Excerpt of Wayward One by Lorelie Brown

A hand covered her mouth. A heavy, large and undoubtedly male body pressed along her back. His chest burned into her shoulders and his arm lay warm across collarbones bared by her low–cut evening gown. Fear overwhelmed her, but only until she smelled a spicy wash of familiar soap.

The fingers across her mouth loosened but still didn't release. He leaned over her, speaking quietly into her ear. "It's me. If I release you, do you promise not to scream?"

Fletcher's breath sent shivers down her neck. She only resented him more for it.

Regrettably, screaming for the pure unadulterated joy of it was not an option. Even if it were acceptable to release one's anger in such a fishwife manner, she'd only get him in trouble and risk her own reputation.

Finally, she nodded.

His hand slid away. Each finger dragged across her skin. Tingles washed over her.

Sera turned and pressed her back to the wall, but the reflexive retreat didn't gain her much room. The alcove was little more than a curtain concealing a doorway. He loomed too near, taking up the precious air with his vitality. His mouth was a hard slash of darkness amid more gray. The tiny streams of light that arrowed around the edges of the curtain only accentuated the shadows draping his body.

The first thing that popped into her mind then fell out of her mouth. "You were in the Earl of Linsley's box."

Somehow he managed to infuse arrogance in a single nod. "That I was. Are you surprised?"

She slid her hands behind her back, the better to hide their nervous twisting. The rear seam of her bodice abraded her knuckles. "In all honesty, yes. You said you'd taken over your father's interests. I didn't think Linsley was the type to...dabble."

"He's not. More woe to me for it." He rubbed a hand across the top of his head. "It might be easier to crack his consortium if he were," he muttered, so low that Sera barely heard him.

"Consortium?"

"Railroad." He waved a hand. "No matter. I've come to find out if you'll take the money."

She narrowed her eyes but saw him no better for it. She'd pay the entirety of the sum to read his expression. "Did you intimidate Mrs. Waywroth in some manner?"

He flattened his hand against the wall next to her head and leaned near. "Define intimidate."

"To frighten or scare in any manner."

The air pressed close. If she breathed too deeply, she'd brush against him. "Do I seem like a man who could intimidate, Seraphina?"

She swiped her tongue across her lips as she tried to see past the shadows and memories. He was different now. Not the boy she'd once known. Despite that, she couldn't help but wonder at his true motivations. Why pay for years of schooling for a girl he'd known for a matter of months? He'd taken her from the gutters and designed his own lady. But why?

For the price he'd paid, there was no telling what repayment he expected.

"If it served your purposes, I think intimidation is well within your purview."

His head lowered farther, until her world narrowed to the wash of his breath across her jawbone. "And your precious Mrs. Waywroth? Do you think I said frightening things to her?"

"I don't think you had to." She refused to show her fear by running away, but her shoulders pressed more firmly against the wall. Anything to sublimate the urge she had to touch him. The wallpaper was cold against the nape of her neck, bared by the meticulously intricate hairstyle Victoria's maid had created. "I imagine it was an endowment. For the library, perhaps?"

"I'm glad to see you haven't lost your ability to look within people." The darkness prevented her from seeing his hand move, but she certainly felt it. A whisper of motion along the outside of her arm. The shock of touch.

"And you? Am I supposed to be able to look within you?"

The barest hint of a chuckle colored his rich voice. "I certainly hope not."

"I think you want to live an honest life, Fletcher Thomas. It's why you're here tonight."

He pushed away suddenly. The swirl of air left in his wake sent gooseflesh chasing across her bare shoulders. "You think so, do you? How do you know I'm not simply here to intimidate you instead?"

"It wouldn't make sense. Dragging me into this hidey–hole was unexpected. No way to plan for it." A stray beam of light sliced across his cravat and the emerald stickpin holding it in place. "You're here to woo the earl. I'm sorry to say I don't believe it's going well."

"What a feisty little kitten you've become. All big eyes and fluffy fur and sneaky, spiky claws."

Satisfaction loosened her twisted nerves. She'd regained an even playing field, if not the upper hand. "Then let me continue. You wish to participate in this railroad consortium. Lord Linsley is willing to indulge you to an extent, likely because of his wife. She enjoys dabbling with the lower ranks, pretending she lives on the edge. But really, you're too much of an unknown. He won't allow you more than the taste of a possibility."

"He'd do well to have my backing," Fletcher growled. "The consortium is teetering for lack of solid investment. His man of business has built a house of cards. One wrong flick and I could send it tumbling down around him."

"But you won't." Her mind clicked, shuffling through the possibilities like a wind–up automaton. "Do you intend to destroy every possible opportunity I have for gainful occupation?"

The sudden change of topic didn't seem to confuse him in the least. "It certainly crossed my mind." His voice had returned to the silky purr he'd used while leaning over her ear. With a rustle of linen and wool, he shifted and crossed his arms.

"Until I agree to take your money."

"If that's what's required. I've made it my mission to ensure you're a lady. You will not work. It would be much simpler if you agreed now to take it."

His father had been the same sort of ruthless man, the type who would push and hurt and crush others within his grasp until he got what he wanted. If Fletcher possessed even a quarter that determination, he would succeed in his aims, but not before forcing them into a battle that would eventually gain society's attention.

Thus she could anticipate nothing but idleness, with no funds to support herself unless she agreed. He'd yank the pins out from under her life, just like his cruel father had manipulated everyone around him. That had been Mama's reason for leaving Mac Thomas's employ, and the exact same reason she'd tried to return. When she couldn't hold the pieces of their lives together on her own, she succumbed to his control.

They'd both died.

"I'll agree," she blurted out.

Fletcher pushed off the wall, and his triumph was a palpable taste in the air.

She held up a hand. "On one condition."