Taken by Moonllight

Taken by Moonlight by Dorothy McFalls

Chapter One



London, 1813



“Is that her?” Vlad demanded, his voice brisk, imposing, as if he expected the world to bow at his feet.

Dimitri shuddered. It was a good thing his alpha, the Russian, was keeping to the shadows. Vlad hadn’t stopped snarling since they’d arrived. The sight of his sour expression alone would no doubt send half the gently bred ladies present at the ball tonight into a fit of vapors.

Dimitri should have used his wits to convince Vlad of the need to stay away—far away—from the humans.

“Are you sure it is her?” Vlad sounded as if he verged on the edge of attack, which wasn’t wise. Quick, deadly movements might work when hunting in some deep, dark wood, but success in the ballroom required a predator to bide his time, carefully luring the prey to come to him.

“Yes, I am certain,” Dimitri muttered. That was all he planned to say about the lady in question. He’d barely moved his lips even. And he certainly didn’t budge from where he stood leaning against a plaster column in the Duke of Duncaster’s ballroom.

Dimitri watched with a slow, deceptively bored gaze as Lady Amelia Routledge allowed herself to be led out to the dance floor on the arm of one popinjay after another. He’d even taken his turn. Her sun-streaked light brown hair sparkled like diamonds threaded through silk as she passed under the gilded chandelier hanging high above them.

“Well, I don’t know. She looks nothing like Sasha or Lev.”

“It’s her.” Dimitri had watched the graceful creature over the past year. The month she’d spent at her family’s country estate in the far northern reaches of England had proven difficult, but for him, stealth came as naturally as breathing.

“I should bed her immediately,” Vlad said, his voice a low growl.

Dimitri dug his nails into his fisted hands. “Naturally, I bow to your authority.”

Lady Amelia wore a muslin gown that reminded him of a summer-blue sky. It matched her sparkling blue eyes. Her ripe young breasts pressed against the delicate fabric as if begging for a man’s touch. Her full, heart-shaped lips formed a natural pout. Lips like those could keep a man edgy all night long. And her long legs… He could imagine only too vividly how they’d feel wrapped around his hips.

Dimitri blew out a ragged breath. He’d spent countless days dreaming of her. Everything about her called to his baser, wilder instincts, and a few possessive ones he hadn’t realized existed. He sure as hell didn’t want Vlad anywhere near her, an innocent and delicate lady of the realm.

So he pushed that image out of his mind. Instead, he watched as Lady Amelia danced with yet another gentleman. Pale and as lovely as the moon, she reminded him of finely spun glass. Precious and extremely breakable. She was no doubt the kind of empty-headed young lady who would be easy to get along with, a trait prized in the ballrooms of London. She’d make an ideal wife to any one of the gentlemen present tonight.

Which was most, most unfortunate.

She reminded Dimitri of a beautiful flower, a diamond of the first water. Beautiful and useless. He couldn’t imagine anything but disaster in Lady Amelia’s future. And it troubled him more than he liked.

What the hell had the humans done to her?

The pack’s future rested in her hands? Her helpless hands? Well then, that was it. They were already doomed. Vlad and his pack were going to eat her alive.



* * * * *



I am such a fraud.

Lady Amelia Routledge—Lia to her friends—danced the quadrille as if she were a clever automaton, smiling sweetly at all the appropriate places, but just going through the motions. She had loving parents, a generous dowry, and every advantage a young lady could hope to have. And yet, she selfishly wanted more…needed more.

Not baubles or diamonds or anything so garish, nothing that could be bought. Nor friends or admirers. She had no shortage of either. Her parents, the Earl of Hawthorn, the renowned diplomat and his countess, loved her and doted on their only child as if the sun rose and set just for her. Because of them, she never wanted for anything. She considered herself the most fortunate lady in London.

And yet, something was missing from her life. An emptiness burned in her chest. Her mind constantly whirled. Her body felt restless. She rarely slept anymore. In her search for fulfillment, she’d dedicated hours every week to her charity work. She’d sought scholarly pursuits that more often than not left her head pounding. She’d even fallen in love…once.

