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  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

  Books by Jude Deveraux

  The Velvet Promise

  Highland Velvet

  Velvet Song

  Velvet Angel

  Sweetbriar

  Counterfeit Lady

  Lost Lady

  River Lady

  Twin of Fire

  Twin of Ice

  The Temptress

  The Raider

  The Princess

  The Awakening

  The Maiden

  The Taming

  The Conquest

  A Knight in Shining Armor

  Wishes

  Mountain Laurel

  The Duchess

  Eternity

  Sweet Liar

  The Invitation

  Remembrance

  The Heiress

  Legend

  An Angel for Emily

  The Blessing

  High Tide

  Temptation

  Published by POCKET BOOKS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 1985 by Deveraux Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-5928-0

  ISBN-10: 0-7434-5928-8

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  Chapter 1

  WESTON MANOR SAT SERENELY AND QUIETLY IN THE MIDST of two acres of garden. It was a small house, unpretentious, looking like what it was—an English gentleman’s lodging in 1797. Only the keenest observer would notice that two of the gutters had fallen somewhat or that a corner of one of the chimneys was broken away or even that some of the painted trim was beginning to peel.

  Inside, the only room that was fully lit was the dining room, but here, too, could be seen evidence of neglect. In the shadows, the Georgian chairs’ upholstery was frayed and faded. Tiny bits of the plaster decorations on the tall ceiling had started to chip, and on one wall there was a lighter space where a painting had once hung.

  But the young girl sitting on one side of the table was oblivious to any imperfections in the room, for her eyes were glued to the man across from her.

  Farrell Batsford curved his wrist in such a manner that the ruffled silk at his cuff would not be stained by the juices from the roast. Taking only a bit of the meat onto his plate, he gave a thin smile to the girl across from him.

  “Stop gawking and eat your dinner,” Jonathan Northland commanded his niece, before looking away from her. “Now, Farrell, what were you saying about the shooting at your country place?”

  Regan Weston tried to look at her food, even to eat a few bites, but she couldn’t manage to swallow any of it. How anyone expected her to be calm and eat at a time like this, when the man she loved was sitting so near her, she couldn’t begin to understand. She stole another glance at Farrell, looking up at him through her long, dark lashes. He was aristocratic-looking with his long, thin nose and his almond-shaped blue eyes. The velvet coat he wore with the gold brocaded vest perfectly suited his looks and his slim, elegant body. Blond hair was arranged artfully around his narrow head, waving just a bit at the edge of his pure white cravat.

  As Regan uttered a deep sigh, her uncle gave her another quelling look. Farrell wiped the corners of his thin lips delicately.

  “Perhaps my bride-to-be would like to take a walk in the moonlight?” Farrell asked quietly, pronouncing each word carefully.

  Bride! Regan thought. This time next week she would be his wife, and she’d have him all to herself to love and cherish, to hold, to belong only to her. Overwhelmed by emotion, she could not speak; she could only nod in acceptance. As she tossed her napkin on the table, she was aware of her uncle’s disapproval. Once again she wasn’t acting as a lady should. From now on, she reminded herself for the thousandth time, she must remember who she was—and who she was to become: Mrs. Farrell Batsford.

  As Farrell held out his arm for her, Regan tried not to clutch it. She wanted to dance with delight, laugh with her happiness, throw her arms around the man she loved. But, instead, she followed him sedately from the dining room into the cool spring garden.

  “Perhaps you should have worn a shawl,” Farrell said once they were a short way from the house.

  “Oh no,” she said breathlessly, leaning a little closer to him. “I wouldn’t have wanted to take a minute away from our time together.”

  Farrell started to say something but seemed to change his mind as he looked away from her. “The wind is off the sea tonight, and it is cooler than last night.”

  “Oh Farrell,” she sighed. “Only six more days and we’ll be married. I’m sure I’m the happiest girl alive.”

  “Yes, well perhaps,” Farrell said quickly as he disengaged her fingers from his arm. “Sit here, Regan.” The tone of his voice was much like the one her uncle always used with her, one of impatience and exasperation.

  “I would rather walk with you.”

  “Are you going to start being disobedient before we’re even married?” he demanded, gazing down into her wide-set, trusting eyes. Everything she thought and felt showed in those eyes. She was pretty, in a childish sort of way, in her high-necked muslin dress, but she had about as much appeal to him as a puppy begging for affection.

  He took a few steps away from her before beginning to talk. “Is everything ready for the wedding?”

  “Uncle Jonathan planned it all.”

  “Of course—he would,” Farrell said under his breath. “Then I’ll return next week for the ceremony.”

  “Next week!” Regan jumped to her feet. “Not before? But Farrell…we…I….”

  He ignored her outburst as he held out his arm for her. “I think we should return to the house now, and perhaps you should reconsider the whole idea of marriage if everything I do displeases you.”

  One look from Farrell stopped her protest. She told herself again to remember her manners and be quiet, that she must never give her beloved any reason to find fault with her.

  Once they were back inside the dining room, Farrell and her uncle quickly dismissed her to her upstairs bedchamber. She didn’t dare protest; she was too afraid that Farrell would again suggest calling off the wedding.

  Inside her bedroom, she could release her pent-up emotions. “Isn’t he wonderful, Matta?” she gushed to her maid. “Did you ever see such brocade as he wore? Only a real g