Tonight or Never Read online

  TONIGHT OR NEVER

  By

  Dara Joy

  Other Love Spell and Leisure books by Dara Joy:

  REJAR

  HIGH ENERGY

  KNIGHT OF A TRILLION STARS

  TONIGHT OR NEVER

  DARA JOY

  LOVE SPELL BOOKS

  NEW YORK CITY

  A LEISURE BOOK®

  May 1999

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  276 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10001

  Copyright© 1997 by Dara Joy, Inc.

  ISBN 0-505-52338-8

  The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  "It is not enough to conquer; one must know how to seduce."

  —Voltaire

  To Joanna Cagan:

  For paying attention to the minute details;

  For your enthusiasm and endless support;

  For having the same vision;

  For always going to bat;

  For your constant understanding;

  and most importantly,

  For your great sense of humor.

  You are without a doubt

  "A Legendary Editor."

  TONIGHT OR NEVER

  Prologue

  England, 1794

  If seduction had a name it would be Lord John.

  At least that was the opinion of the woman with whom he was currently cavorting.

  He was hot sex.

  Torrid nights and musky sheets.

  The man was a rake, a rogue, a libertine, and a scoundrel. A golden-haired, green-eyed, six-foot-plus package of the most interesting kind of trouble.

  The woman was not alone in her opinion.

  This was also the consensus of a multitude of other well-pleased and well-placed ladies of the ton; all of whom considered themselves extremely fortunate to have shared the extravagances of Viscount Sexton's bed.

  The high opinion these ladies had of the strapping peer was wholly responsible for the acquisition of the nickname conferred upon him unilaterally by these women of knowledge; namely, Lord of Sex.

  The affectionate term was testament to his good name, his startlingly good looks, and his exceptional capabilities in the art of amour. To add to this, the man had an overabundance of charm, a shining intellect, and an extremely wicked sense of humor.

  Not that any of these other glowing qualities were on the woman's mind at the moment.

  As his lordship's energetic enthusiasm propelled them both wildly across the steamy sheets of a massive Oriental lacquer bed, a single loud rap was heard on the door to her ladyship's boudoir. To say the intrusion was extremely ill-timed was the same as saying Lady Havertam's unwed niece was just a tad enceinte; it did not even begin to describe the situation.

  "My lady, there is an urgent message here for the viscount!" The butler's muffled voice barely reached the couple on the bed.

  Lord John hesitated.

  The lady in question whispered fervently for him to ignore it and continue on. She augmented her request with an enticing roll of her hips. The punctuation was enough of a reason for the viscount; he dropped his head to the woman's chest and vigorously recommenced where he had left off.

  But the butler, being a stalwart English servant, continued to rap on the door, his voice urgently seeking the recalcitrant lord.

  This time when his lordship hesitated, an outraged sound exited the woman's mouth, the pitch and level of the tone reminding John of the unfortunate squeal of a stuck pig. He gaped at her as she continued to screech at the butler to go away.

  Realizing what she must sound like, the woman suddenly smiled coyly up at him.

  "Do ignore him, Johnnie," she beseeched the handsome man who seemed to be viewing her askance.

  While he thought it over, the small charm that dangled from a thin gold chain about his throat caught a beam of light from the candle and sparked in the darkened room.

  It was an odd charm, really…

  A tiny gold carrot.

  Many of the women of the ton had pondered the significance of the piece. His lordship was peculiarly secretive about it. The general opinion was that the Lord of Sex was having his own private joke regarding the elusive "carrot"—forever tantalizing, yet forever out of reach.

  Whatever its meaning, the charm had become somewhat famous. Several ladies had joked to the viscount that the charm was his cartouche. John always smiled mysteriously at that point, saying only, "Indeed." Yet, whenever a woman touched it he subtly guided her hand away.

  Lord John tossed back his thick mane of hair. His perfect white teeth flashed a brief smile. "I do not believe he will go away, Jessymyn. Let me see what he wants—I promise I'll be right back." He winked at her, then disengaged himself to pad naked to the door.

  Normally a man did not answer the door stark naked. Not in most houses, anyway.

  "Johnnie!" Her ladyship's exclamation was brief and not very heartfelt; nor did it in any way deter her ladyship from enjoying the splendid sight before her. John was a stunning man. Especially unclothed.

  Aware of her avid perusal, Lord Sexton grinned at her over his shoulder, revealing the infamous dimples that had caused scores of women to do unspeakable things for him.

  The lady wilted back onto the covers.

  Still smiling, he opened the door a few inches and boldly stuck his hand out for the message. John fully expected the "emergency" message to be from one of his legion of women; a flowery epistle begging him to dine alfresco from a favorite balcony, or some such request.

  So he was quite surprised when he read the note. Initially he smiled, a huge ear-to-ear grin. Then the smile seemed to die on his face.

  The woman lying amid the tumbled sheets noted his lordship's normally dusky skin tone turning into a somewhat pale shade.

