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  Her attention remained centered on the bodyguard. She thought he would do his best to intimidate her in front of his employer, maybe even try to get her to apologize to Jorguson—hell would freeze before she’d do that—but he surely wouldn’t touch her. Not in front of all these people.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t care who was watching. Jorguson had shouted his intent to have her killed. Would this bodyguard try to top that crazy threat?

  There was a wall of windows in the restaurant facing the river, and diners were crammed together, their faces plastered to the glass. Some had their cell phones glued to their ears; others were using the cell phone cameras to record the incident . . . for YouTube, no doubt. Certainly, most of them had witnessed Jorguson ripping her dress and then screaming after she’d punched him. The man had howled like an outraged hyena. Surely they’d heard his ridiculous threats, too.

  The bodyguard took Jorguson’s orders to “get her” to heart. He lunged. He grabbed her upper arm and twisted as he jerked her toward him. Pain shot up into her neck and down to her fingers. His grip was strong enough to break her bone.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd before turning back to her. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered.

  A woman rushed out of the restaurant shouting, “You leave her alone.” At the same time, two men in business suits ran past the woman to help Olivia.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded as she slammed the heel of her shoe into the top of his foot.

  He grunted and let go. Olivia got in a solid kick, and he doubled over. But not for long. He quickly recovered and, roaring several grossly unflattering names at her, straightened and reached for his gun. His face was now bloodred.

  Good Lord, was he going to shoot her? The look in his eyes suggested that he might. Apparently, Martin had forgotten his audience, or he no longer cared he was being watched. His impulse control had vanished. He had the most hateful look on his face as he pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants. The two businessmen coming to her aid stopped when they spotted the weapon.

  “I said you’re coming with me,” he snarled as he lunged.

  “No, I’m not.” She threw a twelve-dollar glass of iced tea at him. He ducked.

  “Bitch.” He spit the word and tried to grab her again.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. Now get away from me.”

  The gun seemed to be growing in his hand. She backed away from him, and that infuriated him even more. He came at her again, and before she could protect herself, he backhanded her. He struck the side of her face, his knuckles clipping her jaw. It was a hard hit and hurt like hell. The blow threw her backward, but even as she was falling, she didn’t take her eyes off the gun.

  She landed on her backside, winced from the impact on her tailbone, and quickly staggered to her feet.

  She understood what the expression “seeing stars” meant. Dazed, she tried to back away.

  The thug raised his gun again, and suddenly he was gone. Olivia saw a blur fly past her, tackling the bodyguard to the ground. The gun went one way, and the thug went the other, landing hard. Within seconds her rescuer had the man facedown on the grass and was putting handcuffs on him while reading him his rights. When he was finished, he motioned to another man wearing a badge and gun who was rushing across the terrace.

  With one of his knees pressed against the bodyguard’s spine, the rescuer turned toward her. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She could have sworn she saw an ethereal glow radiating all around him and the sound of a singing choir echoing overhead. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The blow to her jaw must be making her hallucinate. When she opened her eyes again, the vision and the choir were gone, but the man was still there, looking up at her with beautiful hazel eyes.

  “Who are you?” he asked as he hauled the bodyguard to his feet.

  “Olivia MacKenzie,” she answered. She sounded bewildered, but she couldn’t help that. The last few minutes had been hair-raising, and she was having trouble forming a clear thought.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Agent Grayson Kincaid. FBI. Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Maybe you should sit down.”

  The bodyguard finally found his voice. “I was protecting my boss.”

  “With a Glock?” Kincaid asked. “And against an unarmed woman?”

  “She kicked me.”

  A hint of a smile turned his expression. “Yeah, I saw.”

  “I’m bringing charges.”

  “You attacked her,” Kincaid snapped. “If I were you, I’d be real quiet right now.”

  The bodyguard ignored the suggestion. “Mr. Jorguson has known for a long time that the FBI has been tailing him and listening in on his private conversations. What you’re doing is illegal, but you people don’t play by the rules, do you?”

  “Stop talking,” Kincaid said.

  Another agent grabbed hold of the bodyguard’s arm and led him away. He didn’t go peacefully. He was shouting for a lawyer.

