The marauders mistress w.., p.1
The Marauder’s Mistress: (Wanton Wastrels - 2), page 1
The Marauder’s Mistress
(Wanton Wastrels - 2)
Tabetha Waite
Copyright © 2022 Tabetha Waite
Cover Design by The Swoonies
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This title is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to photocopy, digital, auditory, and/or in print, without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations for a review.
Created with Vellum
Also by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)
Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)
When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)
What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)
Season of the Spinster Series
Triana’s Spring Seduction (Book 1)
Isabella’s Secret Summer (Book 2)
The Spinster’s Alluring Season (Book 2.5)
Alyssa’s Autumn Affair (Book 3)
Korina’s Wild Winter (Book 4)
Wanton Wastrels
The Rapscallion’s Romance
The Marauder’s Mistress
Sensual Scandals
A Jolly Little Scandal (0.5 prequel)
Novellas
The Harlot’s Hero
Frozen Fancy
Novels
Behind a Moonlit Veil
The Secrets of Shadows
The Piper’s Paramour
Kiernan Fantasy Series
The Kingdoms of Kiernan (Kiernan – Book 1)
Collections
An Everlasting Amour (A collection of short stories)
An Everlasting Christmas Amour
An Everlasting Regency Amour
An Everlasting Regency Amour – Volume 2
The Wedding Wager
The Brazen Belles Anthology
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
For Patricia King who wanted to know if Constance would have her HEA. This story is for you. For Elodie Nicoli who didn’t mind that I turned her into an exceptional, French modiste, and for Holly Perret who designed this AWESOME cover that I just had to have, and her tireless patience with me while I debated on the name!
Contents
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Chapter 1
London, England
June 1832
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The lady walked purposefully down the deserted, foggy London street at night, the gas lamps providing little in the way of light. Her bootheels clicked on the cobblestones, damp courtesy of the recent summer rain. Anyone who might be looking on would see a woman wearing a dark cloak and dressed in a modest emerald gown with a fitted corset waist and the large sleeves that had suddenly begun to dominate the fashion world. A hood was placed over her strawberry-blond curls and her skin was smooth like porcelain.
But it was her eyes, a fetching, moss green that looked out at the world with a certain knowledge foreign to most of the rest, that proved she wasn’t a fresh, naïve debutante, easy to manipulate.
Unfortunately, this was something that “Two-Tooth” Granelli had yet to discern.
Devin Blackmore leaned in a hidden alcove, arms crossed, and watched from the shadows of the alley as the thief attempted to approach the woman and casually abscond with her purse by way of an “accidental” maneuver that Devin himself had performed hundreds of times. And yet, even he knew there were certain people to be steered clear of, and the mysterious woman who had just raised her parasol was one he would have merely tipped his hat to as he strode innocently on past.
He merely shook his head when Granelli withdrew a dagger, as he knew it was a mistake. The large man had more muscle than brains and a nose that had been broken at least a dozen times, if Devin had to guess. He considered intervening, but he recanted the thought as he continued to observe the exchange. With lightning-fast reflexes, the lady spun around and dodged her would-be attacker’s shoddy approach. She was surprisingly well accomplished as she pointed her fashioned weapon at him. Granelli didn’t stand a chance, and even Devin was impressed when a slight puff of smoke came from the end, just as Granelli clutched his thigh and fell to the ground with a howl of pain.
Instead of rushing off down the street in a fearful panic, Devin watched the woman bend down next to Granelli with a long-suffering sigh and actually offer him her pristine, white handkerchief. “Hold this over the wound. It will help cease the bleeding.”
As she pressed down on the torn flesh, Granelli broke out into a sweat and moaned worse than a cheap whore. But it was her voice, soft and genteel, that made Devin take proper notice.
“You should be thankful that the ball wasn’t poisoned, or you might have seen your end just now.”
Devin would have laughed at the horrified look on Granelli’s voice if he hadn’t been so captivated by the lady. He didn’t recall ever seeing her before, and although he’d just returned to London, he would have surely recalled such a stunning, lethal beauty.
“Perhaps from now on you’ll think twice about assaulting a lady, as that is very poor manners. Don’t you agree?”
Granelli nodded like a recalcitrant child and Devin had to snort lightly.
She rose to her feet and reached back down to offer the man some assistance. After a moment, he accepted it and favoring his bad leg, he glanced at the lady as if she was some sort of odd museum exhibit.
“Now run along home. No doubt you have a family that should be worried if you don’t return soon.”
