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  MIDNIGHT WITHOUT A MOON

  The Sinful Gentlemen Collection 2

  EMMA WILDES

  SEX RATING: SIZZLING

  This book is for sale to adults ONLY as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  SIREN SEX Rating

  SENSUAL: Sensual romance with love scenes comparative to most romance novels published today

  STEAMY: Heavy sexual tension; graphic details; may contain coarse language

  SIZZLING: Erotic, graphic sex; explicit sexual language; may offend delicate readers

  SCORCHING: Erotica; contains many sexual encounters; may contain unconventional sex; will offend delicate readers

  SEXTREME: Excessiveness; many instances of unconventional sex; may be hardcore; not for the faint-hearted

  Emma Wildes

  The Sinful Gentlemen Collection 2

  Midnight Without a Moon

  Trenton Wyatt usually disdains gossip, but when it involves the younger sister of one of his best friends, he is forced to interfere before disaster strikes. Rescuing her from suspicious revenue officers by pretending she is his mistress brings both scandal and the wrath of her family down on his head, and before he knows what's happening, he is forced to wed the very beautiful, very reckless Jessica.

  Finally having the attention of the man of her dreams isn't exactly the fantasy Jessica Fairman imagined. For one thing, her arrogant new husband is both controlling and difficult to know...except, of course, sexually. In that way, the infamous rake performs predictably with exquisite skill and tireless passion, filling her nights--and days--with unbelievable pleasure.

  An unexpected union binds an aristocratic rogue and a determined young woman together in the dangerous darkness of midnight without a moon...

  MIDNIGHT WITHOUT A MOON

  The Sinful Gentlemen Collection 2

  Emma Wildes

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ABOUT THIS E-BOOK: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.

  MIDNIGHT WITHOUT A MOON

  Copyright © 2006 by Emma Wildes

  First E-book Publication: July 2006

  ISBN: 1-933563-48-6

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Cover art by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2006 Siren Publishing, Inc.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Midnight Without a Moon

  The Sinful Gentlemen Collection 2

  By Emma Wildes

  Copyright © 2006

  Chapter 1

  Thunder boomed, making her glance sharply at the brilliantly lit horizon. Vivid lightning poured white-hot light over the black, angry water and was reflected in the rolling waves that hungrily licked the cliff. Pulling her hood close around her face, Jessica Fairman slipped along the path, sending a silent prayer upward for the storm to hold off until she was back home and safe in her bed.

  Safe, of course, being a relative term.

  Mist tore past in long, jagged streams as she gained the relative shelter of the wooded copse near the top of the precipice. She shivered, picking her way carefully in the dark. Somewhere to her left, a night bird called softly, the mournful sound swallowed by the restless sea.

  “Well, it took you long enough, my lady.”

  The sound of that softly drawled sentence made Jessica stumble, almost plowing into the tall figure that had ominously materialized in front of her. Two strong hands shot out to steady her, and she recoiled, panic flaring through every nerve ending in her body.

  Dear God, no!

  For a long moment, terror held her immobile before she began to struggle. “Let me go.”

  “That’s not likely. Calm down, you reckless little fool. It’s me.”

  A second before her foot connected solidly with her assailant’s shin, she registered the familiar deep timbre of the man’s voice, her eyes widening in surprise. His grunt of pain was real enough and his hands tightened on her shoulders through her cloak. Jessica gasped, “My lord, what on earth are you doing here? You frightened me half to death.”

  “And you’ve crippled me for it. By the devil, woman, that hurts.”

  “What do you expect, looming out of the dark like that and grabbing me!” she exclaimed tartly, her heart still pounding at a rate that made her feel dizzy.

  His hold slackened, and in the dim light, Jessica made out the glint of his gaze and the clean, straight line of an unsmiling mouth. “I think the more appropriate question would be, what on earth are you doing here, Jess?”

  It was damning, of course, to be caught out like this, for no respectable young lady had a good reason to wander the cliffs in the middle of a stormy night. Since she couldn’t think of a single believable response, she simply said stonily, “It’s none of your business.”

  “I think it is.” Letting her go, Trenton Wyatt, the Earl of Declan, stepped back a pace, his chiseled features washed to bone and angle by a sudden flash of lightning. “My horse is tethered a few paces away. Come on.”

  Jessica shook her head, feeling the rising wind tug on her cloak and blow teasing wisps of hair across her face. Above, the branches sighed mournfully. “I’ll get home on my own. It’s just a short way.”

  “You aren’t going home, my dear.” His faint smile was a glimmer of white teeth in the shadows.

  That kind of statement was high-handed, even for someone as infernally arrogant as Trenton, but there was a certain unsettling conviction in his voice. A stab of unease rippled through her. Jessica didn’t move but stood rooted in the thatch of woods, staring up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I think you’ve finally outdone yourself, Jess. You aren’t a child any longer, climbing trees and swimming in the cove against your mother’s wishes. This particular escapade is a little more serious. In case you haven’t been informed, smuggling is a crime.”

