Ruthless
Book 15 of The Rakehell Regency Romance Series
Sorcha MacMurrough

Alistair Grant prides himself on being an incorruptible barrister who defends those who need it most, even if it means running afoul of the Tory Government. Suddenly he finds himself a criminal on the run, falsely accused of murdering his client in Newgate Prison.

The only witness to the crime is a handsome young man who gives him a lovely miniature of the most beautiful woman Alistair has ever seen, and sends him to The Three Bells tavern and brothel.

Viola Morrison, an impoverished gentlewoman, lives in a secret room in the brothel, hidden there by her brother Sebastian, who fears his dubious business associates would be even more of a danger to her than the ladies of the evening.

When Alistair comes to seek Viola, she is determined to help the attractive barrister discover the truth about who really killed his client.

When Alistair's house and office go up in flames, Viola and her mysterious friend George realise there is far more at stake than simply bringing a murderer to justice. Viola must follow her new-found love Alistair down the road of passion, death and revenge to the final, stunning revelation of the horrific conspiracy against them all.

He blinked, drinking in the girl's beauty. Never had he see a woman so fair. Her creamy skin, patrician features, lustrous green eyes, radiant skin, her mouth just made for kissing...

She offered her lips up to him shyly, and he kissed her with glee. He tasted honey, spring flowers, and a spark of the divine as his lips glided along hers.

He peeped his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss, yet knowing even as he did so that it would be impossible to stop. That he wanted and needed so much more. That he simply had to possess this woman, or die….

He touched every part of her body until he couldn't even be sure which flesh was his, which hers. He reveled in her breasts, with their tightly ruched pink nipples, her delightful feminine core, thatched with tiny silky blonde curls, her slender hips and thighs.

It was all his, and not his. For even as he possessed her body, dark, sinister claws snapped and grabbed, snatching the girl away from Alistair no matter how hard he tried to cling to her….

Ruthless
Book 15 of The Rakehell Regency Romance Series
Sorcha MacMurrough
Rating: Very sensual, explicit love scenes throughout the novel
Price: $5.99

Chapter One

The dream had come to Alistair again.

It started the same as always.

Alistair writhed in his bed with barely suppressed desire. His hardness thrummed against the mattress as he moved his hips, completely lost in the exquisite vision laid before him.

It all began innocently enough with a trip to the theatre. The play was Twelfth Night, by William Shakespeare, in fact. Not in a posh theatre in Drury Lane, but on the stage of an ancient building, so old one could well believe it had been used by the great Bard himself once long ago.

On the stage was a petite blond-haired woman with eyes so glitteringly green, they reminded him of the picturesque forest in Millcote which his friends the Rakehells had taken him to for hunting and other outdoor activities.

The woman's honey tresses flowed down her back in rivulets. She complained of having been shipwrecked. Even worse than having lost all of her gowns and jewels was the fact that she had lost her twin brother, and was now at the mercy of a cold, cruel world.

The man she addressed her comments to was huge, with the blackest hair and darkest eyes Alistair had ever seen. He too seemed to be looking for her brother.

A tall blond man bearing a remarkable resemblance to the woman was off to their left, and was also equally bedraggled. He too bewailed his fate. Unsheathing his sword, he vowed he would survive in this hard world, and find his sister.

Thus far most of the action on stage in the dream was similar to what Alistair recalled from the Shakespearean comedy. But now several men dragged the young man away. He kicked and screamed and uttered some fairly foul execrations as they abused him most shamefully.

Alistair frowned in his sleep. This part of it was wrong. It was different from the play, different from the other times he had had the dream.

He tried to reach out to help. Only instead of grasping the young man's shoulder to lead him away from his assailants, he found himself taking the woman's hand.

Now they were alone on a beach. No, not a beach. They were hurrying beside the foggy docks along the murky Thames. One minute they were walking along arm in arm. The next minute he felt someone kick him, and a sharp stabbing pain. He saw her beautiful face marred by a frown and look of alarm.

He could feel himself plunging into the chill, stagnant water. Could almost feel huge weights dragging him down. Only instead of a watery grave, he found himself in a lake of fire. The flames seemed to have a life of their own, twisting and writhing, hissing like angry snakes, penetrating with their fangs. Alistair screamed in terror and pain.

Even worse than the agony he was enduring, though, was the certain conviction Alistair felt in his breast that this truly was the end. That he really was dying. And worse still, that there was no one to help. No one to hear him scream.

Just as Alistair was about to abandon all hope, a tiny little hand pulled him out of the pool of fire. He was scorched and blackened, but the blond woman's gown was pristine, snow white, with lovely embroidery. He squineted, and made out roses. And bells. And a sundial.