She could quote Shakespeare, Keats, and Byron, name the constellations in the night sky, discuss the merits and hazards of the Corn Laws, and tell anyone who cared to ask why love wasn’t worth the time. But she couldn’t douse the infernal fire that grew hotter with the passing of every day. Even now, despite the frivolity of the ball, it scorched her, threatening to consume her.

She’d give anything—everything—to find the cause of her unhappiness.

“You dance exquisitely, Lady Amelia,” her latest partner, Lord Duncan, commented as the set drew to a close.

“Thank you,” Lia answered with a gentle tilt of her head. “And you were a delightful partner. You only managed to stomp my toes three times.”

Lord Duncan chuckled, well used to her sarcastic tone. Unlike most of the eligible gentlemen in the room, he had no desire to win her or her tempting dowry.

“Have you seen Clarissa—er—Miss Sutton this evening?” he asked. This Season he was hopelessly in love with Lia’s cousin, Clarissa.

“She was dancing with Captain Jakes, I believe.”

“Ack, my poor dove’s feet! You should have told me so I could have saved her from that lead-booted cad.”

“And I suppose your feet are feathers?”

Lord Duncan scowled. “I apologize for that. My mind wasn’t on the dance.”

“No, it was on Clarissa. Come.” She patted his arm, not ready to let him go just yet. “Escort me to the refreshments room. You can tell me more about that young gelding you’re thinking of purchasing.”

He brightened at the mention of his horses. He could speak for hours on that particular topic. Lia half-listened as they made their way across the crowded ballroom.

She felt safe clinging to her old friend’s arm when so many of the gentleman at tonight’s ball wanted to dance with her, or talk with her, or flirt with her. It was a hazard of possessing such a large dowry and having spent one too many Seasons on the marriage mart. At one-and-twenty, everyone expected her to be well and wed before the Season’s end.

Marriage, what a dreadful thought. She usually handled the pressure without a jot of trouble. But tonight she was in a mood to snarl and snap.

She hated being confined in such a crowded space while pretending she was nothing more than a mindless, empty-headed twit. Being forced to play such a game while trapped in an overheated crowded space would overset anyone’s nerves. No, if she were to be honest with herself, it wasn’t the ballroom. It was the devilishly masculine, dark-eyed Lord Carew making her extra edgy tonight.

He was watching her. She could feel his heated gaze even now.

His intense interest frightened her. Yes, frightened, she firmly told herself as she and Lord Duncan edged their way through the crowd toward the far end of the room. She’d been frightened, not intrigued, by Lord Carew. Definitely not fascinated by his wickedly dark eyes or brooding looks that made him perfectly suited to play the tragic hero in some horrid gothic novel. She didn’t even like gothic novels.

She’d waltzed with him. Though his gloved hands had never strayed from their proper places, and he never stepped closer than what society deemed acceptable, that singular set had left Lia’s heart pounding. His intoxicating scent, a delicious aroma that conjured images of fresh dewy mornings in the woods and vast open spaces, had left her uncharacteristically giddy. And though the waltz had ended several hours ago, she could feel his warm touch on her body as if he possessed her still.

Even more unsettling than her uncharacteristic reaction to him had been the knowing look she’d read in his dark, sensual gaze. It had flickered there for just a moment and then was gone. It had made her feel as if he knew her smiles and flirts were as fake as the jewels in Aunt Lettie’s necklace.

But she was being ridiculous, wasn’t she? How could he know anything beyond what she’d showed him? She knew so very little about him.

His emergence on the London scene about a year ago had caused quite a stir. The Town tabbies were still all atwitter about it. The eleventh Viscount Carew had died without an heir. His widow, the Viscountess, had led a lengthy and extensive search to locate a relative who could save the Carew line. And yet, she’d failed. All of the Carew property and assets were in the process of reverting back to the king when this mysterious stranger appeared on the widow’s stoop clutching a family Bible and various other bundles of paperwork that proved he was the one and only heir to the Carew title. Apparently, he was a distant cousin to the former bushy-haired, hawk-nosed Carew. A very distant cousin.

