These Wicked Games

By Sherry Ledington, Lacey Kumanchik, Courtney Milan and 3 more

Could that ravishing beauty be his wife? Damien, the handsome and brooding Earl of Coulter, is captivated by the mysterious woman he sees across a ballroom. Yet there is something strangely familiar in her flashing eyes and fascinating smile. Can this tempting woman full of sensual promise possibly be the same cat--obsessed chit he married? Last he knew, she was rusticating in the country with her damned feline. Frustrated that her husband can't even be bothered to remember her name, Patience is ripe for revenge after three long years of countryside boredom. It's time to show her husband exactly what he's been missing. As Damien and Patience match wits, their passion threatens to beat them at their own game. With the help of a feather, a thunderstorm, a tiger, a pot of chocolate and a house full of meddling relatives, Patience and Damien are playing with fire. But who will triumph when true love it at stake? These Wicked Games is the first novella produced by Avon FanLit' , an online event for the romance community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Mar 17, 2009
• ISBN: 9780061758201

Book preview

Introduction

Romance readers are a unique breed of fans. Not only are they uniformly loyal to a much (unfairly) derided genre, they are also an incredibly active online community and, in many cases, they are aspiring writers. Keeping all of these qualities in mind, Avon set out to find a new way to connect with our audience. Thus the Avon FanLit project was born.

Sitting around the table at our first meeting about the story lines, we wondered how this project would turn out. Would anyone actually sign up? What kinds of stories would we get? What we never expected was the volume of participants and the incredibly enthusiastic and positive response from the entire romance community.

Each week, as we read the submissions, we were continually wowed by the caliber of the entries, written under the strictest of time limits and incorporating all of our crazy guidelines.

All of you, the readers and writers, made Damien and Patience come to life (sometimes you even brought them back from the dead) in ways we never imagined possible. The following novella is one that we are very proud to have as a member of the Avon family.

PART ONE

These Wicked Games

The Wayward Wife

BY SHERRY LEDINGTON

He learns she’s bent on revenge. But her unmasking could be his undoing.

The Earl of Coulter has always had a way with the ladies—until now. A delicious little countess with a thirst for revenge and a penchant for trouble has taken society by storm. Can he bring her to heel or will he wind up dancing to her tune?

Damien, Earl of Coulter, turned a jaded eye to the dizzying array of brightly colored dresses swirling around him. The cloying mixture of perfume and fawning femininity had left him with a headache of astronomical proportions. Of course, he thought, with a small, self-deprecating smile, that third snifter of brandy he had drunk before leaving the club hadn’t helped matters either. But he’d wager he was not the only gentleman in this room tonight who had required a little liquid fortitude before being dragged off to the Duchess of Alderman’s annual ball.

Damien. So nice of you to tear yourself away from your nightly round of gambling, drinking, and general debauchery to accompany your sister to her debut into polite society.

With his first genuine smile of the evening, Damien turned toward that wry, irascible voice. Tall and trim, even at sixty the Duchess was the epitome of understated elegance. Her emerald green dress with its creamy gauze overskirt revealed a body that had changed little with the ravages of time. Wisps of snow white hair escaped the bun atop her head, and the blush painting her finely chiseled cheekbones owed nothing to artifice.

Aunt Viola, said Damien, raising her hand to his lips, might I just say that you are the loveliest woman in this room tonight.

Don’t waste your pretty platitudes on me, boy, said the dowager duchess, her emerald green eyes glittering merrily. Save ’em for the ladies. They’ll appreciate them much more than I.

Alas, dear aunt, were I able to find one lady amongst this throng who could hold a candle to you, I would rush to her side and bestow upon her my undying love and devotion.

Well, drawled the Duchess, the night’s still young, isn’t it? Perhaps you’ll find that woman after all. One can only hope that when you do, she won’t take one look at that devilishly handsome face of yours and fall straight into your arms. You’ve had it too easy with the ladies thus far, my boy. You need someone who will lead you a merry chase.

Ah, but Aunt Vi, aren’t you forgetting something—namely, my lovely bride, Penelope.

Patience, said the Dowager with a frown.

Excuse me?

Your bride—her name is Patience. Penelope is the cat! A fact of which you would be aware if you ever visited the child. Have you even seen her since the wedding three years ago?

