Once Upon a Wicked Night Read online

  The muscles in Fenwicke’s jaw bulged as he ground his teeth. “She has no dances available.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked her myself.”

  Max stared at the man opposite him, feeling the muscles across his shoulders tense as the fingers of his loose hand curled into a tight fist. He didn’t like the thought of his angel touching Fenwicke. Of Fenwicke touching her. The thought rather made him want to throw Fenwicke through the glass window overlooking the terrace across from them.

  He took a slow breath, willing himself to calmness. He wasn’t even acquainted with the woman. Didn’t even know the sound of her voice, the color of her eyes, her likes and dislikes. Yet he was already willing to protect her from scum like Fenwicke.

  He wouldn’t want Fenwicke touching any young innocent, he reasoned. He’d protect any woman from the marquis’s slick, slithering paws.

  “How is your wife?” he asked quite deliberately, aware of the challenge in his voice.

  Fenwicke’s expression went flat. He took a long drink of brandy before responding. “She’s well,” he said coldly. “She’s back at home. In Sussex. Thank you for asking.” His lips curled in a snarl that Max guessed was supposed to appear to be a smile.

  Max remembered that Fenwicke’s country home was in Sussex, just like the Earl of Stratford’s. He wondered if the houses were situated close to each other.

  “I’m glad to hear she’s well.”

  “You can’t have her,” Fenwicke said quietly.

  Max raised a brow. “Your wife?”

  “Olivia Donovan.”

  Max took a long moment to allow that to sink in. To think about how he should respond.

  “She’s not married?” he finally asked. He knew the answer.

  Fenwicke’s tone was frosty. “She is not.”

  “Engaged?”

  “No.”

  “Then why, pray, can’t I have her?”

  “She’d never accept you. You would never meet her standards. You, Hasley, are a well-known rake.”

  “So?” That had never stopped any woman from accepting his advances before.

  “So, you’re not good enough for her.” Fenwicke’s smile widened, but it was laced with bitterness. “No man in London is.”

  “How can you possibly know this?”

  “She told me.”

  Max nearly choked on his brandy. “What?”

  “I propositioned her,” Fenwicke said simply. “In the correct way, of course, which was quite delicate, considering her innocence. I dug deeply—quite deeply indeed—into my cache of charm.”

  Max’s stomach churned. He could never understand what women saw in Fenwicke—but obviously they saw something, because the man never needed to be too aggressive in his pursuit before capturing his prey, despite his marital status.

  Yet it seemed Miss Olivia Donovan didn’t see whatever it was in Fenwicke that all the other women saw. Intriguing. Without ever having met her, Max’s respect for her grew.

  The thought of how many times Fenwicke had abandoned his young wife in the country left Max feeling vaguely nauseous. How many times had he seen the man with a different woman on his arm?

  Perhaps what left the sourest taste in Max’s mouth was that everyone knew about Fenwicke’s proclivities but continued to invite him to their social events. No one spurned him. He was a peer, after all, a member of White’s, and an excellent dance partner or opponent at cards.

  Long ago, Fenwicke had decided that Max was an adversary and had pushed Max into a constant competition. They’d competed over sports, women, their studies, and politics. It had all started in Max’s third year at Eton, when his cousins had died of influenza and Max became the heir to a dukedom just like Fenwicke was—Fenwicke’s father was the Duke of Southington and Max’s uncle was the Duke of Wakefield.

  Fenwicke even had the audacity to claim he’d be more of a duke, since he was an eldest son rather than a nephew. That statement had enraged Max—no one could vex him like Fenwicke could. Something about the man brought out the worst in Max, which was why he’d tried his damndest to stay away from the marquis. Avoidance hadn’t worked, however. Both he and Fenwicke had gone to Cambridge and now they belonged to the same gentleman’s club. Max couldn’t get rid of the man. And once they were both dukes and sitting in Parliament, they’d be required to see more of each other. Max had to come to terms with the fact that Fenwicke was a permanent fixture in his life, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  Now, thinking of Fenwicke’s lascivious thoughts toward Miss Donovan in spite of his married state, Max’s dislike of the man threatened to grow into something stronger. Something more like hatred. He closed his eyes and images of his father passed behind his lids. His mother… alone. The tears she’d tried to hide from him. Even at a very young age, Max had known exactly what was happening. Exactly how his father had betrayed his mother, how he’d hurt her, ultimately destroyed her.

  Max would never do that to a wife—he’d never marry so there would simply never be a concern—and he’d never abide anyone who did.

  Fenwicke set his empty brandy glass on the table with a sigh. “I’m afraid Miss Olivia Donovan simply isn’t interested.”

  Max narrowed his eyes. “So because you failed to charm the lady, you assume that I’ll fail as well?”

  “Of course. She’s frigid, you see. The girl is composed of ice as solid as a glacier.”

  Another of the many reasons Max disliked Fenwicke: He never took responsibility. If a woman rejected him, he’d think it was due to some defect in her character as opposed to a natural—and wise—dislike or distrust of the man himself. If a woman professed no attraction to the marquis, naturally she wouldn’t feel any attraction to any man, because all other men were lesser beings.

  “I sincerely doubt she’s frigid,” Max responded before he thought better of it.

  Fenwicke’s eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

  Max met the man’s steely glare head-on. “Perhaps you simply don’t appeal.”

  Fenwicke snorted. “Of course I appeal. I’m a marquis, to begin with, and the heir to—”

  “Perhaps,” Max interjected, keeping his voice low, “she possesses no interest in engaging in an adulterous liaison, marquis or no.”

  At his periphery, Max could see Fenwicke’s fists clenching. He braced himself for the man’s lunge, but it never came. Damn it. If Fenwicke had attacked first, it would have given Max a good reason to throttle him.

  Fenwicke gave him a thin, humorless smile. “I would beg to differ.”

  Max shrugged. “Perhaps we should agree to disagree, then.”

  “If she did not succumb to my charms, Hasley, then rest assured, there’s no way in hell she’ll succumb to yours.” Fenwicke’s voice was mild, but the cords in his neck bulged above his cravat.

  Max shook his head, unable to prevent a sneer from forming on his lips. “You’re wrong, Fenwicke.”

  Fenwicke’s brows rose, his eyes glinted, and a sly expression came over his face. He leaned forward, greedily licking his lips.

  “Would you care to place a wager on that?”

  Also by Jennifer Haymore

  A Hint of Wicked

  A Touch of Scandal

  A Season of Seduction

  Confessions of an Improper Bride

  Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

  Contents

  Front Cover Image

  Welcome

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About the author

  A Preview of Confessions of an Improper Bride

  A Preview of Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

  Also by Jennifer Haymore

  Copyright

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, l
iving or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Haymore

  Excerpt from Confessions of an Improper Bride copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Haymore

  Excerpt from Secrets of an Accidental Duchess copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Haymore

  Cover design by Claire Brown

  Photography by Shirley Green

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  www.hachettebookgroup.com

  www.twitter.com/foreverromance

  First e-book edition: February 2012

  Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing.

  The Forever name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBN 978-1-4555-1890-6