Hunter Of My Heart. Janet Kendall

      Finally to my editor, Margaret O’Neill Marbury,

      who took the chance.

      

      I thank you all.

      Prologue

      

      

      London, March 1825

      

      The unmistakable smell of sweat and passion greeted Hunter Sinclair as he opened the door.

      The butler had been right. Hunter’s father wasn’t alone and thus had broken his word. To witness the infidelity would give Hunter proof and another reason to sever their bargain.

      Silently he entered the bedchamber and picked up a robe, his hands crushing the velvet fibers. Groans, muted by the satin hangings surrounding the bed, made his stomach turn. Drawing a quiet breath, Hunter parted the drapes and dropped the robe onto the lovers. “The study in two minutes,” he said flatly.

      The young woman gasped.

      As his father rolled off the lithe body, he pulled a sheet over the woman’s naked form. He gave Hunter an unrepentant smile. “You show yourself at the most untimely moments.”

      “No. I believe I arrived just in time,” he said, and left.

      A few moments later, Hunter entered the study his mother had lovingly decorated years ago. From the ebony cellaret, he poured himself a drink. He settled in a chair and propped his feet on a gilded table, then lifted the crystal goblet to his mouth. Before he took a sip, the heady bouquet told Hunter the pale amber liquid was cognac—but then his father always demanded the best.

      As Hunter took a huge swallow, the smooth liquid scorched a trail down to his stomach and settled in a hot pool. Since his mother’s death last week, nothing had erased the pain curled around his chest. Hunter downed the cognac to seek warmth, but the burning quickly died. When he started to fetch another drink, he stopped. No. He wanted to feel cold and without heart when he confronted his father, Randall Sinclair, Baron of Wick. That’s exactly how the baron had treated his wife during their years of marriage. Randall had merely coveted the luxury her family’s wealth provided. Long ago, he had emptied his own coffer on extravagant comforts and mistresses.

      In exchange for keeping his affairs discreet, Randall had demanded a huge allowance from Hunter, who had agreed in hopes of protecting his mother from more shame. But now the time had come to end his father’s unscrupulous life-style. By seducing a lady in their family home, his father had gone too far—he had severed the agreement. Furthermore, Hunter no longer had to shield his mother in life, only preserve her honor in death.

      Leather slippers brushed the study’s Oriental carpet and Hunter met his father’s arrogant green gaze. An ageless panther, Randall looked ten years younger than his forty-eight years. Women found him irresistibly attractive. Of course the “Sinner,” as the ton called him, took every advantage of his good looks.

      “Stalked another one?” Hunter’s tone was very dry.

      “Are you referring to the talented lady upstairs? I have a voracious appetite.” Smiling arrogantly, Randall sat and smoothed his robe’s velvet collar.

      Hunter steeled himself. “Aren’t you curious about my arrival?”

      “I thought you were out of the country managing one of your business enterprises. So why are you here?”

      “Your wife, sir, is dead.” He managed an even voice but his throat tightened. Rising, he removed his greatcoat and unveiled the mourning band tied around his arm. He waited for his father’s reaction.

      Randall stared at him. “I do not believe you. Your mother is as strong as a man.”

      “She died five days’ past.”

      Would his father ask for details about the quick funeral? Did he feel a shadow of remorse? Did he care how she died?

      “I am a widower?” A trace of concern crossed his face.

      Suddenly Hunter realized Randall’s problem. “Marriage no longer protects you. Worried about an angry father marching you off to the preacher?”

      “I will manage. Mourning serves as an excuse not to remarry for at least a year.”

      He gave his father a lean smile. “Still, I’ve decided to cut your allowance. Paying for the upkeep of this house, food and a reasonable amount of clothing is all you’ll see of my money. With Mother’s death, our agreement ends.”

      Randall gripped the chair’s arms. “The devil you will. I haven’t an income, while you’re wealthy as Croesus!”

      “You’re in mourning. What good is money? Attending quiet affairs is all society will permit you.” Hunter untied the silk strip. As he dropped it onto his father’s lap, he felt a sense of morbid satisfaction that he could finally give Randall his due.

      His father gave the mourning band a fleeting glance. “You will continue to pay the sum upon which we agreed,” he demanded. Pausing, he gave Hunter a nefarious look. “You look like me. Tall. Well muscled. Handsome. Undoubtedly virile. You have my green eyes and black hair...remember Diana?”

      Every muscle in Hunter’s body tensed, rejecting the foul memories of that tragedy, but he managed a look of indifference. From experience, he knew his father had some scheme in mind. “What about Diana? You left her carrying your child. I should have let her father call you out”

      “Like a good son, you did not reveal the truth. Once I announced your engagement to her, I thought you would honor it. Diana and I thought the idea brilliant. Ah—but you could not summon the chivalry to marry her. You surprised me by preferring a scandal to marriage. In the end, she took her life. I did not have to fight a duel and you are still a bachelor. Does your conscience have room to carry more guilt?”

      Hunter clenched his jaw. He had refused to comply with his father’s scheme and offered Diana some money—but not his name. When she ended her life and that of her unborn child, Hunter held himself accountable for the deaths.

      He eyed his father warily. “What have you done now? Have you ruined another lady’s life?”

      “Nothing. I have satisfied the hunger of a few ladies, but no woman is bearing my child.”

      “Then why bring up the past?”

      “Well, you may have refused to marry Diana...but unless you continue the payments, you will be married within the month. After all, you are twenty-seven and should have a bride.”

      “Married?” Hunter repeated in a low voice. “I don’t plan to marry.” After witnessing the faithless wives and brainless innocents who had succumbed to his father’s seductions, Hunter never wanted to marry. His fingers tightened around his glass as he walked to the cellaret and poured himself another drink.

      “Would you like me to pass myself off as you? A little silver nitrate in my hair would hide the gray. In dim light, a lady would easily mistake me for you. I might even allow you to pick your bride. Bedding an innocent is a delicious thought, and afterward, you would have to offer the lady your name. She would believe that you seduced her. I would make sure of it.”

      Simmering blood tangled with his grief, but he presented an unaffected facade. “Is that a threat?”

      “Would you care to put it to the test?” Randall gave him a smug smile.

      Hunter knew the baron’s heart proved as empty as his coffers and would do anything to continue his lavish and decadent existence. A thread of control drew Hunter’s emotions taut and he sipped the cognac that numbed his conscience. His father’s threat was nothing short of blackmail.

      No more blackmail, Hunter decided, no more payments. Could he allow Randall to ruin other lives and not stop him? With bleak choices, Hunter settled on a plan. Moral