Unlike his predecessor, this newest viscount was as handsome as sin.

Well, certainly he wasn’t that handsome. No man was that handsome. Or worth the bother.

Lia searched where she’d last seen him lounging like a careless roué against a pillar. Sure, he had a certain indefinable luster. He was dressed much like every other gentleman present that night, with a high-collared black dress coat and tails that fell to the backs of his knees, snowy white waistcoat, gleaming ankle boots, and matching breeches. His shirt wasn’t as frilled as many of the gentlemen’s. But the frills, Lia decided, wouldn’t have suited the hard angles of his jaw. His neckcloth, the purest of whites, was folded in a quite pleasing and elaborate horizontal Ballroom Tie knot that, like his clothes, were the height of style. There was nothing special about his outfit. He simply filled out his clothes with superior grace, especially his breeches.

It was wrong for a lady to notice a man’s muscular thighs. But how could she not? His exquisite legs made her yearn to write sonnets, which was very, very unlike her.

She frowned.

His hair, as black as the midnight sky, was longer than fashionable. It made him look as if he’d fallen out of the pages of a maudlin Minerva Press novel. That gothic hero image again. A troubled, romantic lord, hiding some deep and convoluted secret. What a ridiculous thought.

The blasted man was turning her into a fluff brain.

He’d attracted quite a crowd since the end of that last set. Some of the loveliest and most eligible ladies on the marriage mart now surrounded him, all properly chaperoned of course. He said something that made the older matrons in the group giggle and blush.

Lia worried her lower lip and swallowed a lump of jealousy. What in blazes was wrong with her? She did not want anything to do with him. She did not want him flirting with her the way he was currently flirting with a certain pretty little blonde over there. And she certainly did not want to be giggling or blushing like a ninny.

His gaze lifted above the blonde’s head and briefly touched Lia’s. All of the sudden, her mouth went dry.

“Well? What do you think?” Lord Duncan asked.

“I think… I think…” She sighed. “Actually, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lord Duncan’s brow lifted slightly. “You haven’t been attending to a word I’ve said, have you?”

“I…I…” This is what that blasted Carew had done to her, reduced her to a stammering dolt. She did not like the man, not one bit.

Lord Duncan’s gaze followed hers over to where Carew held court. The crowd around him had grown.

“Him? You ignore me for him?” Lord Duncan spat. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that bounder is a fraud, a scheming gypsy, a scraping nobody.”

“Somehow I don’t think it would matter. He’s this year’s darling of the ton. Look at him. The matrons adore him.” At that very moment, Carew flashed a dimpled smile, showing off his dazzling white teeth. Lia found it impossible not to smile in response. She shook her head and forced herself to look away. “He knows how to charm without overdoing. It’s a rare thing.”

Lord Duncan grimaced. “There’s something about him.” His grip on her arm tightened. “I do not trust him. And I do not like the way he looks at you. Promise me, Lia. You know I think of you as a sister. And with your parents out of town until the end of this week, I feel responsible for you. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“I have no reason to spend time with him or any gentleman for that matter. You know my thoughts on marriage.” Still, Lia’s cheeks burned at the thought of getting to know Carew better. What if he invited her for a carriage ride? Would she refuse?

Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about that happening since she didn’t plan to make a cake of herself like those other ladies. “Let’s take a stroll outside on the balcony. It’s far too crowded in here. I can’t seem to breathe.”

Lord Duncan hesitated. His beloved Clarissa, accompanied by her parents, had joined the crowd forming around Lord Carew. So had Lord Duncan’s father, the duke. He reached out and vigorously shook Carew’s hand.

