Ecstasy Wears Emeralds Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  A Note to Readers

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the Jaded Gentleman Series

  Seduction Wears Sapphires

  “An amazing read. I enjoyed it immensely . . . Ashe and Caroline are wonderful characters that made me fall in love with them from the beginning of the story.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “A fine book, well crafted, well researched, and an entertaining romantic novel . . . Historical romance fans will be delighted, I have no doubt.”

  —The Book Binge

  “What a refreshing new take on two people who from first sight are determined to detest each other . . . I was immediately engrossed with the fiery, witty dialogue and the curiosity of how this couple, who loathed each other upon their meeting, would come full circle to a beautifully shared love in the end.”

  —Fiction Vixen

  Revenge Wears Rubies

  “Sensuality fairly steams from Bernard’s writing. This luscious tale will enthrall you. Enjoy!”

  —Sabrina Jeffries, New York Times bestselling author

  “If you’re a fan of spicy hot romances mixed with a bit of intrigue and set in Victorian London, don’t miss this one!”

  —The Romance Dish

  “Galen’s journey from emotional cripple to ability to love is a captivating, erotic romance.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  More praise for the “grand mistress of sensual, scorching romance”*

  “Sinfully sexy . . . Wickedly witty, sublimely sensual . . . Renee Bernard dazzles readers . . . Clever, sensual, and superb.”

  —Booklist

  “Scorcher! Bernard debuts with an erotic romance that delivers not only a high degree of sensuality, but a strong plotline and a cast of memorable characters. She’s sure to find a place alongside Robin Schone, Pam Rosenthal, and Thea Devine.”

  —*RT Book Reviews

  “Very hot romance. Readers who enjoy an excellent, sizzling Victorian story are going to thoroughly enjoy this one.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Madame’s Deception is shiverlicious! A captivating plot, charismatic characters, and sexy, tingle-worthy romance . . . Fantastic!”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  “Crowd-pleasing.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[This] steamy historical romance is a great debut for this new author . . . Filled with steamy and erotic scenes . . . The plot is solid and the ending holds many surprises . . . Tantalizing.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Berkley Sensation Titles by Renee Bernard

  REVENGE WEARS RUBIES

  SEDUCTION WEARS SAPPHIRES

  ECSTASY WEARS EMERALDS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ECSTASY WEARS EMERALDS

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market paperback edition / September 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Renee Bernard.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

  without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation

  of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-54390-0

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For the real Rowan we lost. If the universe holds any logic or beauty, somewhere out there, you are laughing and chasing the stars. When the wheel turns again, I hope you get to be a spoiled, fat, and happy prince.

  For Geoffrey and my beautiful girls. There are no words for how much I love you. None.

  Acknowledgments

  How is it that with every book the list of people I need to thank just gets longer and longer? I’m hoping it’s a sign of a life well lived and the blessings that come with knowing so many wonderful people. (And not the reverse, which would be that I’m losing my ability to keep it together unless there are more and more hands on deck.)

  I want to thank my incredible editor, Kate Seaver, and the fantastic team at Berkley. It’s been a dream to work with all of you, and I’m continually surprised with how easy you make it for me.

  Thank you again also to Readers Entertainment/COS Productions and Sheila English for having me on board and giving me an excuse to laugh at least once a week on Canned Laughter and Coffee. You’ve created such a warm community for readers and authors to find each other, and I’m grateful to be a part of it.

  We lost Geoffrey’s father while I was working on this book, and for anyone facing the decline of a parent due to Lewy body dementia, you know what it was like. But I wanted to take this chance to thank the wonderful people at the care home Sunshine Manor, as wel
l as Partners in Care and Hospice. Through it all, we were lucky enough to have stronger, wiser, loving shoulders to lean on . . .

  My eldest is now the official darling of the ER at Marshall Hospital, so I can’t forget to include all the nurses and doctors who are doing their best to keep me sane and convince my five-year old that she should be more careful. (The free teddy bears they give out seem to be working as an incentive in the wrong direction, if you ask me.)