Damien raised one raven-colored brow. Patience. That’s right, he sighed. And no, I have not seen her since the nuptials. But for good cause. The little hellion made it quite clear that ours was to be a marriage of convenience only. Her family’s lands for my fortune and title. He smiled, remembering the tiny scrap of a girl with her scrawny, underfed body and flashing blue eyes, The last time I saw my beloved, she was spitting fire at me and calling me a rake and a scoundrel. No—not a scoundrel…a scalawag. ’Twas the wretched cat I found in my wedding bed that night—not the lady. So, I ask you…is it any wonder that I cherish fonder memories of that mangy feline than I do of my wife?

The Countess Fraser, intoned the black-clad servant just as the clock tolled two.

A sudden silence spread through the ballroom, cutting through the chatter like a knife.

Ah, the Divine Countess, whispered Alexis Harrison, sidling up to her big brother. Late as usual.

Who is she? asked Damien, unable to tear his gaze from the stunning figure atop the stairs. She looked to be about nineteen, with the face of an angel and the body of a goddess. Though small in stature, she radiated an air of self-assurance unusual in one so young. A jeweled sapphire comb secured her shining golden hair atop her head. A few wispy butterscotch curls tumbled around her temples and over her forehead. Damien wondered what those soft curls would feel like wrapped around his fingers.

Her Empire-waisted satin ballgown in the palest shade of cream, with an overlay of ecru colored lace, emphasized her slim form to perfection.

The women hate her, you know.

Feeling as if he had just emerged from the depths of a fever, Damien glanced over at his sister. What?

The Countess, she continued. Elizabeth Churcham says the ladies hate her because no one knows where she came from. She just showed up at Lady Peterley’s cotillion last week. The men certainly don’t seem to mind her mysterious past, though, judging from the way they all seem to flock to her side.

Damien turned a penetrating gaze on the Countess. How could such a magnificent creature have materialized out of thin air without anyone having heard of her? He frowned. There was only one possibility. She was a charlatan. Some poor little church mouse who had decided to capitalize on her incomparable beauty to snag herself a rich husband. A thoughtful smile curved his lips.

Aunt Vi—

If you’re going to demand that I introduce you to the lady so that you can interrogate her, Damien, said the Dowager slyly, don’t bother. I hear she’s remarkably close-mouthed about her background.

Damien turned his head just in time to catch the conspiratorial look that flickered between his aunt and sister.

All right you two. What aren’t you telling me?

Nothing, Alexis responded, a hair too quickly.

The Dowager wrapped a hand around his arm and dragged him forward. Oh, leave your sister alone, you brute. Come on—I’ll take you to the Countess. It might be good for you to meet a woman who can withstand your charms for a change.

The Earl smiled into the older woman’s twinkling eyes, And just what makes you think your little Countess can stand up to my charms when so many before her could not? he asked mockingly.

One can only hope, my dear. Her hand tightened on his arm as she pulled him to a stop. Countess Fraser, may I present to you my nephew, Damien—Earl of Coulter.

The Countess’s sapphire blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly as she looked from the Dowager to the man at her side. Finally, lush, cherry red lips curling into a slight smile, she bowed her head in acknowledgment.

Your lordship.

May I have this dance, my lady, he asked, and I warn you—if you say no, I shall be absolutely inconsolable.

Her smile quickly became an impish grin. Somehow I doubt that, your lordship. But far be it from me to cause distress, however slight, to a man of your stature.

My aunt tells me you’re from Dorset, Damien said, placing a hand on her impossibly small waist and guiding her onto the dance floor.

Does she?

So…do I take it you are from Dorset, then?" he probed.

Smiling, she shook her head from side to side. Her fragrance captivated him. Like a love-starved youth, he leaned over, inhaling deeply of her lavender scented hair.

Is something wrong, my lord?

No, of course not, he drawled. Why do you ask?

No reason. I just had the most ridiculous sense that you were sniffing me in much the same manner as my great-aunt’s terrier, Reggie, often does.

Ah, he purred, so, you are not from Dorset and you have a great-aunt who owns a terrier named Reggie. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Her giggle was infectious, and he smiled widely in response.

They danced in silence for a few seconds as he endeavored to think of another question. A light dusting of freckles dotted the tip of her tiny, upturned nose. He frowned. She seemed vaguely familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t decide where he’d seen her before.

The Baron of Snydley, the manservant announced.

Beneath his hand, Damien felt the sudden tensing of the Countess’s delectable