“Has the entire world lost their bloody minds?” Lord Duncan, as if unable to bear seeing another man anywhere near his beloved Clarissa, grabbed Lia’s wrist and pulled her through the double doors out onto the marble portico. Gently curving stairs led into a generous back garden. The air was cooler, clearer, under the dark sky.

Moonlight peeked through a thick gathering of clouds, and the flickering garden torches added a soft glow to the evening. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell started to chime. Several other carillons from churches spread across the town joined in.

The need to escape was especially strong at night. Lia closed her eyes and soaked in the pulling sounds of the dark and let its cool air seep into her bones. Her heart longed to be out there. But where?

“I’m not a creature of the ballroom,” she confided in a low whisper.

“I never thought you were,” Lord Duncan replied.

“Then what am I?”

“I don’t know, Lia. You use your mind more than a lady should, more than most men I know for that matter. You’re too clever by half for the ballroom games in there. For as long as I’ve know you, you’ve always been too self-assured, too confident for your own good. It makes you miserable.”

“Perhaps,” Lia said, though she knew Lord Duncan was wrong. She’d met several clever, intelligent, and yes, confident, ladies who were perfectly content in their lives. The use of one’s mind didn’t necessarily doom a lady to unhappiness, despite what most gentlemen were wont to believe.

The musicians began warming up for the next set. Lord Duncan shifted from foot to foot, anxious to return inside and search out his Clarissa again.

“Go on. Off with you now,” Lia said with a smile.

“I cannot leave you.” It was beyond the pale for a young lady to be discovered sans escort. It could ruin her reputation.

“Aunt Lettie is just inside the door there. She watches over me like a hawk watches a field mouse.” The older woman’s purple turban bobbed up and down as she spoke with Lord Duncan’s mother. “She’ll come to me as soon as she sees you leave. I won’t be alone longer than a moment or two. Surely not enough time for any kind of disaster to strike. Besides, isn’t that Clarissa with her parents? And they’re no longer conversing with the mysterious Lord Carew. In fact, I believe she’s waving to you.”

Lord Duncan glanced over his shoulder. Clarissa, bless her, spotted them and actually did wave. “I won’t go far until I see your aunt has joined you,” he promised and moved toward the double doors leading back into the ballroom. Abruptly, he stopped again. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind staying a little—”

“Go, before Clarissa latches onto some other dashing rogue.”

With a brisk nod, he hurried off.

Lia smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying the relative solitude of the portico. Her aunt would descend soon enough. Though she loved her aunt dearly—the woman had a heart spun from gold—she was growing tired of Aunt Lettie’s stepped-up efforts at matchmaking.

“Your parents are far too permissive, allowing you to flit from one gentleman’s arm to the next like an empty-headed butterfly,” Aunt Lettie had scolded a few hours before this evening’s ball. “Your father should have married you off to a strong-willed man ages ago. You’re on a dangerous path, my dear. You know what they call women who fail to marry? An ape leader. A spinster. Is that what you want the Town tabbies to whisper behind their hands when they see you? You must to engage your heart and form an alliance before your beauty fades.”

But affairs of the heart were dangerous. Take Lord Carew, for example. Just thinking of him brought heat to her cheeks. The memory of his pleasing scent flooded her senses as if he stood right beside her. She barely knew him, and he already had too much power over her emotions.

A familiar warmth touched her arm even now as she thought of him. Instinctually, she recognized it. Lord Carew was nearby.

Not just nearby. She opened her eyes and found herself face-to-face with the one man she suspected she’d do well to avoid, the one man she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

Oh, dear! She should have never let Lord Duncan leave her alone in the moonlight. What should she say? How should she act? Her blood pounded through her veins so forcefully, surely Carew could hear it. Lia drew in a slow breath in an effort to calm her suddenly racing heart.

“Lady Amelia,” Lord Carew said, his voice a velvety smooth caress. “Your aunt mentioned I would find you here. She is watching us, you see, from the doorway. Would you care to dance?”

