The Sweetest Revenge

By Dawn Halliday

WARNING: The Sweetest Revenge does not shirk away from the dark consequences of a dissolute rake's behavior. It contains rough language and erotic situations.
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Three Determined Women... Seven years ago, Leo, the Earl of Leothaid, took Isabelle Frasier's innocence. Now Isabelle is in London, where she befriends two other ladies who were similarly ruined by Leo, and the three women join together to seek their vengeance. Soon, however, Isabelle is given an impossible choice: stand by her friends...or betray them by surrendering to her reawakening feelings for the wicked earl.

One Fallen Man... When Leo lost the woman he loved, he sank into a life of depravity and vice. But when three mystery women abduct him and shackle him in a dark cellar, Leo just might rediscover his humanity...and a love that may lift him back into the light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Halliday
• Release date: Sep 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301114603

Dawn Halliday

USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Haymore is the author of sexy historical and contemporary romance. You can find Jennifer in Southern California trying to talk her husband into yet another trip to England, helping her three children with homework while brainstorming a new five-minute dinner menu, or crouched in a corner of the local bookstore writing her next novel.

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The Sweetest Revenge

by

Jennifer Haymore writing as

Dawn Halliday

The Sweetest Revenge

Copyright 2012 Dawn Halliday

ePub Edition

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This 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. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Table of 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 NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Excerpt from A HIGHLANDER’S HEART

Also by Dawn Halliday

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

The Earl of Leothaid stepped out into the cold. Bright light spilled from the club’s bow window to illuminate his way down the smooth marble steps. The wind had wiped the odors of coal smoke and sewage from the air and the night felt crisp and clean, but the residue of hard city smells simmered beneath.

No matter how thoroughly wind or rain washed the stench of London away, it would never remind him of the fresh scents of the windswept heaths and heather of Scotland. When he was nineteen years old, he’d spent a summer in the Highlands and had never wanted to leave. Now, however, he returned only when absolutely necessary. There was nothing for him there.

As Leo strode onto the street, Archer’s and Sutherland’s laughter shattered the peace of the night, their presence grating on his nerves.

As he paused to button his coat against the slicing wind, his friends drew up beside him.

I’ve called for my carriage. Archer drew his coat tighter about him with long fingers. We’ll ride together, of course.

Leo’s gaze moved from one man to the other. Sutherland’s sharp eyes glinted in the dim lamplight. Both of his friends were primed for the orgiastic pleasures of late-night London. Why couldn’t Leo muster the enthusiasm?

Leo squashed his groan and pressed his lips together grimly. He would join them, if only to sink himself into depravity and remind the world of exactly who and what he was. But not yet. For now, just for a few minutes, he had to be alone.

I’ll walk, he announced.

Sutherland cocked an eyebrow. Indeed?

Leo nodded and pressed fingers to his temple. My head is aching. Fresh air ought to do it some good.

It wasn’t exactly true, but he did feel rather muddled and somewhat dizzy. His stomach churned mildly.

Getting a little tired of it all, Leo? Sutherland twirled his walking stick between his palms, and his lip curled with mischief. Maybe it’s time to shackle yourself, old chap.

I don’t think so, Leo growled.

The clomping of Archer’s team sounded loud in the gloom, and his carriage, gleaming black and festooned with silver curlicues, came to a stop at the curb.

Archer nodded at Leo and disappeared into the vehicle, but Sutherland lingered, piercing him with narrowed eyes. Clearly, his old friend doubted his excuse.

Leo twisted his lips into a watery smile—he had no desire to engage in discourse about the origins of his melancholy, and he knew exactly what would appease his friend. Wouldn’t want to miss our sport, Sutherland. Go on ahead. You choose the lady tonight.

And if she does not suit?

She will suit. After all, they were all the same to him. I say we double the wager. A hundred guineas?

Sutherland grinned. Daresay you’ll regret that, Leo.

Leo shrugged. It hardly mattered. He’d rather pay a thousand pounds tonight than have Sutherland harass him about his frame of mind. I will join you presently.

