скачать книгу бесплатно
Seven Nights In A Rogue's Bed
Anna Campbell
‘I’m your payment, Mr Merrick.’ When notorious Jonas Merrick finds the wife of his greatest enemy up to her neck in debt to him, he offers her a bargain – she can work off the debt…in his bed. But Jonas is more than a little surprised when her innocent, naive sister arrives in her place, bravely offering herself to the scarred, brooding rake.Unexpectedly moved by young Sidonie’s beauty, innocence and wit, the ruthless loner finds her seduction a much more compelling prospect. Instead of a martyr in his bed, he wants seven days to make her come willingly.But when the week is up and the world intrudes…will beauty claim her beast?Book One in THE SONS OF SIN seriesTHE SONS OF SINSEVEN NIGHTS IN A ROGUES BEDA RAKE’S MIDNIGHT KISSWHAT A DUKE DARESA SCOUNDREL BY MOONLIGHTDAYS OF RAKES AND ROSES (Novella)
PRAISE FOR ANNA CAMPBELL (#uef08507b-cedc-52ff-850f-4419dcd83342)
‘Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed is a lush, sensuous treat. I was enthralled from the first page to the last and still wanted more.’ —Laura Lee Guhrke, New York Times bestselling author
‘The fast pace and slightly gothic atmosphere make the pages fly. She keeps readers highly satisfied with the plot’s tenderness and touching emotions that reach the heart.’
—Kathe Robin, RT Book Reviews
‘Campbell matches up two proud, wary victims of abuse in this smart Regency romance…delightful insight and…luscious love scenes. Readers will cheer for these loveable and well-crafted characters.’
—Publishers Weekly
‘Truly, deeply romantic’
—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author on Captive of Sin
‘Regency noir—different and intriguing’
—Stephanie Laurens, New York Times bestselling author on Claiming the Courtesan
A scar as wide as her thumb ran from his ear to the corner of his mouth. Another thinner scar bisected one arrogant black eyebrow.
A gesture of the graceful white hand curled around a heavy crystal goblet. In the candlelight, the ruby signet ring glittered malevolently. The claret and the ruby were the colour of blood, Sidonie noticed, then wished to heaven she hadn’t.
‘You’re late.’ His voice was deep and as replete with ennui as his manner.
Sidonie had expected to be frightened. She hadn’t expected to be angry as well. This man’s palpable lack of interest in his victim stirred outrage, powerful as a cleansing tide. ‘The journey took longer than expected.’ She was so furious, her hands were steady when they slid her hood back. ‘The weather disapproves of your nefarious schemes, Mr Merrick.’
As she uncovered her features, she had the grim satisfaction of watching the boredom leach from his expression, replaced by astonished curiosity. He straightened and glared down the table at her.
‘Just who in hell are you?’
THE SONS OF SIN
Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed March 2014
The Rake’s Midnight Kiss July 2014
Till Dawn with the Duke November 2014
ANNA CAMPBELL was the sort of kid who spent her childhood with her nose buried between the pages of a book. She decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. When she’s not writing passionate, intense stories featuring gorgeous Regency heroes and the women who are their destiny, Anna loves to travel, especially in the United Kingdom, and listen to all kinds of music. She has settled near the sea on the east coast of Australia, where she’s losing her battle with an overgrown subtropical garden.
Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed has generated some wonderful reviews and a number of awards, including favourite historical romance from the Australian Romance Readers Association. She was also voted favourite Australian romance author at the ARRA Awards.
Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her through her website at www.annacampbell.info (http://www.annacampbell.info).
Seven Nights in a Rogue’s Bed
Anna Campbell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u28721aa4-fb3b-58d3-b628-6a410904bcc3)
PRAISE FOR ANNA CAMPBELL
Excerpt (#u22f3aeed-02d4-50ab-9748-4a78ab6527d9)
About the Author (#u8f80202a-27c3-5589-9973-79acda1257bd)
Title Page (#u30f24e80-3260-5ee7-94d8-05b2574b3ee1)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Preview (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uef08507b-cedc-52ff-850f-4419dcd83342)
South Devon Coast, November 1826
Storms split the heavens on the night Sidonie Forsythe went to her ruin.
The horses neighed wildly as the shabby hired carriage lurched to a shuddering stop. The wind was so powerful the vehicle rocked even when stationary. Sidonie had seconds to catch her breath before the driver, a shadow in streaming oilskins, loomed out of the darkness to wrench the door open.
“Here be Castle Craven, miss,” he shouted through the sheeting rain.