“Tsk, tsk, Lord Carew,” she said with fallacious disinterest. “If I were to dance two sets with you in one night, it would be assumed by all and sundry I have developed a fondness for you.”

The corners of his lips pulled up a fraction of an inch, softening his expression just a touch. “And you haven’t?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Oh, but I imagine you want to.” He sounded so very confident.

Could he really read her so easily? Of course, he couldn’t. All the ladies at the ball had been fawning over him. Why shouldn’t he believe she would want to as well?

“You are too sure of yourself,” she scolded.

“And you are unhappy in your life.”

How could he—? No one had ever guessed the truth she’d worked so hard to keep hidden in her heart. Only Lord Duncan knew of the restlessness that lurked deep inside her, and only because she’d taken him into her confidence.

“This place isn’t for you,” Carew said. “You are happier in the country, away from the glitter and noise of the city, is that not true?”

It was. But she didn’t dare admit it. Especially not to a stranger.

“You flatter yourself and overstep your bounds. You don’t know me.” She started to move back toward the ballroom. He caught her arm. His heat easily penetrated her gown’s fabric and spread through her body.

“I know more about you than I daresay you know about yourself.” He smiled then, a disarming and altogether depreciating grin. “And yet, I didn’t come over here to spar with you.” His gaze narrowed as he considered her more carefully. “I wonder… What can I do to win a smile from those pretty lips?”

He released her arm and tapped his temple as if in deep thought. She tamped down an urge to rub away the sudden shock of cold resulting from the absence of his heated touch. She didn’t want him, or any man, touching her.

“I don’t—” she started to protest.

“I believe you wish to prove to me...and yourself...I am nothing to you. Is that not correct?”

Yes, it was true. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man, especially this man who could so easily muddle her mind when she most needed her wits. And she certainly didn’t approve of the warmth spreading through her belly just because he was looking at her, and only her. But oh, she dearly wanted him to stay on the portico with her and simply soak in the cool night air while bathing in the healing glow of the moonlight...with him.

Which was ridiculous. She certainly did not approve of the mysterious Lord Carew or of her own unhealthy fascination with him. Let Carew attract some other unwise maiden like a moth to a flame. Love only brought heartache for the woman because men, blast their handsome eyes, only ever desired power and money—two things that held very little value in Lia’s estimation.

Oh, botheration! Perhaps Lord Duncan was right. Perhaps she did make herself miserable by thinking too much. How wonderful it would be to lean in just a little closer, to let his lips brush against hers, to know what it would be like to mindlessly give oneself to another. What would it be like? How freeing…?

“What? No protests? Splendid, my lady. Let the game begin. Come. Prove you have no feelings for me. Prove to me you are more clever and more heartless than I.”

He took her hand and led her not toward the glittering ballroom but down the stone steps and deep into the cool shadows of the garden.

How dare he? He was arrogant and too much in command of himself and everyone around him. She wasn’t his to order about. She had a mind to—

He picked up speed as they dashed around a potted topiary. The stone pavers sped by under their feet. It felt wonderful to forget herself and simply run under the bright moon like a hoyden. Lia laughed despite herself.

He stopped in the middle of the path and turned her toward him, his hands on her shoulders. He took a moment to catch his breath. Lia felt a more than a little breathless herself. Her heart pounded with life in her chest, and all because she took this reckless sprint away from the crush in the ballroom.

“We don’t have much time,” Carew warned. They stood in the deepest of the shadows that lurked in the farthest reach of the garden, hidden behind a line of thick, prickly hedges that muted tinkling laughter and lively music pouring out of the house.

“Much time for what?” She glanced around. “We really shouldn’t be so far away from the house.”

She tried to pull away, but his grip on her shoulders tightened.

“Shh, they’ll be upon us in a moment.”

Before she could demand who in blazes was coming, he framed her face with his warm, gloved hands. He moved closer, so close she saw the silvery moon reflected in his inky black eyes. “Lord help me,” he whispered, “you are so beautiful it causes me pain.”

He kissed her.