Blurb:
Some secrets are not meant to be shared.
Catherine Bennet, known as Kitty to close friends and family, knows this better than anyone. She also knows that she will never marry and it never bothered her before she met Lord George Kerr at Elizabeth and Darcy’s wedding. He’s determined to breach the walls of defense she’d carefully constructed around her heart, and she’s just as determined to stay the course.
Some secrets cannot be shared
Lord George Kerr knows this better than anyone. For five years, as a spy for His Majesty the King, he played the part of a Rake, concealing his espionage activities beneath a blanket of brothels, drink, and loose women. Even though he’s forced to resume his regular life within London’s finest society, he still must keep some things hidden.
One thing he does not hide is his attraction to Miss Catherine Bennet of Longbourn. Enraptured by her beauty and warmth of character, he plunges headlong into winning her heart, only to find it carefully guarded and she’s unwilling to give him even a small pinch of hope.
Some things are beyond your control
When circumstances bring Kitty’s secret into the open, she fears the tenuous bonds of friendship she’s forged with Lord George will be lost forever along with whatever love he proclaims to have for her. With the very lives of England’s vast network of spies working undercover in Bonaparte’s France hanging in the balance, she’s forced to face her worst nightmare.
Her secret is laid bare, can he love her enough to overcome what he learns?
Chapter One
The drawingroom was quiet, save for the shuffling of
papers and every now and then a soft, yet impatient sigh.
“Darling, as much as I love my own company, I am feeling a
trifle neglected.”
Lord George Kerr shifted his attention from the documents
spread out before him toward the beautiful woman seated across the room. He
appreciated the way the crimson brocade couch acted as a perfect foil for her
exotic features and raven hair.
“Evangeline, you know our agreement. I attend your
exquisite establishment and you whisk me away to your sumptuous parlor,
whereupon I gather information for King and Country.” He grinned at her sultry
pout. “Now be a pet and make some noise. Otherwise, your servants will gossip I
am not here for a lover’s tryst and that would be disastrous for our
partnership.”
“If you only knew how envious my maids are. Miss Bledsoe
told me they remain convinced you are Casanova reincarnated. Imagine their
surprise if they knew we only drink tea and talk.” She arose from the couch and
glided behind his chair, combing long fingers through his hair. “Could I not
entice you, just this once?”
He stilled her hand and brought her palm to his lips.
Pressing a kiss against the soft skin, he murmured, “While I admire your
tenacity, I cannot give what you ask. The only woman I will share a bed with will
be my future wife.”
“I did not say we had to be in a bed.”
“Evangeline,” he warned in a low voice.
“Very well, for you, I shall behave.” She turned aside with
an elegant shrug of her slim shoulders and moved toward the picture hung over
the fireplace. For a brief moment, she stared at the portrait of her husband. “I
miss that man more than words can say.” She tensed and looked toward the door. “Someone
is coming.”
She moved swiftly to the couch. Without questioning her
instinct, which had proven itself time and again, he laid his coat on top of
the papers and joined her, positioning his body so that his head rested on her
lap. He placed his left foot on the cushioned seat, knee slightly bent, and
stretched the right leg to the floor. She glanced down at him, her delicate
features tight with concern.
“Prepare yourself, Lord George. In order to facilitate our
ruse as lovers, I must expose more than you would like.”
“I believe I shall somehow survive,” he replied in a dry
tone.
She slipped the filmy gown down one arm and it puddled
gracefully against his cheek. The door to the salon burst open and her lady’s companion,
Miss Bledsoe, the only one who knew of their true connection, trembled within
the door frame. Behind her stood two men with hardened faces and what George
presumed were loaded pistols. A quick glance past the two men revealed
Evangeline’s aged butler crumpled on the floor in the front vestibule.
“What is the meaning of this?” Evangeline demanded. She
tugged the gown back onto her shoulder while George remained where he lay, a
deceptive picture of languor and satisfied coitus.
“I’m sorry, Lady Anstruther…” Miss Bledsoe began.
“Quiet, slut.” The larger man growled and backhanded her.
With a cry, Miss Bledsoe stumbled against the smaller man,
who grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. When he saw her face, his eyes lit
up.
“Look who we have here,” he crowed, a vicious grin
twisting his mouth.
Miss Bledsoe ducked her head and tried to pull away, only
to cry out again when the man tightened his grip. If Evangeline noticed
Smithson laying on the vestibule floor, she gave no indication.
“Not this time. You made him very angry by running away
and he’ll pay a nice tidy sum for your return.”
Although piqued by the smaller man’s comment, George focused
on the fact his voice and manners were too cultured and a hint of familiarity
tugged at the recesses of his mind. Evangeline pushed his head off her lap and arose
in an apparent state of agitation. George, still semi-reclined, slid the hand
hidden from sight down toward his boot.
