“Anything I might think to ask in payment, any request I might make, you would be willing to comply?”
She ignored the heat rising in her. “Yes.”
His voice dropped to a sensuous murmur, and she could feel the words dancing along her nerves. “Be warned, I have an extremely vivid imagination.”
Suddenly so did she. She closed her eyes tight and the fantasies that rose at the sound of his voice became more intense. Her blood sizzled as she imagined what it might be like to submit to the whims of a man who was little more than a stranger: a hardened criminal, accustomed to taking what he wanted.
“Anything you wish.”
A Wicked Liaison
Harlequin®Historical
MILLS & BOON
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Author Note
When I started writing nine years ago, I never imagined that my stories would find their way to Harlequin Books®. It is a source of great pride to know that my “imaginary friends” are in the care of a company whose history stretches back sixty years.
I hope you enjoy my story of Constance Townley, a lonely widow who is about to meet the man who will spoil her plans for a respectable remarriage. But how can she settle for a life without passion after Tony Smythe steals her heart?
I’ve grown quite fond of both Tony and Constance, who have been my close companions for several months. They are quite an exciting pair. When I sat down to write their story, I was never sure if I would be waltzing at Vauxhall or climbing into windows and picking imaginary locks. And together they do indeed have some wicked liaisons, and manage to live happily ever after.
CHRISTINE MERRILL
A Wicked LIAISON
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To Maddie Rowe, editor extraordinaire.
You make this so much fun that I forget I’m working.
Contents
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 One
Anthony de Portnay Smythe sat at his regular table in the darkest corner of the Blade and Scabbard pub. The grey wool of his coat blended with the shadows around him, rendering him almost invisible to the rest of the room. Without appearing to—for to stare at his fellows might prove suicidally rude—he could observe the other patrons. Cutpurses, thieves, petty criminals and transporters of stolen goods. Rogues to a man. And, for all he knew, killers.
Of course, he took great care not to know.
The usual feelings of being comfortable and in his element were unusually disconcerting. He dropped a good week’s work on to the table and pushed them towards his