  “Hey, Ronan,” Kincaid shouted.

  The agent dragging the bodyguard away turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Did you see it?”

  Ronan smiled. “Oh yeah, I saw it all. After I put this clown in the back of the car, I’ll go get Jorguson.”

  Olivia glanced around the terrace. In all the commotion she hadn’t seen him slip away.

  Kincaid nodded, then turned back to her.

  “The gun is under the table,” she offered.

  “I’ll get it,” Kincaid said.

  He walked over to her, and she flinched when he reached out to touch her. Frowning, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see how bad it is.”

  “It’s fine,” she insisted. “I’m fine.”

  He ignored her protest. He gently pushed her hair away from the side of her face. “Your cheek’s okay, but he really clipped your jaw. It’s already starting to swell. You need to put ice on it. Maybe I should take you to the emergency room, have a physician look at your arm, too. I saw the way he twisted it.”

  “I’ll be all right. I’ll ice it,” she promised when he looked like he wanted to argue.

  He took a step back and said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to him faster.”

  “You got here before he shot me. He really was going to shoot me, wasn’t he?” She was still astounded by the possibility and getting madder by the second.

  “He might have tried,” he agreed.

  She frowned. “You’re awfully nonchalant about it.”

  “I would have taken him down before he shot you.”

  Her cell phone rang. She checked the number, then sent the call to voice mail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man rounding the corner of the building and glaring at her. He stormed toward her, just as Kincaid bent to retrieve the bodyguard’s gun.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” the man shouted.

  Since he was wearing a gun and badge, she knew he was also FBI. “Excuse me?”

  “You ruined a perfectly good sting. Were you wearing a wire? Did you get anything we could use? No, I didn’t think so. You weren’t supposed to be here until one. We weren’t ready.”

  The agent screaming at her was an older man, late fifties, she guessed. His face was bright red, and his anger could light fires.

  He moved closer until he was all but touching her, but she refused to be intimidated. “Stop yelling at me.”

  “She’s not with the FBI,” Kincaid said.

  “How . . .” The confused agent took a step back. He looked at Olivia, then at Kincaid.

  “I’d know if she was. Your undercover woman hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “Two months’ planning,” the agent muttered. He pointed at Olivia. �
�Are you wearing a wire? Jorguson seems to think you are. Are you with a newspaper or—”

  “Poole, leave her the hell alone,” Kincaid said.

  Poole was staring at her chest. Uh-oh. Olivia knew where this was going.

  “If you think you’re going to look for a wire, be advised. I’ll punch you, too,” she warned.

  Distraught to have his investigation fall apart, Agent Poole stepped closer and said, “Listen, you. Don’t threaten me. I could make your life a nightmare.” He put his hand in front of her face and unfolded three fingers as he said, “I’m F . . . B . . . I.”

  She smiled. It wasn’t the reaction he expected. “You want to talk nightmares?” she said. She put her hand up to his face and unfolded her three fingers. “I’m I . . . R . . . S.”

  Titles by Julie Garwood

  Sweet Talk

  The Ideal Man

  Sizzle

  Fire and Ice

  Shadow Music

  Shadow Dance

  Slow Burn

  Murder List

  Killjoy

  Mercy

  Heartbreaker

  Ransom

  Come the Spring

  The Clayborne Brides

  The Wedding

  For the Roses

  Prince Charming

  Saving Grace

  Castles

  The Secret

  The Prize

  The Gift

  Guardian Angel

  The Bride

  The Lion’s Lady

  Honor’s Splendour

  Rebellious Desire

  Gentle Warrior

  A Girl Named Summer

  DUTTON

  Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  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 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, Aucklanb 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

  Published by Dutton, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Copyright © 1994 by Julie Garwood All rights reserved

  eISBN : 978-1-101-53160-0

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This book 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.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Marilyn Regina Murphy.

  My sister, my champion, my friend.

  Contents

  A Note from the Author about SWEET TALK

  Excerpt from SWEET TALK

  More books by Julie Garwood

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Teaser chapter for THE IDEAL MAN

  About the Author

  Know what it is to be a child . . .

  To see a world in a grain of sand

  And a heaven in a wild flower,

  Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

  And Eternity in an hour.