For a second, terror at what awaited inside the castle held her paralyzed. Castle Craven indeed.
“I can’t leave the nags standing. Be ’ee staying, miss?”
The cowardly urge rose to beg the driver to carry her back to Sidmouth and safety. She could leave now with no damage done. Nobody would even know she’d been here.
Then what would happen to Roberta and her sons?
The remorseless reminder of her sister’s danger prodded Sidonie into frantic motion. Grabbing her valise, she stumbled from the carriage. When the wind caught her, she staggered. She fought to keep her footing on the slippery cobbles as she looked up, up, up at the towering black edifice before her.
She thought she’d been cold in the carriage. In the open, the chill was arctic. She cringed as the wind sliced through her woolen cloak like a knife through butter. As if to confirm she’d entered a realm of gothic horrors, lightning flashed. The ensuing crack of thunder made the horses shift nervously in their harness.
For all his understandable wish to return to civilization, the driver didn’t immediately leave. “Sartain ’ee be expected, miss?”
Even through the howling wind, she heard his misgivings. Misgivings echoing her own. Sidonie straightened as well as she could against the gale. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Wallis.”
“I wish ’ee well, then.” He heaved himself onto the driver’s box and whipped the horses into an unsteady gallop.
Sidonie hoisted her bag and dashed up the shallow flight of steps to the heavy doors. The pointed arch above the entrance offered paltry protection. Another flash of lightning helped her locate the iron knocker shaped like a lion’s head. She seized it in one gloved hand and let it crash. The bang hardly registered against the roaring wind.
Her imperious summons gained no quick response. The temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees while she huddled against the lashing rain.
What on earth would she do if the house was uninhabited?
By the time the door creaked open to reveal an aged woman, Sidonie’s teeth were chattering and she shook as though she had the ague. A gust caught the servant’s single candle, making the frail light flicker.
“I’m—” she shouted over the storm but the woman merely turned away. At a loss, Sidonie trailed after her.
Sidonie entered a cavernous hall crowded with shadows. Muddy brown tapestries drooped from the lofty stone walls. Ahead, the fire in the massive hearth was unlit, adding to the lack of welcome. Sidonie shivered as cold seeped up from the flagstones beneath her half-boots. Behind her, the heavy door slammed shut with a thud like the strike of doom. Startled, Sidonie turned to discover another equally geriatric retainer, male this time, turning a heavy key in the lock.
What in heaven’s name have I done, coming to this godforsaken place?
With the door shut, the silence within was more ominous than the shrieking tempest without. The only sound was the sullen drip, drip, drip of water from her sodden cloak. Fear, her faithful companion since Roberta had confided her plight, settled like lead in Sidonie’s belly. When she’d agreed to help her sister, she’d assumed the torment, however horrid, would be over quickly. Inside this dismal fortress, the horrible premonition gripped her that she’d never again see the outside world.
You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Stop it.
The bracing words did nothing to calm spiraling panic. Bile rose in her throat as she followed the still-silent housekeeper across acres of floor. She felt like a thousand malevolent ghosts leered from the corners. Sidonie tightened numb fingers around her bag’s handle and reminded herself what agony Roberta would endure if she failed.
I can do this.
The stark fact remained that she’d come so far and still might fail. The plan had always been risky. Arriving here alone and vulnerable, Sidonie couldn’t help considering the scheme devised at Barstowe Hall feeble to the point of idiocy. If only her clamoring doubts conjured some alternative way to save her sister.
The woman still shuffled ahead. Sidonie was so rigid with cold that it was an effort forcing her legs to move. The man had offered to take neither her cloak nor bag. When she glanced back, he’d disappeared as efficiently as if he numbered among the castle’s ghosts.
Sidonie and her taciturn escort approached a door in the opposite wall, as imposing as the door outside. When the woman pushed it open, it shifted smoothly on welloiled hinges. Steeling herself, Sidonie stepped into a blaze of light and warmth.
Trembling, she stopped at one end of a refectory table extending down the room. Heavy oak chairs, dark with age, lined the table on either side. It was a room designed for an uproarious crowd, but as her gaze slowly traveled up the length of board, she realized, apart from her decrepit guide, only one other person was present.
Jonas Merrick.
Bastard offspring of scandal. Rich as Croesus. Power broker to the mighty. And the reprobate who tonight would use her body.
“Maister, the lady be here.”
Without straightening from his careless slouch in the throne-like chair at the room’s far end, the man raised his head.