  When she responded after a long heartbeat, her voice shook like the withering leaves overhead. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. What’s worse, I’m not the only one who has deduced the beautiful female smuggler being whispered about on this coast just might be the lovely and aloof Lady Jessica Fairman.”

  This truly could not be happening. He was wrong. Her reputation was pristine. “What nonsense.”

  “Is it?” Harshly, Trenton rasped, “Devil take it, you rash, headstrong wench. Did it ever occur to you that the state of your family finances is not a secret? Servants talk, merchants gossip. It’s the way of the world. When you can suddenly pay your bills and the money has no legitimate source, people begin to wonder. Tell me, my dear. Have you heard the latest rumor? The revenue men have started calling the ringleader of the local smugglers the Golden Angel. They believe she is a French spy, selling secrets to Bonaparte for boatloads of contraband brandy and wine.”

  The blood drained from Jessica’s face, and she felt herself go cold.

  Relentlessly,
he went on, the lash of the wind no worse than the stinging content of his words. “We can count on the possibility they are watching the house as we speak, waiting for you to slink back from your damnable rendezvous.”

  “I am not a French spy,” she said hotly, fear making her lose all sense of discretion. “Just the opposite.”

  His laugh cracked through the wild night. “Oh, wonderful. Now, I suppose you’re telling me you’ve been spying for us, carrying messages for communication to Wellington? That’s not any better, Jess. If the French realized you’ve been using the smuggling ring to further our cause against their emperor, you’ll be marked a target.”

  That had been a possibility all along. She had been just desperate enough to risk it.

  One long-fingered hand reached out and snared her wrist, jerking hard. “Look.” Trenton Wyatt, the man she’d known all her life, her brother’s oldest friend, pulled her nearly off her feet, his face thrusting close. “We’re leaving now. You are getting with me on my horse, and we’re riding to Declan Manor. Understand?”

  Wildly, she shook her head. “No.”

  Hands grasped her waist, and suddenly, she found herself swung into a pair of uncompromisingly strong arms. “Yes.”

  Desperate and frightened, she shoved ineffectually at his broad shoulders. “Trenton, put me down. I have to return home. If I’m not there in the morning, what will people think? Don’t be daft. I can’t go home with you. If you want to play the rescuing angel, take me home and help me get safely inside.”

  His expression was dark as he strode out of the woods, his mouth tight and implacable, his hair wind-tossed and unruly. Sure enough, his horse grazed quietly on tufts of grass that grew in haphazard straggles by the cliff. “Sorry, love. If I’m an angel, it is only of the darkest sort.”

  It was warm in his embrace, and his chest felt strong and secure. Jessica resisted the irrational urge to cling to him. “If I am under suspicion, not going home won’t help that situation. Don’t you see? You’ll simply be labeled my accomplice.”

  “No, I won’t.” He promptly swung her onto the back of his horse and then vaulted into the saddle behind her, picking up the reins with competent hands. “I’ll be labeled your lover.”

  * * * *

  It was a good plan, if the stubborn, pig-headed woman would only heed it. Trenton guided his stallion across the edge of a thicket, ducking as a branch whipped near his head, narrowly missing his ear. Giving a low curse, he nudged Odin to a trot, taking a narrow path not meant for a big horse carrying two people. He knew it was unlikely that anyone except the locals knew it existed. He hoped none of them would be out and about tonight. In front of him, rigid in the circle of his arms, Jessica said nothing, her face hidden under the shelter of her hood, her cloak billowing out with the lash of the approaching storm.

  It was with definite relief when he finally caught sight of the sprawling outline of the house, looming out of the trim grounds in dark silhouette. The first few spits of rain touched his face as they rode up and slid off the saddle. The window to his study was still slightly ajar as he’d left it. Grasping Jessica by her slim waist, he lifted her down, gazing into eyes that were wide and as stormy as the lurid night sky. “Be quiet,” he cautioned firmly, sensing another argument. “Wait for me while I stable my horse. I mean it, Jess. We don’t wish to get caught sneaking in. That would ruin everything.”

  “Ruin what?” she hissed, her soft mouth mutinous, her slender body tense as a bowstring. “I do not understand your intentions, my lord.”

  “You will,” he muttered under his breath with a hint of cynical amusement, gesturing at the window. “Now, just crawl inside, will you? I’ll be but a moment.”

  He thought she would stand and argue further, but she squared her shoulders and turned toward the window. She eased the sash upward and pulled herself up in one smooth movement before she slid out of sight in a flurry of skirts and cloak.

  Perhaps all those childhood days spent in mischievous hoydenish pursuits—before she became a lovely and proper young lady—were well spent, Trenton thought wryly, training for a nefarious future in which she had to climb cliffs and clamber easily through windows.

