Never Romance a Rake

By Liz Carlyle

In this hot 3rd e-book in New York Times bestselling writer Liz Carlyle's compelling ancient trilogy, a cynical rake joins a sinister video game of playing cards with dangerously seductive stakes.

If he wins this hand...

Shunning the glittering elite of excessive society Kieran, Baron Rothewell, prefers the harmful objectives of London's demimonde. Hardened by way of a tormented prior, he cares little for someone or something. So how can he withstand the guess proposed by way of the dissolute Comte de Valigny? A hand of playing cards for the ownership of the comte's beautiful daughter.

Will he win her heart?

deserted via her highborn father -- until eventually he makes a decision to take advantage of her -- Mademoiselle Camille Marchand places no belief in an aristocrat's honor, specifically that of the infamous baron. She too is playing -- for her lifestyles -- and Rothwell is only one extra card for use. yet no matter what darkish wishes run via his veins name to her personal, and the guts performs its personal video game -- winner take all!

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I see,” he eventually responded. “And you think that I got here in to…to do what, accurately? ” Camille lifted one shoulder and pretended to not observe his sculpted hands. The darkish dusting of hair on his chest. after which there was—good Lord! She jerked her gaze up. “I daresay you got here in to do no matter what a guy in most cases does while he's bare in a woman’s bedchamber,” she back, coming to her toes. “But in case you imagine i'll succumb to that—” “Now wait,” he ordered, protecting up his hand. “Wait only a damned minute. ” “Non,” she acknowledged sharply, pacing clear of him.

Or it'd be, my lord,” he eventually acknowledged, “that you're a guy at the verge of killing your self with drink. ” “With drink? ” Rothewell lifted his brows, and scrubbed a hand around his unshaved jaw. “I someway doubt it. i've been attempting to kill myself with drink for years to no avail. ” Dr. Hislop easily shrugged. “Men who drink to extra, my lord, have a tendency to not brain their well-being until eventually it truly is too late,” he acknowledged. “A undesirable behavior, that. How lengthy has it been because you went an entire day out of your brandy? ” Rothewell thought of it.

He took her hard and long because the afternoon gave option to night, and a delicate, cool gloom settled over the room. the fireside was once empty, the lamps chilly. And but, an excellent sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and trailed down his throat to pool within the hard-boned vee lower than his throat. unexpectedly, his eyes opened, his silvery gaze enthralling. “I can’t provide you with up, Camille,” he choked. “I won’t. ” a bit shaken by means of the fervency his voice, she faltered. Kieran replied via losing his head to kiss her, speedy and tough.

Camille narrowed her eyes opposed to the sunlight. “How outdated have been you if you went to reside with him? ” she requested musingly. “Do you consider your mom and dad in any respect? ” He nodded. “Oh, yes,” he stated. “But as a bit baby recalls. Impressions. Flashes of reminiscence. simply this…hazy type of happiness. and scents. I take into account how my mom smelled—of lavender water. I loved it. ” His posture comfy a bit, and his face softened. Camille smiled. “What a beautiful memory,” she stated. “When i used to be a truly little lady, I knew that if Maman smelled of body spray, it intended she used to be both wonderful or going out.

Camille swallowed tough. “What insanity! ” she whispered. The earl misunderstood. “What selection did i've got? ” he requested. “Had I killed him as he deserved, he could have died a romantic death—a poet’s death—and she may by no means have forgiven me. i couldn't win. i do know that now. ” He was once relatively correct. Camille wanted the earth might open and swallow her complete. She opened her mouth to assert something—anything—but phrases failed her. eventually, Halburne approached her. “But finally those years, woman Rothewell, there's nonetheless something i can't fathom.

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