One Night of Temptation Read online

  One Night of Temptation

  Darcy Burke

  For my fierce, beautiful, talented, inspiring daughter.

  You are everything I dreamed and so much more.

  Contents

  One Night of Temptation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Also by Darcy Burke

  The Jewels of Historical Romance

  About the Author

  One Night of Temptation

  Faced with a marriage she can’t abide, Lady Penelope Wakefield takes drastic measures to preserve her freedom. Her brilliant plan is foolproof until a sexy but imperious rector “rescues” her.

  Rector Hugh Tarleton has no patience for the Society philanthropists who seek to bestow their pity—and not much else—on his oppressed flock in one of London’s worst neighborhoods. When the daughter of a marquess is kidnapped and brought to the rookery, he vows to protect her, but the temptation to surrender to their mutual desire will certainly ruin them both.

  Wicked Dukes Club

  Meet the unforgettable men of London's most notorious tavern, The Wicked Duke. Seductively handsome, with charm and wit to spare, one night with these rakes and rogues will never be enough…

  Love romance? Have a free book (or two or three) on me!

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  Darcy’s Duchesses for historical readers

  Burke’s Book Lovers for contemporary readers

  One Night of Temptation

  Copyright © 2019 Darcy Burke

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1944576517

  ISBN-13: 9781944576516

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Book design: © Darcy Burke.

  Book Cover Design © The Midnight Muse Designs.

  Cover image: © Period Images.

  Editing: Linda Ingmanson.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  London, June 1817

  Now that the moment was here, Lady Penelope Wakefield’s heart felt as though it might beat right out of her chest. She was certain her chaperone, who was also her mother’s cousin, Mrs. Hall, who stood beside her peering at an exotic stuffed bird, would hear the way Penelope’s pulse pounded through her veins.

  It was now or never.

  “Oh dear,” Penelope said in mock distress as she reached for her bare earlobe, having dropped the earring some time ago in another area of the museum. “I’ve lost my earring.”

  Mrs. Hall, a severe, pinch-faced woman, swung a perturbed look at Penelope, her lips practically disappearing beneath the weight of her distaste. “How clumsy of you. I suppose we must find it. Your mother will not be pleased if you’ve truly lost it.”

  Her mother was rarely pleased, but the loss of the pearl earring she’d given Penelope at the start of the Season would infuriate her. However, it was a small price to pay for freedom. Which was precisely what was at stake.

  “The museum will be closing soon,” Penelope said. “Perhaps you should look here and in the last room while I retrace my steps farther back.” She held her breath, for if Mrs. Hall didn’t allow her to go, Penelope’s plan would be over before it even began.

  Mrs. Hall’s brow furrowed as her lips turned in a deep frown. “We should look together. But you are, unfortunately, correct. The museum will be closing, and you must find that earring.” She pursed her lips. “Although, it would serve you well to return home without the earring and explain your carelessness to the marchioness. On second thought, you’ll do that whether you find the earring or not.”

  Irritation ground through Penelope’s anxiety, but there was no point in responding to Mrs. Hall’s directive. Penelope would “find” the earring on her way out of the museum—to freedom.

  “Shall we go together, then?” Penelope prompted, mentally crossing her fingers that Mrs. Hall would say no…

  The older woman exhaled with grave annoyance. “We will divide our energies. Meet me at the entrance at closing time.” She leaned forward slightly, narrowing her eyes. “And we won’t speak a word of this to anyone.”

  Relief and exhilaration shot through Penelope. Hiding her emotion, which was second nature, she merely nodded with a somber expression. “No, we won’t.” She turned before Mrs. Hall could change her mind and went in search of the earring.

  Penelope made her way through the rooms to the staircase, pausing briefly to pick up the earring where she’d dropped it near a display of stuffed giraffes. With a backward glance to ensure Mrs. Hall was nowhere to be seen, Penelope hurried down the stairs and wove through the library to the rear entrance.

  She encountered just two people and made sure to keep her head down. She’d worn a bonnet with a particularly wide brim to aid in shielding her face, just as she’d worn a costume in the most nondescript color possible. That had been a difficult feat since her wardrobe had been crafted to draw attention—specifically the attention of a would-be husband.

  While her clothing and her beauty—so she was told—had made her a focal point of the Season, she’d striven to deter courtship, usually telling gentlemen that she preferred to wait until the end of the Season to make a match. She told her parents it was best to ensure they considered all possible candidates before choosing the best one. Her father had liked her selective approach, but as the end of the Season approached and no gentleman came forward to express his desire for a match, the marquess had arranged the most terrible marriage Penelope could imagine. Now she had no choice but to take drastic measures to avoid it. She had no intention of wedding the odious Earl of Findon.

