Sweet Torture

  Sweet Torture

  Hot Historical Romance

  Dayna Quince

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Sneak Peek!

  Newsletter Sign up

  About the Author

  Also by Dayna Quince

  Foreword

  Dear Reader,

  This is Lydia and Devon’s story. When I was writing Mine, All Mine, I loved the tension between Lydia and Devon and knew they were meant for each other. We’re going to step back in time a bit and relive some of the scenes in Mine, All Mine through Lydia’s point of view. I hope you enjoy the fire and ice that is Lydia and Devon’s passionate tale.

  Dayna

  Chapter 1

  London, April 17, 1816

  This is a nightmare!” Olivia cried in the parlor of her parent's Mayfair townhouse. Her devilishly handsome brother sat beside her as a shoulder to weep upon, while her dearest friend Lydia Covington sat across from her, worrying a tear-soaked handkerchief.

  “What can we do?” Olivia sniffed.

  “Nothing, it would ruin us.” Lydia frowned at the twisted handkerchief in her hands.

  Devon scowled at her. “We will do whatever we can, Lydia.”

  “Which is what?” She looked up and met his scorn. “Lilly has gone into hiding. Her name is tarnished—by treason of all things. We don’t know where she is and least of all how to help her.

  “Ever the voice of hope,” Devon sneered. “If you cannot be supportive, maybe you should leave.”

  Tears welled in Lydia’s pale blue eyes. “I am trying to be reasonable. Lilly is my friend, too. Even if I could help her, she never came to me and asked.”

  “Perhaps because you’re so cold,” Devon snapped back at her.

  “Devon!” Olivia gasped. “How could you say such a thing?”

  Lydia stood and walked away. She exited the French doors left open to the brisk spring air, still chilled from a winter refusing to release London.

  “Devon, go apologize at once,” Olivia scolded. “I’ve already lost one friend. I won’t let you drive away another.”

  Devon rose and cursed as he strode through the open doors into the weak afternoon sun. He caught sight of the willowy blonde, who sat crying in the rose-shrouded gazebo. He walked to the arched entry and climbed the steps. He stopped just inside the shadowed interior and leaned back against the entryway post, hands in pockets, ankles crossed leisurely.

  “I apologize for my hurtful words, Lydia.”

  She turned away from him and sniffed. She didn't like to cry in front of others. From the time she was a small girl, she was taught to keep her composure in any situation. It was the mark of true breeding as her mother always said.

  Somehow, Devon Brentton always got the best of her. His words could cut to the quick, and when his emerald-green eyes looked at her with such disdain, it hurt more than she could bear.

  “I should not have called you cold. I know you care for Lilly, too.”

  Still, Lydia only gave him her profile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt her.

  “Oh hell, for Christ’s sake, look at me!” Devon grabbed her elbow and pulled her to her feet to face him.

  “Do not handle me so, it isn’t proper,” Lydia snapped.

  “Perhaps I should kiss you and truly ruin your day.”

  Lydia froze as she met his gaze. “You… You wouldn’t dare.” she blushed from a mixture of illicit shock and indignation.

  “Ah, a chink in the great Lydia Covington’s icy armor.”

  “Is this an apology?” Lydia’s body warred between hot and cold, anger and…excitement?

  “You would never accept an apology from me. In your eyes, I’m nothing but a scoundrel.”

  “Surely, not just mine,” Lydia responded dryly. Anger was a much more familiar emotion when dealing with this rogue. She allowed it to soothe her frayed nerves. “If you have not yet grasped the notion, I came out here to escape you.”

  Devon ignored the insult. “What would you do if I kissed you, Lydia? Would you melt? I quite like the idea. In fact, I think I would become famous. ‘Lord Wilhelm melted the puritanical ice queen of London.’”

  “You are not amusing. I’ll thank you to let me go now.”

  “I’m really warming to this idea, Lydia.” He smiled.

  “Devon, please.” Lydia tugged at her arm. The effect of his smile was like liquid heat down her spine.

  “In fact, I think it would be good for you.”

  “Let me go, you impudent rogue.” Lydia fairly growled the words.

  “Come now, Lydia, a little kiss never hurt anyone.” He shrugged innocently.

  “On the contrary, a single kiss has ruined many young ladies. I also would not like to have anything in common with the legions of loose women with which you associate.”

  Devon laughed buoyantly while still holding her arm. The sight scattered Lydia’s composure. When Devon genuinely smiled, not the cool aloof smile he showed society, or heaven forbid laughed, he was truly a demigod among men. Lydia was not one to be swayed by a man’s looks, but she had never seen a man more handsome than Devon Brentton. He had the same flashing green eyes as his sister and twin dimples known to cause swoons. Not Lydia, of course, but Devon in full force—as he was now—was an assault to the female senses. Lydia would only grudgingly admit, and only to herself, that she was susceptible. She looked away from him, feigning annoyance. In truth, it was self-preservation.