  My thanks to Lisa Richardson, who has become part of the family, for everything you do so gracefully and selflessly to keep us afloat and organized. The girls adore you, but I’m right behind them. You’re beautiful inside and out, m’lady. Thank you for your friendship and support.

  To my author friends, near and far, thank you just doesn’t cover it. If I list you all, it will look like shameless name-dropping, but you help me to feel less isolated as I battle it out with my keyboard. You know who you are. I’m just eternally amazed that you answer my emails and take my calls and even pretend to know who I am. Thank you.

  And just in case she feels left out, I want to thank my mom. I seem to be one fan of many when it comes to everything she’s doing these days, volunteering at her local hospital, participating in social clubs, caring for others, and being the consummate friend; I’m breathless with fatigue just listening to her schedule. When I grow up, I want to be just like her.

  And to all the readers who have continued to send emails and notes from all over the world—thank you! You literally make this all worthwhile, and I’m endlessly cheered and motivated to improve when I think of you. Thank you for picking up the books and for keeping romance alive!

  What is the body? That shadow of a shadow of your love, that somehow contains the entire universe.

  —RUMI

  Chapter 1

  Winter 1859

  London

  “Bless you, Dr. West.” The woman’s hands gripped his arm through his white shirtsleeve, desperation and grief giving her fingers an icy strength that guaranteed bruises would bloom later. “Thank you for staying so late!”

  Rowan shook his head. “No need to say any of that, Mrs. Blythe. Jackson’s resting comfortably now, and I’ll be by in another day or two to see how he’s coming along.” He reached up to cover her fingers with his gloved hand. “Send for me if he worsens. Ignore the hour and just send for me, Mrs. Blythe.”

  Her son was dying. And Rowan was little more than a witness to the young man’s gradual demise. At sixteen, Jackson was one of his favorite patients—all fire and bravado, all adolescent manly swagger interspersed with quiet moments when he and Rowan would talk about everything and nothing without his mother’s anxious presence.

  Jackson had never recovered from a terrible fever he’d suffered at twelve, and his heart and lungs had failed to work as they should ever since. Each winter took its toll, and now it was a matter of days or weeks before the widowed Mrs. Blythe lost the love of her only child and draped her house in black crepe.

  And she’s standing there thanking me.

  “I will,” she replied, the vow making her eyes darken with emotion. “Any hour, and I will send for you. Bless y—”

  “Please, Mrs. Blythe. Save your blessings for yourself and your beautiful boy. I am . . . in your service. If I could do more . . .” Damn. His professional façade was crumbling fast, and it was all he could do to retreat out her front door and down the steps to his waiting carriage. What kind of physician waters up like a fool?

  I’m tired. Too many long nights and my emotions are too frayed to fend off a woman like Mrs. Blythe. She’d wanted him to lie, and he knew the game. He was supposed to reassure her that Jackson looked better, that this rest would do him a world of good, and that she should see about some new books for him to read while he recovered so that he would be prepared for the university exams in the spring.

  How hard was it to lie?

  Harder and harder. I’ve lost my knack for it since India. Hell, I’ve lost my knack for a lot of things....

  “Home, Theo.” He climbed into the carriage unassisted, throwing his leather physician’s bag unceremoniously onto the seat next to him. He slammed the door behind him and leaned back, a man without the energy for sighs or selfpity, and stretched out his long legs to rest them on the upholstered seat across from him.

  The carriage pulled away and his loyal driver skillfully navigated the fog-choked streets to make their way to Rowan’s brownstone in fashionable West London. The dark streets of London echoed with eerie noises of horses and the few brave souls with business afoot at that ungodly hour. Dulled sounds of a city in restless slumber, like a play heard through a wall, serenaded him as he ran his hands through his hair, mussing his dark auburn curls.

