her stable boy. No, she had married a viscount.

Brock cursed. What a fool he’d been.

Today, Maddie was simply business—with a little revenge mixed in for pleasure. That’s exactly how he intended to treat her.

Jack sighed. “Did you correct her misconception?”

“Why should I? It would only make me look more the fool.”

“You can’t make Lady Wolcott love you, son.”

Stiffly, Brock rose. “You mistake the matter. I have no interest in her love. Whatever I once felt for Maddie is long dead. But she owes me.”

“Does she?” Jack raised a graying brow.

“Stop trying to convince me that she was young and indecisive, or easily swayed by her father. She amused herself with me, likely plotting to marry Colin Sedgewick all the while. Tonight, she even insisted I again repay the thousand pounds her father loaned me!”

Jack chuckled.

Brock frowned at his father. “You would find that funny, you wretch.”

“The girl always had spirit.”

She wasn’t a girl anymore.

Reluctant desire washed over him. Part of him had hoped that Maddie had lost the bloom of her beauty. Instead, she’d improved with age. At two and twenty, she no longer held a hint of girlishness. From the soft curve of her breasts and the ripe swell of her hips, to the determination in those amazing gray eyes, she was a stunning woman. He’d almost hated her for arousing him in the first ten seconds.

“So old earl told Lady Madeline about the money,” his father mused.

“So much for our secret gentlemen’s agreement.”

“I suspect he never considered you much of a gentleman,” Jack said. “I told you accepting the money was a mistake.”

“I had no choice. I took it as a loan, and it gave me my start on to my future.” The future he had ached to share with Maddie until she had married a titled arse.

“I’ll wager old Avesbury had convinced his daughter that you took the money in exchange for abandoning her.”

Brock frowned. “She believes exactly that. But I couldn’t take care of her penniless. She knew that. With that money, I could have returned to marry Maddie within months, not years. Instead, she leg-shackled herself to Sedgewick.”

“So what now?”

Brock shrugged. “I gave her a week to decide her fate.”

The money she owed wasn’t important. Nearly seven thousand pounds was more than cheeseparings and candle ends, but he could afford it. For her deception, however, she owed him her status.

“No doubt she appreciates her options,” Jack said wryly.

Maddie had appreciated nothing about his visit. Since leaving, Brock had been unable to stop thinking about her bravado. Still, he couldn’t miss her fear-filled eyes. Damn it, he’d never actually throw her and her daughter in Fleet. If she knew him at all, she should know that. He was ruthless, yes. But a monster? Never. Still, he hoped like hell Maddie didn’t call his bluff.

“Piss off,” Brock shot back glumly.

Jack laughed and refilled his brandy. “Oh, before I forget, Mr. Stephenson popped in while you were out.”

Brock rubbed his hands together, relishing the topic of business. It engendered no anger or guilt or other misplaced sentiment. “Did my fine engineer have good news?”

“Indeed. He said he has extended the frames of the engine rearward and added a trailing axle behind a much larger firebox. He said you would be well pleased because rail travel will be safer and smoother. Cargo haul will be much faster.”

Brock smiled in triumph at the realization he would beat his competition, the shrewd Lord Belwick, in every way. “Smashing. Stephenson is a brilliant engineer.”

“Because you pay him to be.” Jack chuckled. “So, have you given more thought to whom you’ll approach about investing in the railroad, now that you have this wonderful engine?”

The proposed T & S Railroad was his life these days, the passion that would take him from merely wealthy to sinfully rich. Recently, however, it had also become a sticky situation. Besides the fact he’d sunk a sizable chunk of his fortune into this venture, he needed Maddie. More precisely, he needed her land. Hence, another reason for his offer of marriage now.

In researching the idea of a passenger railroad between London and Birmingham, he had mapped out all the necessary parcels, particularly areas that would shut down competing canals and avoid his competitor’s proposed track. To his shock, Maddie owned a parcel in Warwickshire. However, her father had left it to her in retainer, in the event she took another husband. It suited Brock’s purpose well that she couldn’t legally sell it. Because she would be good for his business, his rising social placement, and the railroad, he planned to be her husband.

Marrying her had nothing to do with love. Nothing at all.

Ah, but he would make certain she desired him. He would master her body, have her soft and wet and begging every damn day before he fucked her. Then he’d give her what she wanted, not stopping until they were both sated and exhausted. Perhaps not even then. He liked the idea of addicting her to his touch.

“Brock?” Jack prompted, snapping his fingers. “Investors?”

With a sheepish grimace, Brock nodded. “I’ve decided to pursue Cropthorne.”

Jack’s green eyes, a mirror of his own, nearly popped from their sockets. “The Duke of Cropthorne? Now I know you’ve gone mad. I doubt the man will speak to you.”

Brock quirked a brow, the challenge igniting his fire for the hunt again. “Where is your faith in me? Have I been wrong yet?”

Jack scowled. “You are too cocksure by half.”

“Not without reason. I’ve researched this thoroughly. One of his mines collapsed recently. He was forced to shut them all down.”

“A man of Cropthorne’s means must have other income.”

“Certainly,” Brock conceded. “But he also has a doting aunt, a poor clergyman cousin, and two young sisters to support, all of whom adore everything the finest. I heard their modiste’s bill alone last month was over a thousand pounds.”

Jack nearly choked. “Can women really wear that much clothing?”

Brock shrugged. “The season is about to begin, and appearances must be maintained.”

“What about Lord Belwick? He’s your strongest competitor. Perhaps he’s already approached Cropthorne.”

“Not according to my sources.”

“Even so, what makes you think Cropthorne will hear you? He’s the upper part of the crust, son.”

“He’s roughly my age, so he may be more modern in his thinking about social status than the late duke. He’s also said to have a firm head for business and a mind of his own, but none of his papa’s nasty scandals.”

“Why choose an investor low on his blunt?”

Brock grinned, truly enjoying his work. “For three reasons. First, he doesn’t yet feel the pinch, but if he doesn’t invest well soon, he will. He’s wise enough to know that. Second, he’s well liked among his peers, despite the family scandals. If I gain his approval, he can open many doors for me. Last, he is Maddie’s cousin. Though Lord Avesbury fell out of favor with the late Cropthorne, I have no reason to suspect the current duke would cut her. Nor, as her husband, would he cut me.”

Jack shrugged. “That’s a lot of ifs. And all your work on this railroad will be for naught unless Maddie Sedgewick marries you.”

“She will agree to do so by next week.” Brock tossed his father a confident nod. “I’ll make certain of it.”