Marcus Wiverton, Earl of Wyburn, stood looking at his reflection in
the mirror. He saw the face of a nineteen-year old man, untouched by sin, pain or guilt, still as handsome as the night he had gone to her, the great courtesan—more properly known as the Queen of Lust.
Could it really be ten years since that night? He turned away from the mirror, glancing at the bed where the body of a young woman lay slumped in death. Helene Brockelton. She was beautiful, passionate and so full of life, now dead. Not at his hand but because of him—because she could not
live without what he gave her. And he could not love. He laughed bitterly, for the irony of his situation was that he was considered a wonderful lover. Women begged him to lie with them, because only he could satisfy their needs. Once they had lain in his bed no other man would ever be
enough.
It was not vanity that made him think as he did, but the simple truth. It was the gift she had given him that night—that witch! A groan of anguish broke from him as he recalled all the things he had done since then—the hearts he had broken, the lives ruined, marriages torn apart. He was known as a wicked seducer. Mothers warned their daughters not to speak to him, and yet they were drawn against their will…drawn like moths to the flame, curious, innocent and then willing slaves to Lust.
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