  When he looked up all previous traces of good humor were gone. "I must leave at once," he told her flatly.

  "What is it?" She clutched the sheet to her bobbing breasts.

  "A message from my uncle." He didn't waste any time on further explanations, simply set about gathering his scattered clothes, and dressing with a speed she wouldn't have thought possible.

  He was out the door before she even had time to object.

  The woman blinked in confusion. What could it be? What would ever make the Lord of Sex leave a woman's bed? Was his uncle ill? He would have to be. On his very deathbed. Nothing less than that would drag the ardent lord away from his favorite and almost exclusive activity! Her sights fell to the crumpled note that had dropped to the floor in his haste to depart. Gingerly, she stepped out of bed and retrieved it. But when she opened it, all it displayed were three words:

  CHLOE HAS RETURNED.

  So that young half-French girl, Chloe Heart, had come back from her trip to the Colonies… Certainly that did not constitute an emergency! Just why was Lord Sexton so vexed? One might think he was actually in a state of panic over something.

  The woman placed her fingers against her mouth, giggling. Silly thought; Lord Sexton was never perturbed over anything. Especially something so mundane as this.

  Indeed, he was a man who displayed an almost arrogant courage. She herself had seen him laugh in the face of certain death at the hands of Lady Snibble's father—the best swordsman in England, or so the man claimed—when the outraged lord had caught his wayward daughter with the Lord of Sex in flagrante delicto. Now that was a situation!

  This was a mere curiosity.

  After all, to a man like Lord John, how much trouble could one little girl cause?

  Bored with the subject, she closed her eyes and instead remembered what it felt lik
e to have all that power and sexual passion between her legs.

  Unconsciously, her lips parted.

  Chapter One

  Chloe Makes Her Plans

  It had gone on long enough!

  Chloe Heart narrowed her violet eyes as she examined the man charging across the countryside, his horse kicking up a cloud of dust as he raced toward the mansion.

  It could be only John.

  No one else looked that good riding a stallion—or anything else, for that matter. The very idea made her eyes narrow further. Oh, he was a rogue!

  She continued observing him as he rode across the far pasture at a hellish pace. Freed from its queue, his gilded hair flew behind him as he bent low over the horse's neck to gain speed.

  She recognized that stance—it was a trait of John's that most people overlooked. Blinded by his apparent laissez-faire attitude and stunning looks, not many saw the iron determination well hidden beneath the mantle of the devil-may-care rake.

  Chloe, however, had always seen it.

  Typical of John to be so unconcerned with his appearance…

  Despite her resolve, Chloe's expression momentarily softened. She had remembered that spun-gold hair every day for the past year and a half. It was the color of sunlit honey, and everything about him reminded her of the enticing nectar. Like his rich sense of humor with that beckoning, teasing laugh…

  Usually making sport of you! an annoying inner voice spoke up.

  Chloe chewed on her bottom lip. Yes, but he could be extraordinarily sweet…

  When it suits him! the voice reasonably pointed out.

  Chloe pictured the way John always moved; irresistibly smooth, sure, fluid…

  Unpredictable and predatory! Like a targeting beast!

  She squelched the annoying opinion.

  Yes, John was often like honey: sweet, smooth, rich, fluid, with a somewhat unpredictable flavor. One could only wonder if he might actually taste the same…

  Lord of Sex.

  The play on his name that the ton found so delightfully humorous. Even at sixteen, the age he was when she had first met him, he had been sampling the pleasures of the flesh. It only got worse over the years.

  From the beginning, they had formed a close and enduring bond. A lump rose in her throat. Oh, she wanted to kill him!

  When she was six, she hadn't understood why women watched him so. He was simply the older boy who picked her up and swung her onto his shoulders and always made her laugh. The one who held her and dried her tears and murmured soothing little phrases to her.

  The fist of her hand uncurled and she placed her palm against the windowpane, as if the simple action could bring him closer to her. John…

  Rider and horse took a reckless leap over a stone border wall and continued charging forward, the horse's hooves kicking up great clods of earth. Lord John was in a hurry to get to his uncle's. In a few minutes he would arrive. After all those endless months away from him—her self-imposed exile—she would see him in the flesh once again.

  Chloe closed her eyes as they filled with moisture. It had been so difficult to stay away this long! But the exile had been a very important part of the plan.

  She recalled the exact look on John's masculine face when she had told him her decision to go to the Colonies with her friend, Aubrey, who was visiting an older sister in Charleston. For an instant John had seemed stunned.

  "You're going where?"

  Then he had tried to talk her out of it, but finally quit when he realized she would not be dissuaded.

  "Maybe I shouldn't let you go," he had grumbled.

  Chloe had laughed. "As if you have a say in what I do." That had made the handsome face glower.

  For as long as Chloe could remember, John had fancied himself a cross between her best friend and knowledgeable guide. The realization that in fact he did not have any say whatsoever seemed to give him pause. However briefly.