  They were enclosed in a dome of roses ultimately hidden from all eyes, with only one exit currently blocked by one broad-shouldered male. He stopped laughing and now stared openly at her with that mocking smile.

  “I’m serious, Devon, release me,” she demanded.

  “I am serious, as well. I really think I should kiss you.”

  Lydia’s eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t think, it doesn’t suit you.” She tugged at her arm again but his grasp was firm. He stepped closer, bringing them together in the shadows. Vibrant pink roses bobbed and stared as if cheering him on. It would have been romantic if Lydia were some pea-brained half-wit in her first season. But Lydia was Lydia, and as a paragon of proper decorum in society, she was immune to situations such as this except… Devon Brentton was going to kiss her. Fear and excitement skittered over her skin, but she fought against it.

  “Devon, really. Stop this nonsense and let me leave. This is highly improper.”

  “Indeed it is. It will be over before you know it, Lydia.”

  “I bet you say that to all your strumpets.”

  “Touché.” He laughed as he pulled her ever closer until there was nothing between them but clothing. He pulled her arms up around his neck, and her traitorous hands clasped together at his nape.

  Lydia could do naught but stare into the shadowed emerald of his eyes as his head moved closer, blocking out everything but him. She closed her eyes involuntarily and felt his lips brush against hers.

  “Devon.” She didn’t even realize she had said his name aloud. She should tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t form. His hands moved to her hips, and he pulled her
tightly against him. She gasped, and he took advantage of her open mouth to deepen the kiss.

  His mouth slanted over hers. Lydia’s mind scattered as his warm velvet tongue stroked hers, and she responded in kind. Her body was a traitor. Eagerly they dueled until finally, as stars glittered behind her eyelids, she pushed against him and he broke the kiss. They were both breathing heavily.

  “That was foolish… I apologize,” he said stiltedly.

  “We are both fools.” Lydia stared in bewilderment. “That can never happen again.”

  “I agree,” he stated solemnly as he stepped away. His fingertips dragged against her hips as if reluctant to let go.

  “If someone had seen…” Lydia felt a fissure of panic.

  “No one saw,” he reassured her.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m a rake, I know these things.”

  Lydia paused then smiled nervously. “That is strangely comforting but I must leave. Goodbye, Devon.” She moved past him, no longer able to meet his gaze or make awkward small talk. Her color was high, and her heart was beating fiercely in her chest like a little trapped bird. Her steps quickly carried her across the garden. She flew through the French doors, absently noting Olivia sitting demurely on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap.

  “I’m sorry, Livie, I must leave.” Lydia didn’t even halt her exodus to hear a response. She was behaving horribly, she knew, but could not stop her frantic escape. As she reached the front hall, the butler appeared. “My cloak, please, and my carriage.”

  “As you wish,” he intoned and soberly walked away after bowing.

  Lydia was tempted to give him a swift kick in the rump to hasten him. Apparently, a kiss from Devon Brentton caused one to lose one’s mind. Lydia tried to calm herself. She was being a complete ninny over something that Devon probably did to women daily. It meant nothing, of course. It was just shocking, was all. It was Lydia’s first kiss, and it had shocked her to her very toes. She looked down at her slippers peeking out from her hem; somehow, shocked toes should look different from regular toes but maybe not with slippers on.

  The butler appeared with her cloak.

  “Thank you.” She hastily donned it as he opened the door for her, and Lydia made her escape. Sitting inside the carriage, she felt composed once again. She had been kissed by Devon and survived. Really, she had overreacted. She could see that now. She would think nothing of it from now on, and hopefully, Devon would do the same.

  Chapter 2

  Devon strolled into the parlor as nonchalantly as possible. No man alive could possibly claim to be the greatest brother after kissing his little sister’s dearest friend. Especially if said brother liked it.

  Like was an understatement.

  Devon planned to relive that kiss morning, noon, and night until the burn of it wore off. Guilt would put a damper on that, but only if Olivia knew he had kissed Lydia. Otherwise, the forbidden fruit aspect of it only added fuel to the fire.

  Olivia turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “I trust you apologized in a satisfactory manner?”

  Bloody hell, she knew.

  “I can explain.”

  “I don’t need you to explain, Devon. The entire world knows you are a rake, and such behavior is to be expected, but to a friend Devon? Our friend?” she scowled at him.

  “Lydia is not my friend,” Devon responded. “She can hardly tolerate my presence.”

  “You thought forcing yourself on her would change that? Dear God in heaven, is that how all men think?” Olivia stood before him and shoved his chest.

  “I did not force myself upon her, Livie. Did you even see us kiss? Both of us participated to equal satisfaction.”

  “Ugh.” Olivia made a disgusted face at her brother. “I wanted you to apologize, Devon, not anger her more. You should have seen her run through here. It was as if she were escaping bedlam. How could you do that?”