Devin wasn’t sure if Granelli had ever married or sired children. At least he hadn’t when Devin had left London more than five years ago, but by the way he lowered his head, as if properly chastised, and turned to limp back into the darkness from whence he had appeared, perhaps some things had changed.
He glanced back toward the woman, who had lingered for a moment, either to ensure that her instructions were heeded, or make sure Granelli didn’t accost anyone else, Devin wasn’t sure.
With a heavy sigh that told more than she would have been likely to share, she turned to continue on her way, but Devin found that he was reluctant for her to leave. Even from the distance across the alley, he could smell the scent of her lilac floral sweetness, and he was reluctant to part with it so soon. It had been years since he’d enjoyed something so simple, and so he allowed his presence to become known.
His boots had a heavy tread as he walked out directly under the streetlamp and offered a slow clap in the silence.
Constance Freewater spun toward the sound of applause, not realizing that she’d had an audience. She held her parasol aimed toward the sound, poised for another attack. Although the single shot had already been spent, she had been taught, long ago, in how to use other methods to warrant off unwanted attentions. It had served her well through the years, as the good Lord only knew she’d had her share of trouble.
It was one of the reasons she’d left London, to put that sort of tumultuous past behind her, only to have it return the day she stepped foot on English soil after living abroad for the past twenty years.
Was she never to be free of a past that was littered with illicit dealings?
Any further thought dissipated as the mystery man stepped out of the shadows and into the circle of yellow light. He wore a smirk that bespoke of confidence, tousled dark hair, and an onyx gaze that shone with a wisdom that went far beyond his years. But while she thought he might be younger than her, he was most certainly a man full grown with the broad shoulders, narrow hips, and trim midsection of a man used to physical labor—or various other exercise.
Her face heated, along with other parts of her body, when she imagined him in the bedchamber. She would bet all of the coins in her reticule that he had that delicious trail of hair that slid across his taut stomach and disappeared behind the band of his trousers.
She mentally shook herself and pushed the image aside. After her last paramour died, Constance had promised herself that she would no longer be any man’s mistress. But even though Madame Corressa would forever hound her every waking moment, she would not succumb to temptation again. She had returned to London to make a fresh start as a respectable woman and she intended to keep it that way. She’d even adopted the pseudonym of Mrs. Hartford to add credence to her tale.
Her current companions were Alfred Guillaume Gabriel, Count d’Orsay, his wife, and his particularly special patron, the widowed Lady Marguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington. The four of them were staying at the lady’s house in Seamore Place in Mayfair and was quickly becoming known as the fashionable area of town, not only because of the countess’ ties to Lord Byron, but the count was being styled as the modern-day Beau Brummel. He changed his gloves at least five times a day and made sure that his coat was thrown back to reveal the extravagance of his luxurious waistcoat and perfectly styled cravats. Constance had become one of his particularly favored, inner circle of friends during his time in France, and was the main reason she had traveled back to England from Paris, otherwise she might have lived out the rest of her days in La Ville Lumière.
Instead, she was back in the familiar surroundings that she had tried so hard to put behind her—to forget the naïve woman she had been, the one who had relied on the attentions of a protector to find happiness. She had been alone for the past year and a half and held no regrets. While she missed Alessandro at times, and she was grateful that her Italian lover had made sure to provide for her after his passing, gifting her with enough money and jewels to allow her to live comfortably for a very long time.
But now, her attention turned back to the man standing a few feet away from her. She glanced at her parasol. “You should know that I don’t need to reload to make sure you keep your distance.”
The smirk never wavered. “I believe you, but rest assured, I’m not intending to accost you. I merely wished to gain the pleasure of your name.”
A shiver danced up her spine at the idea of pleasure when associated with this man. Even though she didn’t know him, something told her that he was quite skilled in that area. She slowly lowered her parasol to her side. “I’m afraid I can’t assist you with that. Good evening.” She turned on her heel, prepared to depart.
“Don’t you want to know my name?”
Constance told herself to keep walking and ignore that deep timbre, but she found herself pausing all the same. She glanced back over her shoulder, intrigued beyond her better judgment. But then, perhaps it was the slight inflection in his tone that didn’t seem wholly British. “Why? Is it supposed to mean something to me?”
His teeth were white and even as they flashed a seductive grin. “I doubt it. I merely suspected you would want to know.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “And why would that be?” She arched a brow. “Will I see your name in the scandal rags? Or perhaps the criminal section.”
He stiffened slightly at the latter, the edges of his mouth turning hard. Apparently, she had struck a nerve. Interesting.