  Doing the barest job of unsaddling Odin and leaving him contentedly munching oats in his stall, Trenton walked quickly back to the house. The rain had begun in earnest now, and when he vaulted through the window, he shook droplets from his head as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  Jessica waited as instructed, a tense shadowed form in the shrouded room.

  “Here.” Taking her hand, he urged her toward the fireplace. His heart tightened as he felt her cold, trembling fingers. Groping along the wall, he found the small lever cleverly hidden behind a carved rosette and pulled it toward him. The panel creaked slightly as it swung outward, but the door to his study was shut. Hopefully, all the servants were in bed at this unholy hour.

  There was the slightest edge of hysteria in Jessica’s voice when she murmured, “A secret passage? This evening keeps getting more unreal by the moment. Where does it lead to? A dungeon, perhaps, where you will lock me in chains to pay for my high crimes?”

  “You’ll pay, but not quite that way. The stairs go up and it is pitch black. Hold my hand and help me pull the panel shut behind us.”

  “Trenton…”

  “Don’t argue, Jess. And keep your voice down.”

  She acquiesced with reluctance, for he felt the clench of her fingers tighten around his as he felt his way in the darkness. The old stairwell was musty and extremely narrow, the width of his shoulders nearly brushing both walls. He couldn’t see a thing but didn’t really need to, as there was only one destination for this particular passage. The fact that one of his ancestors had the need to be able to slip unnoticed from his bedchamber was not a surprise. There were plenty enough blackguards in the Wyatt family tree.

  With relief, they finally reached the top as his questing hand came up against the solid partition. Pushing gently to open it, he saw the spacious and comfortable appointments of his own bedroom, glowing embers still in the hearth, a decanter and glasses sitting on the small table nearby. Pulling Jessica into the room and pushing the panel shut, he shrugged out of his damp coat and headed straight for the brandy, pouring a large amount in one glass and a small jot in the other.

  His unwilling guest might need a little sustenance for what she was about to hear. In fact, he was sure of it. Thrusting the glass into her cold hands, he smiled crookedly and said, “Drink up. It’ll brace you.”

  “For what?” Jessica looked delectably disheveled as she shoved back her hood, a flash of lightning through the windows gilding her pale hair. Her midnight blue eyes stared at him in consternation from under thick dark lashes, and she held the glass in her hand as if she had no idea what to do with it.

  Not answering, he simply studied her, slightly narrowing his gaze. When the hell had Jessica Fairman turned into such a stunning woman, he wondered idly, the brandy lighting a welcome fire in his stomach. She must be nineteen, now. Twenty, even. Her features were delicately lovely and showed off the elegant bone structure of her face, her mouth soft and invitingly pink, her hair a shimmering flaxen color somewhere between fine gold and white silk. Under the shapeless folds of her cloak, he also knew her body had matured. The girl he had once barely noticed and dismissed as a child was now completely different with full breasts, shapely hips, and everything else a man wanted.

  A nice consolation, considering the devilish situation they were in at the moment.

  “This is your bedroom.” Her words fell flat and cold, as if she suddenly realized where they were. “My lord, if your plan is to hide me here indefinitely, I don’t think it will work. Though you undoubtedly have females here on a regular basis, I think the servants will notice me eventually.”

  Ignoring the sardonic edge to her tone, Trent said mildly, “They will notice you right away, with any luck.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Jessica looked almost desperate
ly confused, the brandy sloshing in her glass as she gestured with it. “I’ll hardly be hidden from my supposed pursuers if your valet and the maids all know my whereabouts.”

  His gaze was steady, holding hers as he deliberately took a slow sip from his glass. “I am not trying to hide you, Jess. I’m just offering a different explanation for your covert slipping from the house and subsequent absence. How could you be meeting with smugglers and arranging for illicit shipments to escape taxation when you are warming my bed and entertaining me between the sheets?”

  “What?” It was a gasp, and twin spots of color shot into her cheeks.

  “I’ll be willing to swear to it, that for the past few months, we’ve been lovers, having a torrid secret affair. I am the Earl of Declan. They will have to accept my word, especially if you are found in my bed in the morning.”

  “But I’ll be ruined!” Her voice was barely a croak.

  “Absolutely.” Trent lifted a brow, feeling a small stab of amusement at her obvious horror over social ruin, when prison might be the other option. “But if you wish to be practical about it, you’ll be ruined also—in a different way, I admit—if they arrest you.”

  “This is madness.”

  “Isn’t that an understatement,” Trent agreed cynically, turning to walk across the room and crouch down by the fire, adding some wood from the neat stack by the hearth. “But not madness I started, may I remind you. When the rumors started to circulate, I couldn’t believe you could be so damned foolish. With Stephen off fighting in Spain and unable to help you, I felt at least a measure of responsibility, for the sake of our friendship.” Straightening, he turned and softly asked the question that had haunted him from the moment he realized what precisely was going on. “Why didn’t you come to me, Jess? I would have helped you and your mother if things were so dire. Surely you realize that?”