  “You wouldn’t understand, Olivia, it just…happened.” He turned away from her and stared out through the French doors.

  Olivia came to stand before him. “Do you love her?”

  “Heaven above, Livie, you don’t fall in love with one kiss.” Devon rolled his eyes.

  “I know that, you weasel. You can fall in love with someone over many things—their laughter, smile, charm, intelligence, kindness. I was just wondering if maybe you had feelings for her before this moment, or if you’re just a careless rogue.” The last was said with scorn.

  “Paint me as a careless rogue,” he replied.

  “Then shame on you, Devon Garrett Brentton. I will no longer defend your actions.” She turned to leave the room.

  “Livie, I’m sorry,” he called after her.

  “You certainly will be,” she called back.

  The next evening, Lydia and Olivia stood watching a country dance in the overcrowded, overheated Dolltram ballroom. Lydia fanned herself while Olivia sipped watered lemonade in an attempt to prevent herself from fainting.

  “We must go outside. I need air,” Olivia panted.

  “It is just as crowded, and it will take us a full hour to get to the terrace doors.” Lydia watched as the dancers parted and came together in rhythm. The poor souls looked fit to expire, and while it was true that most of the guests were not dancing, an optimistic few graced the floor.

  “Then I want to leave. Where is your mother?”

  Lady Covington had agreed to chaperone Olivia tonight so her mother could tend to her father, who suffered a benign cold but acted as if he were dying of the plague.

  “It would be very impolite to leave this early, Olivia.” Lydia stated

  “I think it would be very impolite if I collapsed and died on Lady Dolltram’s floor. Which do you think she would prefer?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a trifle warm, at most.” Lydia sighed. Even she didn’t believe her own words.

  “Said the ice queen.”

  Olivia and Lydia turned in unison, finding Devon standing behind them.

  “Devon!” Olivia gasped. “That is abominably rude.”

  Lydia held silent. She was in total shock at facing him again. She had talked herself into complete denial over the enjoyment of that kiss just the night before, and now seeing him here tonight, she knew she was an utter fool. She could never look at Devon Brentton again without the memory of his lips on hers forever at the forefront of her mind. She needed to pull it together and be able to remain herself in front of others. No one could know she was affected by him. It would ruin her reputation forever.

  “It’s all right, Olivia. I have grown accustomed to your brother's crass behavior, believe it or not.” Her tone was ice cold, even to her own ears. She mentally applauded herself.

  “I couldn’t resist, given the conversation I overheard. I apologize, of course, it was only meant in jest.”

  “Eavesdropping. Another one of your charms, I dare say,” Lydia continued.

  Devon smiled. “As much as it pains me to do so, I come to be of service to you. There is a private terrace off the conservatory if you are in need of some cool air. I would gladly escort you there.”

  “That sounds lovely!” Olivia cried in relief.

  Lydia frowned. “I don’t think Lady Dolltram would approve of guests wandering about her house.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you, dearest, but at this moment, I am sweating through my dress. Are you coming or not?”

  “Not.” Lydia could feel her brow glistening, but surely, this putrid ballroom was better than going anywhere with that rogue Olivia called a brother.

  “Please, Lydia, ’twill be no fun without you. I would never forgive myself if I returned to find nothing but a puddle on the floor,” Olivia begged.

  Lydia looked from Devon to Olivia and then back to Devon. He smiled. At once, she felt feverish, and to her horror, she could feel a bead of perspiration form and roll from the hollow of her neck and disappear between the valley of her breasts. That blasted man watched the whole journ
ey with avid attention, and when he looked up and met her eyes again, his had widened and darkened to a deep hunter green.

  “Oh all right, lead the way.” Lydia desperately needed cool air now.

  Devon led them to a side door a few feet away along the wall, as he held it open for them before following them through. It was dark, and blessedly cooler, on the other side of the door. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating exotic fruit trees, fragrant flowers, and thick fanning palms. The trickle of a fountain could be heard but not seen, and among the scent of tropical blooms was the musk of a cigar.

  “This way, if you please.” Devon led them down a narrow path to a set of doors standing open to reveal the dark silhouette of a man smoking a cheroot.

  Lydia halted as she pulled Olivia to a stop. “There is someone out there!” she whispered frantically. Olivia wriggled out of her grasp and raced past Devon.

  “I know that smell anywhere!” Olivia shrieked and launched herself at the shadow man.

  Said man turned and caught her with a playful twirl. Devon remained with Lydia in the shadows of the conservatory and chuckled.

  “Who is that?” Lydia was puzzled.

  “Surely, you have met Captain Colton? He is away much of the season but has attended many of my family’s informal gatherings, which you have also attended,” Devon replied.

  “Oh yes, the name is familiar. She should not be so familiar with him. What if someone sees?” Lydia stepped forward as Olivia did a spin in front of Colton, and he remarked how much she had grown up.

  “Oh Lydia, you remember Colton, don’t you?” Olivia was breathless with joy.