Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances

Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances

Kathryn Le Veque, Christi Caldwell




Chapter 1


If children were guilty of the crimes of their fathers, Georgina Wilcox was going to burn in the eternal flames of hell.

Piteous moans from another of her father’s victims echoed from the other side of the wood panel door. Georgina clenched her hands into fists to keep from opening the door. She could not go in. Must not go in. The angry purple bruise on the inside of her wrist throbbed as a subtle reminder of what happened when she questioned her father.

A groan more befitting a wild boar echoed from within the room. Georgina wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and drown out the man’s pleas for help. I cannot bear this. She reached for the handle.

The floorboards creaked, echoing off the stillness of the corridor. On a gasp, Georgina spun around.

Jamie Marshall pinned her in place with his cold, hard stare. “What are you doing, Georgina?” The faintest hint of an Irish brogue lent his words a lyrical quality.

With his lean physique and black crop of curls, he had the look of a dark angel, only he possessed a soul black enough to rival the devil. To those in his traitorous circle, he was “The Hunter”, enemy to the Crown. To Georgina, he was also the orphan taken in by her father when English soldiers had murdered his parents those fifteen years ago.

“I-I…” She gestured to the door. “Who is in there?”

Jamie strode toward her and her heart climbed into her throat. “I asked you a question.”

Not wanting him to see the effect his presence always managed to have on her, she met his gaze evenly, detesting the faint tremble of her fingers. Yet, she’d witnessed the cruelties he was capable of.

A moan punctured the silence and she thrust back her fear of him, renewed in her determination to help the stranger on the other side of the door. “I heard a man screaming.”

An icy smile turned his perfect lips. “And you were compelled to help him?”

Long ago, she’d learned of his perversity; reveling in her fear, while delighting in her shows of defiance. She narrowed her gaze on him. “If the man in there is to be of any value to you then I must care for him.”

In three longs strides, he closed the small distance between them. “Do you presume to know what is best?” He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing painfully.

“No.” Georgina blinked back the tears that popped behind her lashes and glared. “Just what is right.”

His fingers dug into her jawline. “Are you being insolent?”

Unwilling to give him the pleasure of seeing how painful his touch was, or the fear he sent coursing through her limbs, she gentled her tone. “Let me care for him.”

Jamie lowered his head, his brandy-scented breath fanned her lips. Her pulse kicked up a beat. Life had taught her that liquor made him even more unpredictable. Then suddenly, he released her. His brows dipped as he appeared to contemplate her entreaty.

“Please, let me help him.” She drummed up her best impression of a debutante’s innocent smile. “I—”

Jamie pressed his finger to her lips. A shudder of revulsion snaked through her belly, and she pressed her lips into a tight line. Jamie had treated her first as a bothersome sister, then a useless servant, and now another shift had occurred. At some point, he’d begun looking at her in a way that made her flesh crawl with disgust. His obvious attraction, however, had also proven useful. A teasing smile and flutter of her lids had earned her the freedom to help prisoners in the past.

His pale blue gaze fell to her mouth.

She took a hasty step away from him. Her back thumped against the door. As if the unexpected movement had roused the beast within the chambers, a roar echoed through the house. “You bastard. Free me.”

Georgina jumped.

The maniacal chuckle that spilled past Jamie’s lips melded with the sheer terror of the stranger’s shouts. “Still want to tend his wounds?”

Oh, how she wanted Jamie to suffer. His time would come and when it did, she would relish it. She tamped down the words she longed to hurl at his traitorous face.

“Hunter?” her father’s voice boomed.

Jamie’s broad shoulders stiffened beneath his blue, cutaway frock coat.

She said a silent thanks for the timely intervention, even if it was her father.

“Above stairs,” Jamie called out. He paused, a black grin tilting the corners of his lips. “With Georgina.”

Her heartbeat kicked up its rhythm as her father labored up the stairs. He stopped and studied her.

His astute gaze went from Georgina to his newest prisoner’s closed door. He dabbed at his bald pate with a stained kerchief. “What are you doing up here, gel?” A wheezing cough escaped him and he spit into the cloth.

It was hard to fathom that this fat figure, known to the Irish Republicans as “The Fox”, could be one of the organization’s most powerful orchestrators in their plan to force an Irish revolt against British rule.

Georgina dropped her gaze to the frayed carpet and buried all hint of rebellion. She wet her lips. “I—uh…I was—”

“Speak up.”

Georgina looked up and held his stare. “I wanted to help.” It wasn’t altogether a lie. She had wanted to help—just not him.