Wickedly Yours by Brenda Hiatt

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The ton is abuzz over the arrival of Sarah Killian, a stunning stranger who shrouds her past in mystery. And no one is more intrigued than Lord Peter Northrup. The handsome rake wants to know everything about this enigmatic beauty who hasso enflamed his curiosity and desire. But the enchantress guards her secrets well, even as she pulls him into a world of danger any self-respecting gentleman would be well advised to avoid.

Penniless and dependent on haughty London relatives, Sarah is nevertheless determined to find her missing brother, a search that is leading her into the realm of the legendary hero-thief, the Saint of Seven Dials. She could desperately use the help of Peter Northrup, the dashing "Prince Charming" whose seductive sensuality she finds irresistible. But can she trust this man with the truth, let alone with her heart ... especially when she is forced to assume the identity of London's most notorious criminal?

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Table of Contents

Read a Sample Chapter

Chapter One

London
October, 1816

"Gone?" Sarah Killian asked in disbelief. "How can William be gone?"

Mrs. Hounslow, smaller than Sarah remembered, and a little bit grayer, looked as though she might cry. "Believe me, I had no idea. I sent word that your grandfather had died, as I wrote to you, and only then did the headmaster inform me that he'd run away from Westerham."

"But ... all of those letters you sent me. You assured me William was doing well." Sarah followed Mrs. Hounslow into the tiny but very clean parlor of the little house on Gracechurch Street, where she had arrived after three grueling days on the south-bound mail coach.

"I fear I was sadly deceived by the headmaster," Mrs. Hounslow replied. "I presume he did not wish to lose your brother's annual tuition. Not until the source of that tuition disappeared did he tell me the truth. I have requested an inquiry by the board of directors, you may be sure."

"Then ... did William receive none of my letters?" Sarah couldn't quite grasp the enormity of what had happened. "He never answered them, but I attributed that to his youth -- and gender."

The older woman nodded sagely. "Men, and particularly boys, do tend to be dreadful correspondents. But no, it appears William left the school before the end of his first year. I have not yet managed to locate him, as I only discovered it yesterday."

"His first--. He's been missing for seven years?" Sarah gasped, a hand going to her throat. "Anything might have happened to him!"

Horrible visions rose before her eyes. Little William, at the mercy of far worse than his old climbing master, beaten, forced to ... "He -- he could be anywhere by now," she whispered as tears threatened to choke her. "He could even be dead."

For eight long years, Sarah's one goal had been to fulfill the promise she'd made her brother the day she had left London. That goal had supported her through her first months at what had turned out to be a harsh school in a harsh climate, established solely to educate orphans lucky enough to have benefactors.

That goal had continued to sustain her as she stubbornly learned everything possible from those teachers willing to work in that environment. Finally, that goal had driven her to apply for a teaching post upon graduation, so that she could earn both the money and experience necessary to return to London and seek gainful employment.

Now she was here, but her goal was farther away than ever -- perhaps even unattainable. She took a deep breath, trying to keep panic at bay. "What of a position? Were you able to find one for me?"

"Ah, here's Maggie with our tea. Do have a bit," Mrs. Hounslow urged, taking the tray from the middle-aged maid. She poured a cup for each of them before answering Sarah's question.

"I am sorry, my dear, but governess positions are not so easy to come by as all that. First, you must establish yourself, demonstrate that you have respectable connections. Indeed, now I see your face again, I fear it may be a trifle, ah, difficult to secure such a post."

Sarah set down her cup, untouched. "I should perhaps tell you that I spent every bit of money I had on my fare to London, and on this dress." She fingered the brown-checked country gingham, the best she'd been able to afford after paying for her journey from Cumberland. "If not a governess position, I can work as a seamstress, or even a lady's maid -- or in a shop somewhere."

"Oh, no, my dear." Mrs. Hounslow appeared shocked. "You come of a good family, whether they choose to acknowledge you or not. You are too young to be a lady's companion, so governessing is your only option. That -- or marriage." She regarded Sarah speculatively. "In fact, I should say --"

Sarah interrupted this flight of fancy with a blunt question. "Then how am I to live while I search for William?"

"Search --? My dear, you mustn't do any such thing. It would be most dangerous. I shall make inquiries, and I doubt not we'll discover something of your brother's whereabouts soon enough."

"Of course I must search for him." How could Mrs. Hounslow imagine otherwise? To prevent further argument, she reverted to the other topic. "You were discussing my options for survival?"

"Oh! Yes. As it happens, I have found you a respectable place to stay -- a most respectable place. One that may offer far better opportunities than a governess post."

Mrs. Hounslow's hands fluttered about her as she spoke, betraying her nervousness. "I have discovered a cousin of your mother's here in Town, and I'm certain she will allow you to stay at her home until we can get you settled more, ah, permanently. When we finish our tea, I shall walk you to Berkley Square. Lady Mountheath will no doubt be delighted to meet you."

Lord Peter Northrup drained the last of a well-earned pint of ale and stood. After a fortnight away, he'd had a productive morning catching up on the news, political and social. His talk with a clerk or two at the War Office was most rewarding, and now he'd concluded with a pleasant hour among friends at the Guards' Club.

"Leaving us, Colonel?" asked Tom Pynchney, a talkative fellow who still wore his regimentals despite the fact he'd done no soldiering since Paris more than two years ago -- any more than had Peter himself.

Peter hid a wince at the designation. "Aye, I've a thing or two to do at home before readying myself for the evening," he replied, twitching the fit of his coat back to its customary perfection ...