  I am bone tired and soul weary, as my father used to say. He was still a relatively young man, having just turned thirty-three, but Rowan felt a hundred and thirty-three tonight. He was useless in the face of Jackson’s illness and dreaded his inevitable failure to save the boy’s life.

  His mother’s anguish will be punishment enough, I suspect. And there’s a bitter tonic to take . . . too soon. Poor Jackson! What a man you’d have made! Not a whisker on your face and you’re already better than most, if it’s any comfort to your mother to know.

  The trip went quickly, as Theo was able to drive smoothly through the emptier streets. Most of the wealthier London residents had retreated to their country estates at the end of the summer season to enjoy the hunt and the fresh brisk air of autumn. Rumor held that the city was notorious for breeding disease in the damp and cold of the wintry months, and it was easy to understand how anyone with means would flee the soot-covered streets and gloom.

  But this was when Dr. Rowan West was needed most, and everything in him balked at the idea of putting his feet up by the fire in some quiet country cottage when he had so many patients in need. As for rumors and wives’ tales, he also knew that the irony was that the warmer months were far deadlier in the city, though no one in his profession yet agreed why.

  His head pounded in rhythm with the horse’s hooves on the cobbled lane, and Rowan shut his eyes for a few minutes to try to keep the sensation of gray sand filling his skull at bay. Fatigue. It’s just fatigue, but I swear if I look, there will be grit on my coat from this ground glass that’s leaking out of my ears.

  The carriage slowed to a halt, and Rowan opened his eyes in relief. “Home, at last.”

  Once again, he didn’t wait for Theo, but simply climbed out with his doctor’s bag as was his custom. His stubborn independence was a long-standing joke amidst the Jaded—the name given to his closest circle of friends—but it was a point of pride for Rowan. Those in the Jaded who had grown up with wealth, and even his friends who hadn’t, marveled at his reluctance to be waited on. Rowan had never seen a good cause not to treat all men as his equals, and in his imprisonment in India during the Troubles it didn’t seem very revolutionary to accept that brotherhood could transcend bloodlines.

  The small society known as the Jaded had taken root in the worst of circumstances, but Rowan was sure the experience had made them all better men.

  If not better men, then perhaps in my case, simply more aware of how another person’s discomfort or hard work shouldn’t be taken for granted.

  He resolutely failed to see why a gentleman couldn’t take care of himself whenever it was warranted. Not that he could imagine his life without his dear staff, but they were more like family than employees, and their care eased the demands of his profession.

  He frowned as he entered the foyer, instantly concerned by the lit tapers and by Carter’s presence. The older man should have been in bed hours ago, but he was at the ready as if he’d been waiting for Rowan’s return.

  “Carter? A bout of insomnia or did I miss something?”

  “We’ve a guest, Dr. West.” Carter gestured toward the receiving room off the foyer on the other side of the main staircase.

  “At this hour? What kind of guest?” Rowan drop
ped his bag on the table by the door. The men of the Jaded often called at strange hours, but they’d have just gone to his library and made themselves at home—and Carter had long given up paying them any attention. But from the older man’s stance, Rowan knew that this was a situation that defied protocol and had poor Carter rattled.

  “It’s a woman. Or rather, a lady, Dr. West. Came alone in a hired carriage and insisted on waiting for you.” Carter looked sufficiently miserable at the admission, as if all his usual starch had been drained away. “I . . . I thought it best to put her in the salon.”

  “How long has she been waiting?”

  “Since eight,” Carter supplied. “I’ve checked on her regularly and she is . . . unchanged.”

  Even eight at night is scandalously late for a call. And now it’s well after midnight! What the hell drives a woman to sit in my parlor for almost five hours?

  “Did she give her name?” he asked.

  Carter shook his head. “Refused to do so, but insisted that her business with you was critical and highly personal. I had no idea when she first appeared that it would become such a strange siege.”