Desperate to save her reputation, the beautiful heiress Antoinette Dupre escapes to Wexmoor Manor, a country estate in Devon. But she gets more than she bargained for when she encounters a masked stranger who, with just one touch, awakens in her an irresistible desire.

Gabriel Langley is on a mission. Antoinette has a letter he needs to take back his family's ancestral home, and he is willing to go to any lengths to claim it — even seduce her. And though aware he is playing a dangerous game, he cannot resist returning to her bed in the shadow of darkness . . . to become her secret lover.

But when Gabriel's true identity is revealed, their passionate midnight interludes are threatened. And they must face a web of scandal and blackmail that could destroy their one chance for love . . .

Chapter One...

June 1851

The road to Wexmoor Manor, Devon

Antoinette Dupre closed her eyes behind her spectacles, shielding them from the flickering light as the sun dipped lower through the trees. Not far to go now. Lord Rudyard Appleby's manor was isolated, well off the main highway, which was one reason she was riding in a coach instead of traveling by steam train.

The other reason was that she was a prisoner.

She didn't want to go but she had no choice; she was completely in the power of Lord Appleby¬. And the most frustrating thing about that was she'd finally discovered a way to destroy him once and for all, but before she could put her plan into practice¬, he had sent her away into deepest Devon, to his house, Wexmoor Manor.

She put a hand to her bodice, feeling the reassuring crackle of paper. The letter was still there, safe. Her ticket to freedom, and more importantly, the freedom of her younger sister, Cecilia.

Thinking of Cecilia made her smile despite her dire situation. Her sister, three years younger than Antoinette, would think this a great adventure—traveling alone in a coach to an unknown destination—but then Cecilia, tall and fair and vivacious, was very different from Antoinette. Antoinette, small in stature, with glossy brown hair and brown eyes, was by nature serious and rather bossy and took her responsibilities to heart. Always as neat as a pin, still she struggled with a figure that was definitely more hourglass-shaped—dumpy if you were being unkind—than the fashionable ideal of slender and willowy. She did have one weakness, a compulsion she couldn't seem to resist and which she blamed on her ancestress, a mistress of King Charles II. Fine undergarments. Silk and lace and satin, frilly and feminine. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like, to hold a man in thrall, to give yourself over entirely to the sensual side. But, as it seemed unlikely Antoinette would ever know the answers to those questions, she contented herself with indulging in her secret wicked pleasure.

She took off her spectacles and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

The worst of it was she had no one to talk to, no one to trust. Cecilia was safely tucked away in Surrey with her governess, Miss Bridewell, and other than those two, Antoinette had no one else she dared unburden herself to. These past few weeks in London she'd been watched continually by Lord Appleby's servants, and she didn't expect Wexmoor Manor to be any different—worse, because at least in London she'd been able to go about, even attending the opening of the Great Exhibition, and enjoying the new sights and sounds.

But that was before she'd understood Lord Appleby's true intention in inviting her to his Mayfair house.

Suddenly the coach lurched. Antoinette dropped her spectacles. Outside there was a popping noise, followed by shouts from the coachman and his boy. She leaned forward to grasp the window frame, just as a galloping horse drew alongside the coach. The rider wore black, everything black, including a black mask covering the upper half of his face. He kept pace with the coach, and although her poor eyesight made him appear blurry, there was something almost mesmerizing about him. And then he leaned down and stared at her through the dusty glass.

And smiled the smile of a dangerous predator spying his prey.

He was there for only a heartbeat, and then he'd spurred his horse on, but it was long enough. Antoinette felt as if his regard had burned itself into her skin. As if he had left a brand upon her.

Confused, startled, her heart thudding, she pressed herself back into the soft leather of the seat. She told herself that this was England in the reign of...

Sara Bennett began writing at a very early age because she loved making up stories. She was the only girl in a family of three brothers, and she spent much of her time daydreaming. The past has always been her favorite place, and the next best thing to building a time machine and visiting was to write about it. Sara has worked as a shop assistant, a clerk, and a bookkeeper, and found all of her jobs mind-numbingly boring. Writing was the only thing that kept her going. When she won a local short story competition, she felt confident enough to begin sending some of her work to magazines, where it was published. She also wrote for Harlequin and then the Australian mainstream market, before finding a home at Avon. She now writes historical romances as Sara Bennett and paranormals as Sara Mackenzie. In 2007 one of her paranormal books was nominated for a RITA Award. Sara lives in a goldfield town in Victoria, Australia, with her tax agent husband, two children who are grown up but yet to leave home, and an ever expanding collection of animals.