Read One Night of Sin for Free Online

irresistible. “There’s really no need for further violence, is there? Haven’t you left enough wounded men in your wake?”
    “They deserved it,” she bit back hotly.
    “Yes, they did,” he agreed, advancing another step, his hands held out in a soothing, conciliatory gesture. “But I didn’t treat you that way.”
    She remained on her guard, but conceded that at least that much was true.
    “What’s your name?”
    “You first.”
    He seemed startled by the command, then shrugged. “Alec.” He lowered his hands to his sides, making no move to come closer. “Lord Alec Knight, at your service.” He sketched a courtly bow, his hand on his middle. She wasn’t sure if he was still mocking her: His heaven-blue eyes danced. “You needn’t be afraid,” he added softly. “I mean you no harm. I know my friends gave you a bit of a start, but on my honor, you are quite safe with me.”
    Becky eyed him warily. Safe, she thought, was a relative term. One thing was certain, though. There was nobody like him in Buckley-on-the-Heath. She had never met a man before who called her
mademoiselle.
Indeed, it seemed that in Lord Alec Knight and his companions, she had gotten her first glimpse of that fabled, nocturnal race, the London rakehells.
    All the more reason to keep him at bay. His kind made a sport of ruining females. At least that’s what she had heard. And yet . . .
    Blame her adventuring soul for it, she was a little intrigued.
    Scrutinizing him cautiously, she decided that she did not sense any actual menace coming from Lord Alec Knight. Tall and strapping as he was, he could have ripped away her weapon if he’d had a mind to. No, by the look of him, any woman in this man’s radius was in a different sort of danger altogether.
    Everything about him spelled heartbreaker. He had the face of an angel, a sinner’s smile, and the cool, hard stare of a jaded pleasure-seeker who didn’t give a damn about much of anything.
    His weapons of seduction were formidable . . . that caressing gaze . . . that low, beguiling, slightly scratchy voice . . . that roguish playfulness—and, oh, that gorgeous face.
    He had cast off his cravat, exposing the manly architecture of his throat. Without his neckcloth to hold his loose white shirt closed, the frilled V of his collar had parted down to the first button of his waistcoat, revealing the beguiling little notch between his collarbones and a tempting expanse of damp, gleaming skin.
    Becky tried not to look.
    Oh, yes, he probably had no trouble at all leading unwise women astray like the very Pied Piper. But although she averted her gaze, she could still smell the enticing cologne that clung to him; the rain and his exertions had heightened his scent. She could feel the heat of his muscled body from where she stood.
    “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he murmured, a practiced line delivered with smooth persistence, as silvery miniature waterfalls cascaded off the awning’s edge behind him. A boyish pout skimmed his full, kissable lips. “You promised to tell me yours if I told you mine.”
    “I didn’t promise you anything,” she informed him.
    The flicker of mischief in his laughing blue eyes admitted to his attempt at trickery. He flashed a smile. “I must know, all the same.” He edged closer, the irresistible softness of his deep voice coaxing her trust; she resisted for all she was worth. “Tell me. I shan’t go away until you do.”
    “In that case, it’s Becky,” she muttered, but did not offer her last name. The less he knew about her, the better.
    Fortunately, her first name alone seemed to satisfy him just fine. “And why, Becky dear, were you sleeping in Draxinger’s doorway?”
    Her pride bristled. “Maybe I was tired.”
Maybe I had nowhere else to go.
    “The butler wouldn’t let you inside?”
    What was he getting at?
    “Why should I bother the butler?” she countered in a prickly tone, her pride smarting at the condition in which those rich,