With a tiny shake of his head, Sutherland turned away and mounted the step into Archer’s carriage.

Leo watched them round the corner; then he turned the opposite direction and headed toward the park. As a rare silence descended over the usually busy street, he paused to study the heavens. There was no moon tonight, nor any stars. Only the soft light of the streetlamps lit his way, lending a gloomy, otherworldly glow to the mist swirling about the edges of the buildings.

He missed her the most on nights like this. Autumn had been the first season he’d had to bear after she was gone.

He moved on, stumbled over a displaced cobble, then righted himself, swaying. How much had he had to drink? One, two, perhaps three glasses of a brandy that had tasted inexplicably sour tonight. Perhaps more than three glasses? His mind was too muddled to remember. Certainly not enough to make him feel this sotted. He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, giving his scalp a vigorous rub.

He was dwelling too much on the past. He was sober enough to realize that those events of long ago had sowed the seeds of his present melancholy. Seven years later. Seven years!

He was a fool. It had all happened so long ago. Still, something about this blustery autumn night brought to the surface all those regrets he shut away every day so he could play the role he had chosen for himself.

The clomping and rattling of another carriage sounded behind him. As it neared, the driver slowed the horses until they walked at Leo’s speed, a few steps behind.

He scowled over his shoulder. Had Archer had him followed?

The silhouette of dark-colored horses and the sleek, black carriage emerged from the fog. From its elegant lines and the flashes of polish on its finish, he determined it was a regal affair and not someone out to rob him. Nor was it Archer.

Then why did they follow him?

A blast of cold wind slapped him in the face as he turned back to the road. He crossed his arms over his chest and picked up his pace, striding through the mist created by his breath. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted, he was not in the mood. He’d lose them in the park, then proceed to Archer’s.

Leo crossed the Mall and congratulated himself as the vehicle drew to a halt behind him. It could not follow him now. He swayed slightly but kept his direction resolutely in a forward motion as he left the carriage behind.

Seven years had passed since she’d died. He had missed her for seven years, mourned her every day. She’d died in early autumn. He didn’t know if it was a blustery day like today, because he hadn’t been there. His life would have gone in an altogether different direction had she survived.

A far better direction.

But perhaps not. Perhaps, in the end, this life of debauchery suited him best. Other than at certain melancholy moments such as these, he liked his life.

Truly he did.

The soft, vaguely familiar tone of a female voice came from close behind, making him jump. Lord Leothaid?

Had she come from the carriage? Leo stumbled to a halt, pinching his lips together in annoyance. Why wouldn’t people leave him alone?

Heaving an exasperated sigh, he turned.

Pain exploded in his face. He reeled backward, pinpricks of light bursting in his vision.

What the devil? He clutched his nose. His fingers slid over hot, slick blood. Blinking rapidly, he made out the shadows of one gigantic figure and another more human-sized shape a few steps behind.

Despite the dulling effects of drink, he’d experienced enough fights to clear his mind by force of will. He made a quick assessment of the enemy. Leo was by no means a diminutive man, but the giant stood at least half a foot taller and was broader through the shoulders. The slighter one must be the female who had called to him.

He focused on the man. His assailant was bigger and stockier and certainly less muddled, but Leo had done his share of fighting, and whatever damage his imbibing had inflicted upon him tonight, it had not rendered him a coward.

Leo gave a hoarse yell and attacked, balling his hand just before his punch met its target. Buttons popped and his formfitting tailcoat screeched in protest, ripping along the side seam.

Leo’s fist met hard flesh, and the enormous man let out a strangled Oomph! and staggered backward. In his peripheral vision, Leo saw the lady’s gloved hand fly to her mouth.

He tried to throw another punch, but his arm suddenly felt as heavy as solid iron. Forcing his frozen fingers into a fist, he lunged forward to deliver the blow, but the giant moved back, and Leo’s legs gave out.

How strange. He was melting. He looked down, expecting to see his torso rising out of the dark puddle that his legs had become. But no, they were still there, and he was on his knees. Except his knees would not support him either. Slowly, ever so slowly, Leo pitched forward.

