Free Devil's Desire by Laurie McBain

he never had the opportunity of being carefree and gay, lines of worry etched into his face before he was twenty, did not seem to bother him. He made up for the earlier years of his manhood that he missed by living every moment to the fullest these last years in London and on the continent.
    No one could have guessed how far-reaching the death of his father had been. He was killed in a duel shortly before the birth of his second son—murdered by an adversary who had fired early. Alex remembered his father as a man of action who loved parties, gaming, and even more, the hunt. He thoroughly enjoyed life, but he had little business acumen. He'd let the estate run itself and the holdings go unchecked for years. Westerly, however, had been kept up, partly due to the efforts of his mother, and was still a magnificent manor house.
    But Lady Trevegne had not lived to enjoy it—nor had she lived long enough to see her second son. A birth and a death—nature equalizing itself,
    Alex, bitterly resented the fact that Peter had never known her. There would never be another woman like her. She was the only woman he had ever trusted. He remembered her bright blue eyes—Peter's eyes—laughing, teasing, letting him pull her golden curls out of place, hugging him tightly when she put him to bed. She had made each day seem a gay holiday; each night in front of the grand fireplace, a make-believe world of fairies and elves, blood-thirsty pirates and brave knights-filling his world with a love and security lost forever with her death. He had felt cheated by it, but at least he had his memories. Peter had nothing.
    Gradually he settled down to his way of life and accepted it. He seldom went to London, and then only on affairs dealing with business and the estate. As he got older, he missed at first the closeness of his friends and the gaiety and pleasures that life in London could give a young man. But as the time passed, he matured faster than his friends, living an easy and frivolous London life. His healthy country life turned him into a virile man, his hands strong, lean and brown, not the lily-white hands of the town gentleman. Even when he had returned to London after years of exile, he couldn't completely forget his other way of life. His muscles remained firm and rock-hard, and he was capable of great endurance and strength—enjoying boxing and fencing, riding hard, unable to feign fatigue as many of his contemporaries seemed fond of doing after a light canter.
    He became a member of the Corinthian set and of the Four-in-Hand Club, with his unparalleled expertise at fhe reins. He was invited to many a rout, party, and week-end outing, but his cynical nature only gained in strength as he participated in the social whirl of London life. Over the years, rumors began to surround his handsome and haughty figure. & he withdrew further into himself with his cynicism-presenting an inscrutable mien to the world the stories grew about him. He was an unknown entity. His wild escapades, some true, some not, began to gain him fame throughout London, and combined with a certain mysterious aura that surrounded him, fired people's imaginations. Nothing is so intriguing as a mystery-a puzzle. And the Marquis of St. Fleur presented one. His luck with chance, beating the odds, was uncanny. He never seemed to lose; whether it be at cards, or with the ladies.
    When he entered a room, dressed totally in black, as he seemed fond of doing, he could set feminine hearts fluttering from a mere glance of his golden eyes. He was indifferent, arrogant, and at times insultingly rude even to the most beautiful women, but that only added to his devil-may-care figure. And the thought of his estates, money and the famous Trevegne jewels made him more desirable yet.
    "You don't mind if I stay in London for awhile, do you?" inquired Peter hopefully.
    "No, stay as long as you wish, but do try to act with a little decorum for a change."·
    "You needn't worry. I won't do