  Of course, she had fueled his fire when she set sail, by whispering to him that she intended to do every naughty thing she could think of during her stay in the Colonies, leaving him to wonder just what she meant. His face had gone absolutely white as the ship sailed out of the harbor. It had been immensely satisfying.

  Horse and rider scaled another wall.

  Surely the speed with which he came to her now indicated more than their usual friendship? Surely he would realize that things would be different between them now that she was a grown woman of nineteen?

  He must realize how much she… how she always…

  Chloe swallowed in an effort to hold at bay the reckless, emotional French side to her nature, which had a tendency to land her in trouble. She had wanted John all of her life and had waited so patiently for this day.

  Didn't that deserve a reward of some kind? Of course it did!

  Surely his beautiful, low voice was about to whisper her name just as she imagined in all her girlhood fantasies—

  "Chlo-eee!" The front door opened with a crash and slammed shut with a force that shook the rafters. The deep male voice boomed throughout the house.

  Chloe winced. Well, maybe not quite a whisper. Apparently that little mischief she had played on him when she had sailed had not set too well with him. She squared her shoulders.

  Well, if that had unnerved the rogue, wait until he saw what else she had in store for him!

  John was in trouble.

  He didn't know it yet, but he was in deep trouble. His days of debauchery were over! For Chloe—determined little Chloe—intended to have him for her very own. Now and forever.

  After she killed him.

  Lord of Sex! Tales of his exploits had managed to reach her even in the Colonies. Snippets in letters from Grandmere alluding to his myriad grand passions. Merde. It made her ill!

  Unfortunately, she had missed the rakehell too much to execute him before the noon meal.

  She sighed.

  It would just have to wait until later in the day.

  John stood at the foot of the stairs and roared.

  He was dead tired, having stopped only briefly at an inn to refresh himself with a cold bath and feed his poor horse. For some reason, there was a compelling need to get here as quickly as possible. Just to ensure that the little piddlehead was all right.

  He still hadn't forgiven her for taking off like that to the Colonies. Leaving him for eighteen long months to wonder what that unpredictable ginger-pate was devising in the way of trouble!

  Then again, he hadn't had to rescue her from some mischief she had gotten herself into, either.

  Despite himself, a grin curved his sensual lips. Until he recalled her mysterious last words to him.

  He bellowed out her name again. "Chloe!"

  Now where was the hellcat hiding?

  A smidgen of red hair poked between the upstairs banisters. It was followed by two enormous violet eyes.

  "John?" She spoke his name haltingly in that sweet voice he remembered so well. No one said his name quite like Chloe. Despite all of her years in England, she still softened the J slightly in the French way. Something stopped in his chest. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the sprite until now.

  "John!" Chloe stood up and began to race down the steps toward him, her slippered feet barely touching the rug beneath her.

  The thought She's changed scarcely had time to register before he found himself dashing up the steps to meet her halfway. She leaped into his arms in an act of blind faith, almost sending them both crashing downward.

  John threw back his head and laughed, spinning them both around. She's not changed that much! Thank God.

  "John! John!" Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck and began quickly kissing him all over his face. John called it "Chloe's Chicken Pecks Français." It was something she had always done when they hadn't seen each other for a while, and it never failed to make him laugh.

  And it didn't fail this time either. At first.

  John, arms wrapped tightly around her, lifting her up to
him, abruptly stopped laughing. A frown marred his smooth forehead as his hands cupped her bottom. It was fuller than he remembered and more… well, shapely.

  He pulled his face back from her free-roaming lips. "What are you wearing under here?" His hands hefted the portion of anatomy in question, bringing her closer to him.

  Chloe raised her magnificent eyes slowly to his. He wondered where she had learned that bit of coquetry.

  "Nothing," she whispered to him in a throaty voice.

  John's green eyes widened a fraction. He blinked once, then dropped her like a hot baguette. He studied her as if he had just turned over a rock and something "Chloe" had crawled out from underneath.

  Oh, dear, she thought, dismayed. This could be crucial. Well, he needs to stop seeing me as a child and begin regarding me as an adult woman in order for my plan to work! It was a risk, but one she had to take in order to proceed; otherwise her long exile in the Colonies would have been for nothing.

  Knowing he was watching her suspiciously from under those thick black lashes of his, Chloe threw back her shoulders, put her hands on her generously curved hips, and cocked her red head to the side. It was a calculated pose, designed to show her blossomed figure to perfection.

  Let the games begin. Strength had never been a weakness to her.

  John took his time observing Chloe. He was thinking that the mite had changed considerably since last he had seen her. Where had that—that curvaceous figure come from? Full breasts, tiny waist, rounded hips… She had been all youthful angles the last time he had seen her. Eyes that had once seemed too large for her heart-shaped face were now spellbinding. And her hair…

  Where had the carrottop gone?

  Instead of the orange mop-top he was accustomed to, there was the most magnificent red hair he had ever seen. Chloe was breathtaking. Different. An incredible beauty.

  With as much experience as he had in choosing women, John knew it would be more than her looks that would take London by storm.