“I admit that my past hasn’t always been savory.” He slowly looked down the length of her frame and back up again to her face. “But then, something tells me you haven’t always been the model of propriety either.”
Constance knew that this conversation could easily venture into dangerous territory. He saw entirely more than she wished to convey. “That is my business, and you would do well to mind yours.”
The chuckle that followed her set down was dark and smooth, like the coffee she enjoyed with her morning breakfast. He lifted a hand and ran his thumb along his lower lip. “It appears that you have a mouth on you, madam. I can think of a better use for those plump lips other than choosing to filet me.”
A hot swirl of delicious desire flared to life in her abdomen. A sensation that had long lain dormant. “You, sir, are uncouth and rather than remain here and trade insults back and forth, I shall rejoin my party where I may partake of some intelligent conversation.”
This time when Constance left, she didn’t hesitate, even though the husky, masculine laughter followed her down the street.
Devin licked his lips, as if he’d just tasted a sweet treat. He vowed right then and there that he would learn the lady’s name and that she would be in his bed before the summer came to a close. But it would take time and a bit of persuasion on his part to break through that tough, untrusting exterior. Somewhere along the way she’d been hurt, but he was there to comfort her and pick up the pieces of a sour love affair, because he knew she was no simpering maiden, but a woman who knew what she wanted. And while she might not realize it yet, she wanted him. He could sense it in the flare of her nostrils and the flash of interest in those green eyes that she tried to hide. Oh, she would be a challenge, but that was one thing Devin had never backed down from.
“You’re lurkin’ about on our turf, guv’nr. I think it’s time for ye t’ move on.”
Instead of feeling threatened, Devin turned to face the speaker with a bored expression. “After all this time, that’s the best warning you’ve got?”
Devin waited for recognition to strike, and when it did, the guffaw was loud and full of humor. “Damn me eyes! Devin, boy, is tha’ ye?”
He spread his arms wide. “In the flesh.”
As he was enveloped in a manly hug with a strong pat on his back, Devin was actually glad to be back in this miserable city. While the pompous aristocrats abounded, this man who survived on the outskirts had been like a second father to Devin after his own had died and left him an orphan at the age of twelve.
Luke House had worked in Olney with Devin’s father at the local tannery. It had been rather unsavory and smelly employment to say the least, but it wasn’t as though everyone could live in a fashionable townhouse in Mayfair. Most Englishmen had to take what positions they could just to survive. Devin remembered many nights when he’d gone to bed with a grumbling stomach, hunger gnawing at his bones to the point he would close his eyes tight and dream of a day when he could actually afford to purchase a salty slice of ham. It had taken years and a life of illegal activity, and practicing his proper speech, but it had been worth it when he had finally bit into that tender meat.
Years later, he was bound for Australia on a ship to serve out the sentence of thievery. One mistake, one betrayal, had been all it took for him to spend the next five years on that Godforsaken piece of land and toiling in the hot sun. The sweat rolled down his back even now in memory of that grueling labor.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
When Luke pulled back with a wide grin, Devin forced himself to adopt a lazy expression. It had saved him during his tenure. The bullies didn’t bother a man if he pretended he didn’t care.
A flicker of something like sadness, or perhaps regret, passed before Luke’s eyes before he said, “How long have ye been back in London?”
“I just got back yesterday.”
“And ye didn’t think t’ let me know until today?” Luke scolded.
Devin snorted, as the man hadn’t changed a bit. While his hair was a bit more salt than pepper than before, he still had the same trim build and smooth demeanor that had won over several hearts through the decades, but nothing ever went further than a brief liaison. The neat beard that covered his jawline, which still grew in patches after twenty years was enough to forever remind his friend of everything he’d lost.
After a devastating fire had taken the lives of Luke’s wife and two children in Olney, giving him the scars he tried to hide, it only masked the deeper pain that he didn’t show. Only Devin had witnessed him break down one time in all of his thirty-two years, and even then, it wasn’t what he might have expected. They had come across a London fire that had consumed the lives of a similar family, where the husband had been away at work, only to return to find his life in shambles.
Most men might have collapsed and wept in memory when the charred remains had been removed from the ruined structure, but it was the flat, almost ghostly… emptiness in Luke’s eyes that Devin had found more disturbing. But then, it was probably how he had managed to become one of the most successful thieves in London. He distanced himself from his victims, while his sleight of hand was almost legendary among certain circles. Devin had learned the same skill—until the one time his arrogance and greed had nearly sent him to the noose.