He blinked, drinking in the girl's beauty. Never had he see a woman so fair. Her creamy skin, patrician features, lustrous green eyes, radiant skin, her mouth just made for kissing...

She offered her lips up to him shyly, and he kissed her with glee. He tasted honey, spring flowers, and a spark of the divine as his lips glided along hers. He peeped his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss, yet knowing even as he did so that it would be impossible to stop. That he wanted and needed so much more. That he simply had to possess this woman, or die.

He tried to lay her down on the newly mown hay, but it became an underwater pool that they splashed into. Billowing downwards toward the ocean floor, he filled her with his manhood, his essence, his seed. He touched every part of her body until he couldn't even be sure which flesh was his, which hers. He reveled in her breasts, with their tightly ruched pink nipples, her delightful feminine core, thatched with tiny silky blonde curls, her slender hips and thighs...

It was all his, and not his. For even as he possessed her body, dark, sinister claws snapped and grabbed, snatching the girl away.

The pleasure was still so hot and heavy in his loins he could feel himself exploding, both in the dream and his semi-conscious state as he rotated his hips in the bed.

A wall of flames separated them at once, and he saw his friend and colleague Philip Marshall staked in the middle of a ring as though at a bear baiting. Only he was not a bear. And it was not a ring for blood sports, but an auto da fe.

The Grand Inquisitor gradually brought several more men to the stake. They were naked and bloodied, and hooded in black. The first two were lashed mercilessly by a man who looked as though he were made of icicles. Then another group of about a dozen or so men were dragged in kicking and screaming. The hanging, drawing and quartering of them began, as Alistair began to protest at their horrific fate.

"What other penalty is there for treason?" the iceman intoned in response to his protests.

Philip and the other two men nearest him were bound to the stake, and now the timber underneath them was set alight.

Alistair could hear himself screaming along with the rest of the crowd. Instead of their words of encouragement, he was howling in denial. "Philip, no! Philip! Oh God, we have to save him! Please! Someone, please! Help me!"

Now Philip's wife and children were brought forward as well. Alistair's stomach heaved at the very sight. "No, no, I won't let you!"

The icy man sneered. "You can't stop me. And if you try, you'll be next. And everyone else you care about."

"For the love of God, why?"

The mocking laughed chilled him to the core. "God has nothing to do with it. 'Tis my will being done."

"Please, we have to stop this now," Alistair shouted to anyone who would listen.

He felt the girl's touch on his naked body. He turned into the circle of her arms and wept. He could feel the presence of the dark-haired man beside her, but couldn't decide if he was there to help or harm.

"I love you, Alistair, no matter what," she whispered, caressing him as though he were a god. Her hands stroked over his face, chest, loins...

The three men at the stake were now struggling to escape. Philip's wife Jasmine looked as though she had turned to ash.

"Come, love, come with me," she urged softly, her voice a sibilant whisper of seduction.

"I can't just leave them there!"

She shook her head. "We won't. We need to save them. Or none of us are safe."

The dozen or so men who had been led out were now no more than grinning skeletons. The masks of the two mysterious man had now burnt away, revealing...

Alistair let out a long scream that burned his throat raw.

"Sir, sir?"

His coach driver Eaton was shaking him as hard as he could, trying to rouse his master from whatever strange fit had seized him.

"Oh my God!" Alistair said, still trembling with the horror of what he had seen, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

If he was being perfectly honest, he had to admit too that he was shaking with desire for the lovely young girl.

Alistair looked around him wild-eyed.

"We're here, sir, Newgate just like you asked. Did you see something, sir?"

A huge rumble of thunder overhead helped him talk his way out of this most awkward predicament in a reasonably sane manner. "The storm. I was sure I saw that carriage we just passed get struck by lightning," he gasped, tugging at his collar to try to relieve the choking sensation constricting his throat.

To Alistair's relief, the older man seemed to accept that explanation. "Aye, never seen a storm like it. So do you be gettin' down now to see yer man, and then we can head home. 'Tis not a night to be lingering. And they do say it's supposed to go cold and turn to snow."

Alistair mopped his soaking face with a handkerchief. "Aye, best be getting on then. I promise not to be too long."

"So long as you're all right."

"I'm fine. It was nothing to worry about," he said with a shaky laugh.

As he gathered his thoughts and possessions together, his mind's eye still viewing all he had just dreamed, he prayed with all his heart that his words would prove true.

Ruthless
Book 15 of The Rakehell Regency Romance Series
Sorcha MacMurrough
Rating: Very sensual, explicit love scenes throughout the novel
Price: $5.99