  The exterior door came into view, and Penelope hastened toward it. Just before she stepped outside into the bright afternoon, she feared she would be stopped.

  But she wasn’t.

  Freedom was hers! Or at least it was close. Looking behind herself one more time, she was once again relieved to see she hadn’t been followed. Now she just had to make her way to the rendezvous point.

  Crossing Great Russell Street was her biggest challenge, but she managed it, even as she darted nervous glances toward her coach parked just past the museum. Hurrying down a side street, she was sure the museum must be closing. Any moment, Mrs. Hall would realize Penelope was gone.

  Would she raise an alarm and have them search the museum? Or would she keep Penelope’s disappearance quiet and return to Mayfair to inform her parents? If Mrs. Hall thought her mother would be upset about a lost earring, just imagine how furious she and Penelope’s father would be when they learned Penelope was lost.

  Penelope suffered a moment’s regret for the chaperone, but only a moment. Mrs. Hall was a willing and glee
ful participant in belittling Penelope and ensuring she was completely scrutinized. While Penelope didn’t wish to cause anyone distress, she also acknowledged that this was her only chance to avoid her father’s machinations. If she didn’t change her fortune, she would soon be the Countess of Findon.

  Following the directions Maisie had given her, Penelope wound through the neighborhood toward their designated meeting location. For the hundredth time, Penelope said a grateful prayer for Maisie, the warm and supportive friend she’d made during her first visit to the Church of St. Giles-in-the-Fields three months ago. Without her ingenuity and kindness, Penelope would be forced to marry Findon.

  It felt strange to walk about without a chaperone or a footman or any companion whatsoever. Strange and maybe a bit…naughty. Or reckless.

  It was all those things. It was also necessary. Findon was nearly old enough to be her grandfather, and he treated her as if he already had a claim. But then, he thought he did. Nearly a year and a half ago, she’d been betrothed to marry his son, who’d died of a sudden illness before they could be wed.

  Barely six months later, Findon had begun to hint to Penelope’s father that he would be willing to marry her instead. Then this Season, he’d become bolder, taking his case directly to the marquess. Findon reasoned that she would still get the title she’d hoped to gain, and he’d father a son to replace the one he’d lost.

  When Penelope failed to secure another match, her father had warmed to the idea. In truth, it was he who wanted Findon’s title—namely, the boroughs Findon controlled and would allow her father to control via the marriage.

  Penelope’s preferences were never taken into account, which was why today’s endeavor was absolutely vital. Maisie had understood that she didn’t want to meekly accept her fate—she wanted to change it.

  At last, Penelope reached the neighborhood of St. Giles. While she’d been to the church to deliver clothing and other goods with her mother and other Mayfair ladies many times throughout the Season, she’d never gone into the rookery of St. Giles. It was a den of vice and poverty and, above all, danger, especially to someone like Penelope.

  Her skin prickled as if everyone around her, suddenly aware that a Mayfair lady had strolled into their midst, was about to pounce. However, as she looked around, she saw people going about their business.

  She took a deep breath to relax her nerves and crossed the street. Walking swiftly, she found the entrance to tiny Ivy Street, where Maisie would be waiting to take her to an inn.

  Ivy Street was narrow and dark, even in the late afternoon. Ungodly smells wafted from all around her. Penelope lifted her hand to her nose and was glad that her glove smelled faintly of lavender. Where was Maisie?

  It was a small intersection, and there could be no mistaking that Maisie wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d been held up. Penelope took another deep breath and immediately regretted it. She pressed her fingertips to her nostrils.

  “Ye’re a pretty bird.”

  The comment was followed by a deep chuckle from somewhere behind Penelope. She swung around and saw two young men, though older than her twenty-one years, walking toward her.

  “This must be ’er,” the one with the lower voice said. He was tall and long-limbed, with an angular face and choppy dark hair.

  “Oh, I think so,” the other man whispered. He was actually nice-looking, with sandy-colored hair waving over his collar and dark eyes that seemed to glow from beneath the brim of his hat. The smile curling his lips wasn’t nice, however; it was sinister. “Come, little bird.”

  Too late, Penelope noticed the bag in the taller man’s hand—just seconds before it came over her head and plunged her into darkness.

  “Ye scream, and we’ll have to hurt ye,” the handsome one said near her ear.

  The threat was unnecessary, for fear had paralyzed her vocal cords. It was like every nightmare she’d ever had where she cried out for help but made no sound.

  Her last thought as they grabbed her arms and began to move her was that she hoped Maisie hadn’t suffered the same calamity.

  * * *

  Hugh Tarleton made his way along Dyott Street. To most, it was the heart of one of the roughest neighborhoods in London, the rookery of St. Giles. To Hugh, however, it was familiar, and those who lived here treated him with respect and, for the most part, kindness. They were his parishioners—the people he cared most about in the world save his siblings.