He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Sutherland and Archer again tonight.

His face smashed into the pavement, and everything went black.

***

Isabelle Frasier paused at the threshold of Lady DeLinn’s breakfast room. Morning sunlight poured in through the open panes of the tall windows, giving the room a bright, airy feel. Steam rose from the plates resting on the sideboard just beneath the windows, and the smells of fresh ham and toast drifted over her.

Beyond the autumn bouquet festooning the round table, Lady DeLinn stared at her coffee. Isabelle couldn’t see her face, only her dark, sleek, perfectly arranged coiffure. Opposite Lady DeLinn, Miss Anna Tomkins sat in rare silence with her back to Isabelle, tendrils of mahogany curls cascading down her nape. A near palpable tension thickened the air in the room.

Perhaps her two friends weren’t as unflappable as Isabelle had originally believed.

Of course, how could any logical person feel calm in their position? They had an earl tied up in the cellar, after all.

Lord Leothaid.

Her chest went tight at the thought of Leo so close, but she pushed the feeling away. She took a deep breath, and Lady DeLinn raised her head. She cracked a tight smile and beckoned Isabelle inside. Good morning, Isabelle. I am glad you are up early. I dismissed the servants, so pour yourself some chocolate and fetch something to eat.

Thank you, milady. Forcing her leaden feet to move into the room, Isabelle approached the plates, but her stomach lurched at the sight of all that food. She poured a cup of the lukewarm chocolate, trying to keep her hand from shaking. It would be awful to ruin Lady DeLinn’s bonny carpet.

Susan. I have told you time and again to call me Susan, and yet you still refuse. Lady DeLinn’s words were sharp, but the smile in her voice softened them. We are friends, are we not?

Clutching her chocolate in both hands, Isabelle turned to the table.

Anna skewered a piece of ham on her fork, and her deep, mossy-green gaze met Isabelle’s. I agree with Susie. We are all friends.

And if they ended locked up together in a rat-infested cell in Newgate Prison, they would certainly need that friendship to survive.

Raising her fork in the air, Anna continued. And if you call me ‘Miss Tomkins’ once more, I shall throw a fit. Trust me, Isabelle, you do not want to see one of my fits.

Isabelle forced her lips to twist into a smile. In that case, I fear I’ve no choice but to comply.

It seemed neither smiles nor words could break through the tension. It lay thick and heavy, like pea soup, over the breakfast room.

She set the cup on the table, pulled out one of the heavy chairs, and sank beside her hostess. How is he? she asked in a low voice.

Still sleeping. Susan pressed a lace-fringed napkin to her mouth. She was slight and compact, with narrow features, sleek black hair, dark eyes, and pale, flawless skin. Though she was the same age as Isabelle, Susan had already been married and widowed.

Next to Susan, Isabelle always felt large and ungainly, like a true bumpkin with her freckles and Scottish accent and generous curves. And compared to Susan’s and Anna’s cynical worldliness, Isabelle felt like a naïve innocent.

 For all she might be naïve, however, she certainly wasn’t an innocent. She hadn’t been since she and Lord Leothaid had been lovers.

I think your Pierre might have hit him too hard, Anna said crisply to Susan. Perhaps he will not wake.

Isabelle gulped. Lud, what if they had killed him?

Nonsense. Susan gave the younger woman a sharp look. Pierre was quite gentle with him. It is only the effect of the drug. It will wear off in time.

I hope you’re right.

Isabelle hid her terrified expression behind her cup. It wasn’t her place to question any of this, and yet she couldn’t help it. Before last night, she’d never truly believed Susan and Anna would go through with it. How silly, really—they’d been set on their plan for revenge long before she’d met them.

Yet the possible repercussions for all three of them were simply horrific. Susan said not to fret, that Lord Leothaid couldn’t identify them, and even if he did, he’d never endure the scandal of a prosecution and trial. Still, Isabelle worried.

Susan reached for Isabelle’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Have faith, my dear.

