The Temptress Read online

  Critical acclaim for the marvelous romances of

  Jude Deveraux

  TEMPTATION

  “An exciting historical romance that centers on the early twentieth-century women’s rights movement…. Filled with excitement, action, and insight…. A nonstop thriller.”

  —Harriet Klausner, Barnesandnoble.com

  “A satisfying story.”

  —Booklist

  “Deveraux[’s] lively pace and happy endings…will keep readers turning pages.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  HIGH TIDE

  A Romantic Times Top Pick

  “High Tide is packed full of warmth, humor, sensual tension, and exciting adventure. What more could you ask of a book?”

  —Romantic Times

  “Fast-paced, suspenseful…. A sassy love story.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Prologue

  The tall, lean, dark-haired man left Del Mathison’s office, shutting the door behind him. He stood there, muscles in his jaw working, as if he were contemplating what he’d just heard. After a moment, he left the hallway and went into Mathison’s richly furnished parlor.

  In that room a man was leaning against the mantel of the empty fireplace. He was also tall, but he had the soft, cared-for look of a man who’d lived inside a house all his life. His blond hair was perfectly trimmed, his suit of clothes perfectly cut.

  “Ah,” the blond man said, “you must be the man Del hired to take me to his daughter.”

  The dark man merely nodded. He looked a little uncomfortable and his eyes constantly strayed to corners of the room, as if he thought someone might be hiding there.

  “I’m Asher Prescott,” the blond man said. “Did Del tell you about my part in this mission?”

  “No,” the dark man said in a voice that was felt as much as heard.

  Prescott removed a cigar from a box on the mantel and lit it before he spoke. “Del’s daughter has a penchant,”—he stopped and gave the dark man a quick look up and down—“I mean, she has the capacity for getting herself in trouble. For the last few years, Del’s allowed her to have her head and she’s been in one scrape after another. I guess you’ve heard of Nola Dallas the reporter.” He paused. “But then maybe you haven’t.”

  He took a draw on the cigar, waiting, but the dark man didn’t answer. “Well, her father is tired of it and he’s decided to force her to come to her senses. She’s north of here now, staying with some friends of friends.” He made a grimace of disgust. “Poor girl is convinced that Hugh Lanier, the man whose family she’s visiting, is inciting Indians to massacre missionaries. The charge is ridiculous and Del’s right that it’s time she ended this folly.”

  Prescott studied the dark man as he stood looking out the window. Del had said this man could guide them through any part of Washington Territory. In fact, Del had said he even knew how to get through the rain forest—a place that was said to be impenetrable.

  “The plan,” Prescott continued, “is to take Mathison’s daughter from Lanier’s house, by force if necessary, and return her to her father. You’re to lead us through the rain forest so it’ll give me time alone with Miss Mathison. I plan to be engaged to her by the time we return.”

  The dark man turned to stare at Prescott. “I don’t force women.”

  “Force her?” Prescott gasped. “She’s a twenty-eight-year-old old maid. She’s traveled all over the world writing those ridiculous bleeding-heart stories of hers and no man has ever wanted her.”

  “But you do.”

  Prescott clamped the cigar between his teeth. “I want this,” he said, looking about the room. “Del Mathison is a rich and powerful man and all he has to leave it to is one horse-faced, sexless daughter who thinks she can save the world from all its evils. Now, I want it straight between us from the beginning. Are you going to help me or fight me?”

  The dark man took a while answering. “She’s yours if she wants you.”

  Prescott smiled around his cigar. “Oh, she’ll want me all right. At her age, she’ll be glad to get any man she can.”

  Chapter One

  Christiana Montgomery Mathison put her hand in the tub of water to check the temperature and then began to disrobe. It was going to feel good to bathe after a day of hard riding and hours of sitting huddled over a desk writing. She had her story finished now and tomorrow she’d start the arduous journey back home.

  When she was nude, she realized that she didn’t have her dressing gown and went to the big double-doored wardrobe to get it.

  When she opened the right hand door, her heart seemed to skip a beat, for there was a man standing inside the cabinet, his eyes wide, his mouth open as he looked at Chris’s pretty little body in its unclad state. Chris, alert from years as a reporter, slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock. Softly, obviously not wanting to be discovered, the man began to pound on the inside of the cabinet door. Chris had one foot toward the bed where she planned to take the spread off and cover herself, but then things happened too quickly for her to react.

  The left side of the wardrobe opened behind her and out stepped another man, and he had her in his arms before she could even take a breath or see his face. Her face was buried in his chest, his arms around the back of her, one hand on her bare shoulders, the other resting just above the curve of her buttocks.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” she asked and was appalled at the fear in her voice. The man was large and she knew she’d have no chance of success if she tried to escape him. “If it’s money you want—” she began but his arms tightened on her and she didn’t finish the sentence.

  His left hand began to stroke her hair as it hung halfway down her back, gently tangling his fingers in its soft blondness, and even through her fear she found herself relaxing somewhat. She managed to turn her head sideways so she could breathe more easily, but he didn’t allow her to move the rest of her body as he kept her pinned close and intimately to him.

  “Let me out of here,” hissed the man locked in the wardrobe.

  The man holding Chris didn’t react, he just kept stroking her hair, his right hand inching down her back toward her buttocks. She’d never had a man touch her bare skin before and his rough, calloused hands felt good.

  She recovered herself and began to struggle against him, trying to get free, but he held her firmly, not hurting her, but showing no signs that he ever intended to release her.

  “Who are you?” she repeated. “Tell me what you want and I’ll see if I can get it for you. I don’t have much money, but I do have a bracelet that’s worth something. Release me and I’ll get it.” When she again tried to move, he held her fast.

  With a sigh of frustration, she relaxed against him again. “If you plan to take me by force, I warn you that I’ll put up a struggle such as you’ve never seen before. I’ll take some of your skin to replace what you take from me.” She tried to twist her head to look up at him but he didn’t allow her to see his face. Am I saying the wrong thing? she thought, wondering if what she’d just said were words that were inflammatory to a…a rapist, she finally said the word to herself. In spite of her brave words, she began to shiver and his arms tightened around her in a way that, had the circumstances been different, Chris might have found protective.

  “We’ve come from your father,” he said in a voice that Chris felt through her cheek. It was a very deep, very rich voice. “There are two of us and we’ve come to take you home.”

  “Yes, I’m ready to go home. But first I have to—”

  “Ssssh,” he whispered, snuggling her against him as if they were lovers and familiar with each other’s bodies. “You have to go home now whether you want to or not,” he said, obviously not listening to her. “You can fig