  His siblings, though, did not need him the way these people needed him.

  Clouds were starting to move in. He looked up as if the sky could tell him whether it would rain. Not that it mattered. He was on his way home for the evening.

  Something struck Hugh on the arm, causing him to stop and glance down. A shuttlecock lay on the cobblestone next to his foot. Bending, he picked up the cork and noted that the feathers were already matted.

  A boy holding a racquet walked toward him with a sheepish cast to his head. “Sorry, Mr. Tarleton.”

  “It’s quite all right, Ned.” He handed the shuttlecock to the lad of ten. “Looks like you’ve been enjoying the game. I’ll get a replacement for you soon.”

  Ned’s dark eyes lit. “Yes, sir! We can’t thank ye enough for giving it to us.”

  “It’s my pleasure. You took the bread to your mother earlier?”

  “Straightaway,” Ned said with a responsible nod. “She said to thank ye.”

  She’d been sick the past fortnight and was finally on the mend. Hugh hoped her job as a seamstress would still be available to her when she returned in a day or two, but if it wasn’t, he’d speak with her employer.

  Hugh clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a good lad.”

  Ned grinned, then tore across the street to where his younger brother stood, no doubt to share the news of the new shuttlecock. Hugh would have one of his staff make a few. It couldn’t be difficult. He waved at the two boys then continued along his way.

  A flash of pale yellow fabric in the narrow darkness of Ivy Street drew his attention. Two men held the arms of a woman whose head was covered with a sack. Alarm crashed over Hugh, and he sprinted toward them.

  “Stop!” he called as he increased his speed. He caught up to them before they reached Carrier Street. Extending his arm, Hugh clasped one of the men by the elbow and tugged him backward.

  The miscreant was forced to let go of the woman, and his hat toppled to the ground as he fought to maintain his balance. “What the bloody hell?” His gaze connected with Hugh’s, and recognition sparked between them.

  “Joseph, what are you about?” Hugh demanded of the too-handsome ruffian who turned most ladies’ heads in St. Giles.

  “None of yer affair, Tarleton.” Joseph bent and retrieved his hat, slapping it back on his sandy-haired head.

  “Everything in St. Giles is my affair.” Hugh glared first at Joseph and then at Edwin—one of Joseph’s underlings—who still held the mystery woman. “Unhand her.”

  Edwin looked to Joseph, who swore beneath his breath but ultimately nodded. Joseph pinned an angry stare on Hugh. “Don’t meddle in things ye don’t understand, Tarleton.”

  “I understand plenty. I can see you have a woman of considerable means with a sack over her head. Don’t endanger yourselves with the law.”

  “The law?” Joseph asked before breaking into laughter along with Edwin. “We don’t care nothin’ about the law. There’s no law here.”

  Hugh couldn’t argue with that. All manner of crime occurred in St. Giles, and it was accepted as normal. “I care. I’ve no idea what you plan to do with her, but you’re going to have to forget about it.” He started to move past Joseph to get to her.

  The man grabbed Hugh’s arm right where the shuttlecock had struck his bicep. “Leave ’er be.”

  “If you think I’m going to allow you to kidnap someone, you don’t know me very well.” Hugh glowered at Joseph as he shrugged him away. Then he reached out to pull the sack from the poor woman’s head, gasping
as recognition sped through him. This was the daughter of the Marchioness of Bramber, who occasionally visited his church on “charitable” endeavors.

  Joseph, who was probably five years younger than Hugh’s thirty but looked older, tried to insert himself between Hugh and the young woman. “How about I cut you into the profit? We’re goin’ to ransom ’er. She’s a fancy chit with money.”

  There was no point in asking how they knew this—the young lady’s costume gave her station away. Her expensive bonnet hung around her neck by a wide ribbon, which left her head exposed. Dark hair pulled back from her heart-shaped face with curls adorning her temples. Her eyes were brown but held a golden glow that made them appear amber. Right now, they were wide with fright, and Hugh had to fight an urge to pound Joseph and his cohort into the pavement.

  Hugh pulled the young woman against his side. “You’re not ransoming anyone. You’re going to continue on your way and forget you even saw her.” Hugh let go of his anger and dug into his compassion. Joseph had been alone in St. Giles for nearly twenty years, and he showed signs of turning himself around. Hugh had made a point of paying him attention when he’d moved to the parish three years before. “Joseph, there is a better path. If you would stick with one of the jobs I’ve found for you, you’ll find that fulfillment will be at hand.”

  Joseph exchanged a look with the other man and snorted. “You say that, but opportunities like this fall into my lap.”