Susie thinks of everything, Isabelle, Anna said. She has paced the drawing room for months, boring me to tears over every single bit of minutiae related to this undertaking.

Though she was the youngest of the three women, at twenty-one, Anna Tomkins was far worldlier than the delicacy of her features suggested. Her hair matched the rich wood of the breakfast table and her sparkling hazel eyes changed color with her mood. She was an undeniable beauty.

Susan had assigned Anna to do most of the speaking. With a grin and a wink, Anna had informed Isabelle that she and Lord Leothaid had engaged in very little conversation at all during their brief encounter. Since her liaison with the earl had been the shortest, he likely wouldn’t recognize her voice. Isabelle and Susan both had longer associations with Leo, and though she could usually hide it, Isabelle’s Scottish accent would certainly give her away, so they would mask their voices and limit their speaking to ensure he wouldn’t identify them.

Anna glanced up and reached across the table to clasp Isabelle’s other hand. Isabelle looked down at the two hands holding her own.

Susan and Anna had sought Isabelle out when she’d come to London with her great-aunt this spring. At first she was surprised by their kindness, but as she grew to know them better, she’d begun to understand.

Lord Leothaid had wounded them, too. Leo had made them all suffer.

I trust you both. She struggled to speak through a surge of emotion. You…you are my only true friends.

Susan and Anna squeezed her hands, and she simply sat for a moment, smiling. So this was camaraderie. So this was what true friendship was. Isabelle imagined their bond as a silvery cord of strength flowing between them, each contributing to it, helping it grow. The three of them together were powerful. Their combined strength could overcome any obstacle.

Almost. She couldn’t ignore the sheer audacity of what they had done, or the resident fear coursing through her, reminding her that something could go horribly wrong.

A dreadful foreboding skittered up her spine.

Susan continued. We must be strong. All three of us. It can be difficult to force understanding onto someone, and men are prone to be stubborn when challenged by the weaker sex. Her lip curled with disdain. But we will do whatever it takes. This is our goal, and we will not surrender until we have achieved it.

Never surrender! Anna agreed, her tone vehement.

Both Anna and Susan turned to Isabelle, whose mouth suddenly felt dry.

Remember what he did to you.

He’d ruined her in the eyes of the world. And at her darkest hour, he’d abandoned her. She might have led a happy life with a family of her own one day. But now she was naught but a worthless spinster, a burden to her family and society. She blinked away the stinging moisture in her eyes.

She would stand beside her friends, whatever their plans.

I will never give up, she whispered.

A shadow fell over the table. It was the incongruous Frenchman, blocking the light from the window. Isabelle looked up and felt the same little shock she experienced each time she laid eyes upon the man. For when she imagined a Frenchman named Pierre, she thought of a little bespectacled printer from Paris, not this giant.

His voice, too, was out of place. It seemed when the man opened his mouth, the words should come out as the coarsest street cant, not the cultured, smooth tones of Paris.

The monsieur is awake, Pierre said.

A cold sweat broke out on Isabelle’s temples. The periphery of her vision blurred. Swaying, she gripped the edge of the table. To see Leo again after all these years…

How would she survive it?

Anna clapped gleefully.

Susan turned to the younger woman. Are you ready, Mistress Jane?

Grinning at Susan’s use of her alias, Anna nodded.

And you are certain he won’t know your voice?

Absolutely certain, dear Lady M, Anna said gravely.

Lady M. Mistress Jane. And Isabelle was to be Miss Juliette. What if she forgot herself and blurted one of their real names? What if she ruined it for all of them?

Oblivious to Isabelle’s distress, Susan rose, a wide smile spreading over her composed features. Then we shall begin.

CHAPTER TWO

Someone touched Leo. A fingernail drifted across his cheekbone, over the gag, down to the edge of his jaw. He sat at the edge of the chaise longue and struggled to remain still, though every fiber of his being commanded him to fight. By now he knew that physical resistance against these villains wouldn’t help. His earlier efforts to escape had only resulted in chafing his skin raw.