  —William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

  1

  Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.

  —William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

  London, England, 1868

  The vultures were gathering in the vestibule. The salon was already filled to capacity, as was the dining room and the library above. More of the black-clad predators lined the curved staircase. Every now and then two or three would bob their heads in unison as they gulped from their glasses of champagne. They were watchful, expectant, hopeful. They were also vile and disgusting.

  They were the relatives.

  Quite a few friends of the earl of Havensmound were in attendance as well. They were there to show their support and their compassion over the unfortunate tragedy about to take place.

  The celebration would come later.

  For a brief spell, everyone tried to behave in a dignified manner befitting the solemn occasion. Liquor soon loosened both their thoughts and their smiles, however, and it wasn’t long before outright laughter could be heard above the clinking of their crystal glasses.

  The matriarch was finally dying. There had been two false alarms in the past year, but many believed this third attack would turn out to be the charm. She was simply too damned ancient to keep on disappointing everyone. Why, she was already past sixty.

  Lady Esther Stapleton had spent her life accumulating her fortune, and it was high time the old girl died so her relatives could start spending it. She was, after all, reported to be one of the richest women in England. Her only surviving son was also reported to be one of the poorest. It wasn’t right, or so his sympathetic creditors announced whenever the lecherous earl was within earshot. Malcolm was the earl of Havensmound, for God’s sake, and should have been allowed to spend as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted. Granted, the man was a blatant squanderer, and a rake as well, whose sexual appetite ran to the very young, but those flaws weren’t frowned upon by the moneylenders. Quite the opposite in fact. While the more respectable bankers had long ago refused to loan the licentious earl any more money, the street corner lenders were more than happy to accommodate the man. They were jubilant. They thoroughly enjoyed their client’s debauchery. Each had charged an exorbitant amount of interest to shovel the earl out of his latest gambling fiasco to say nothing of the staggering amount they’d had to fork over to silence the parents of the young ladies their client had seduced and then discarded. The debts had piled up all right, but the patient creditors were soon going to be richly rewarded.

  Or so they all believed.

  Thomas, the ailing butler’s young assistant, pushed yet another creditor out the entrance, then took great delight in slamming the door shut. He was appalled by their behavior. He was certain they knew better. They just didn’t care.

  Thomas had lived in the household since he was twelve, and in all that while, he didn’t believe he’d ever seen anything as shameful as this. His dear mistress was above the stairs, struggling to hold o
n until all her affairs had been properly settled and her favored granddaughter, Taylor, arrived to say her farewell, while down below, the dying woman’s son was holding court as pretty as you please, laughing and carrying on like the cad that he was. His daughter, Jane, clung to his side, a smug expression on her face. Thomas guessed the gloating look was due to the fact that she knew her father would share his wealth with her.

  Two rotten peas in the same pod, Thomas thought to himself. Oh, yes, father and daughter were very alike in both character and appetite. The butler didn’t feel he was being disloyal to his mistress because he harbored such dark opinions about her relatives. She felt the same way. Why, on several occasions, he’d heard Lady Esther refer to Jane as a viper. She was that, all right. Thomas secretly called her much worse. She was a vicious young woman, full of clever plots, and it seemed to him that the only time he ever saw her smile was after she had deliberately crushed someone’s feelings. It was said by those in the know that Jane ruled the upper crust with a malicious hand and that most of the younger men and women just stepping into their places in society were actually afraid of her, although they knew better than to admit it. Thomas didn’t know if the gossip was true or not, but one thing was certain in his mind. Jane was a destroyer of dreams.

  She’d gone too far this time, however, for she’d dared to attack that which Lady Esther most valued. She’d tried to destroy Lady Taylor.

  Thomas let out a loud grunt of satisfaction. Very soon now, Jane and her disreputable father would be made to realize the ramifications of their treacherous deeds.

  Dear Lady Esther had been too occupied with ill health and family losses to notice what was going on. Since the day Taylor’s older sister, Marian, had taken her twin babies to live in Boston, Lady Esther had begun her decline. She’d been failing ever since. Thomas believed the only reason she hadn’t completely given up was because she was determined to see the child she’d raised as her own daughter married and settled first.