Tight ropes bound his wrists behind his back. Metal shackles encircled his ankles and were attached by a heavy chain to a bolt in the wall. He’d struggled fruitlessly for several minutes before he’d admitted the truth: he was irrevocably, absolutely, and thoroughly trussed.

Though only a dim light edged through the linen of his blindfold, he was certain it must be morning by now. His valet must have already found him missing from his bed. Sutherland and Archer would have noted his absence from last night’s revelries and questioned his staff. Half of London must be searching for him.

The fingernail trailed the line of his jaw in an erotic touch. Why, my lord, I do believe you need a shave.

The words were flirtatious and teasing, as if the lady who spoke them were a debutante at a society ball and they were dancing a quadrille. Before he could stop it, a low growl erupted from his throat.

The fingernail left his face, replaced by a soft hand cupping his cheek. "Tsk, Leo. There is no need to become agitated."

So it was Leo now. Who was this lady?

She played with him. He imagined her laughing silently, exchanging mocking glances with the other occupants of the room. Rage bloomed in his chest, and he jerked his ankles, making the chain clang against the wall.

Let me go, damn you! His words came out as gibberish through the gag.

Shh, Leo. Do be civil. After all, we are not harming you. Yet.

A ripple of feminine laughter came from someone standing close by. Leo swung his head toward her. She didn’t speak, but the sound of her laughter made the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Was she the one who had called to him in the street?

Fury made every nerve in his body burn, but he clenched his teeth and tamped it down, commanding himself to think logically.

What had the woman on the street looked like? He remembered shadowy features. She was slender and had dark hair—or was her hair covered by a dark shawl? He couldn’t recall, couldn’t think through the throbbing pain in his skull.

And why didn’t she speak?

Another surge of anger flooded him as seemingly random, irrational thoughts tumbled through his mind. Two females. Teasing him. Making light of this…this unspeakable situation.

The first lady spoke again. My heavens, Leo. You are as red as a beet. Is it because you are angry, afraid, or embarrassed to have been taken by three weak women?

Three women?

Ah, I see your color deepens. Yes, there are three of us.

Good morning, my lord, a third voice whispered from the foot of the chaise, proving her existence. A thrill rippled down Leo’s spine. He sat up straighter, cocking his head toward the sound of her voice.

This breathless, timid woman was different from the other two, yet he couldn’t pinpoint why. It was something more than the trepidation in her tone, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Slowly, he turned to face the woman standing directly before him, the one who liked to talk. Three women, then. The frightened mouse, the silent leader, and the trio’s capricious voice. Who were they? Which one of them could he get to first?

There now. The woman patted his shoulder as if he were a lapdog. You see? Three helpless women. Why ever would you be angry?

Her patronizing tone made him clench his fists behind him. Overwhelmed by fury, his body trembled from toes to crown. Whoever these females were, he would kill them when this was over. He would relish watching their limp bodies hang from a rope. He would have his revenge.

The gentle sloshing noise of water came from the floor, and a damp cloth swiped over his lip. He wrenched his head away.

The lady spoke yet again. Now, Leo, do be good for me. Your nose is a touch swollen, but you will be happy to hear that it is not broken. You are a bit untidy, however. There is some dried blood just here.

The soft material stroked his lip. Allowing her to touch him felt akin to admitting defeat, but given the ache in his nose and the gush of blood last night, he imagined he looked like hell. Vanity kept him immobile as she gently swiped the cloth over his skin.

I am afraid your greatcoat and tailcoat were complete losses. We thought we should replace them, but we know you are a fastidious dandy, and I doubt our choice would be acceptable to you.

He grunted, thinking her statement likely accurate.

Allow us to formally introduce ourselves, she continued conversationally. Of course, you shall never know our true names, but you ought to have a way to discern the three of us.

He did not give any indication that he could already discern them. The voice, the leader, and the frightened mouse. The mouse still stood at his feet. He felt her eyes on him, boring into him. Unnerving him.

The lady who served as the voice of the trio continued. "My name is Mistress Jane. Do