“Please do not harm my companion,” she begged and
stumbled, steadying herself by gripping the back of the divan. “Why are you
here?”
He was familiar with this ruse because she’d done it to
him in France. She intended to retrieve the weapon strapped to the back of the divan.
Distracted by her nervous display, neither man observed him unsheathe a knife
and palm the deadly weapon.
“If they so much as twitch, kill them.” The smaller man
called over his shoulder, tugging Miss Bledsoe behind him. “Shoot the prancing
dandy first.”
“With pleasure Reggie,” the larger man growled and bared
his yellow teeth in a sickening grin.
Reggie continued toward the table and it was only through
years of conditioning that George didn’t betray concern he would discover
smuggled documents. If these men escaped with the knowledge of his and
Evangeline’s clandestine operation, then many courageous people would have died
for nothing. It was time for him to act.
He arose from the couch like a sleepy giant.
“You hafta wait your turn,” he slurred out, weaving on his
feet as though drunk. “I pay a lot of money for her exclusive favors. You can
have her when I’m done.”
“You dare to pass me off to these… these ruffians?”
Evangeline raged and stomped her foot, the pistol hidden against her side.
Her tantrum had the desired effect. The larger man
momentarily shifted his attention from George to Evangeline. Without
hesitation, George whipped the blade toward him. Surprised, the thug stared at his
chest. At first, there was nothing to see except the hilt of the dagger, then
like the incoming tide, a dark red stain began to spread across his dingy
shirt. In a matter of seconds, he sank to his knees, dropped the gun, and
crumpled to the ground.
At the sound of his accomplice hitting the floor, Reggie
turned and pulled Miss Bledsoe tight against his side, but before he could even
point his weapon, Evangeline had raised her arm. With deadly aim she made sure
he never breathed again. When Reggie fell to the floor, Miss Bledsoe ran to her
friend’s side.
George assessed the bullet hole dead square in Reggie’s
forehead, marveling at Evangeline’s accuracy. As good as he was with any weapon
of any kind, even he wouldn’t attempt a shot like that with someone standing so
close.
“Remind me to never challenge you to a duel, Countess.”
Evangeline lowered her arm and cut him a sideways glance. “You
are most fortunate I adore you, otherwise that may have been you on the floor
after offering to share my favors.”
“It was a means to an end.” He took hold of her free hand
and brought it to his lips, murmuring against her skin. “I am forever grateful
you did not shoot me in France.”
“Bah, Cavendish was right, you are a terrible flirt.” She
tugged her hand from his light grasp and hurried to the vestibule. By the time
she’d reached his side, Smithson had begun to groan and move about. “Miss
Bledsoe. Please have a footman fetch my physician.” Once she and George had
settled Smithson in another room, she turned to him. “Come, let us find out who
those two Cretans were.”
***
“I am afraid your
cover has been compromised.” Lord Patrick Grayson, Marquis of Chadwick, clasped
his hands on his desk and peered at George over his reading glasses. “You are
quite useless to us now.”
“I should like to know who sent those men.”
George sat in the chair placed directly in front of Lord
Grayson’s desk. His one elbow rested on the arm of the chair and he
rhythmically rubbed his lower lip with his index finger. A childhood habit
indicating deep thought.
He and Evangeline had searched both men thoroughly, finding
no form of identification or written instructions on either of them. The larger
man definitely had been a thug for hire, but the cultured tones and soft hands
of ‘Reggie’ hinted at a decent education and no hard labor. Had he been the
leader or following someone else’s orders? The same sense of familiarity washed
over George.
His attempts to speak with Miss Bledsoe resulted in her
bursting into tears. Evangeline indicated she would speak with her when they
were alone, and with great reluctance, he’d backed off.
“I would like to know who they were as well.” Lord Grayson
removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At times, I think
there are more people working for Boney in England than in France. Money and a
skewered devotion to ancient family ties can turn even the most patriotic away
from their King. Look at what has happened in our very own country. The Prime
Minister, assassinated.”
“Nasty business, that. I am still not convinced there was no
conspiracy.” George rose to his feet and paced to the large Palladian window,
clasping his hands behind his back. “So, what am I to do? Become another
useless younger brother to a Peer of the realm?”
“You do yourself a disservice, Lord George. Your family
name has a proud history and the ton
have no idea you worked for the Crown. For all they care you are still their
golden boy who sowed more than his share of wild oats. Continue on with your
life. Find a pretty girl and get married. It would make the Duke a happy man if
you settled down.”
“Maxwell would be ecstatic if I entered into marital
bliss.” George turned to face Lord Grayson. “Unfortunately, I have played the
part of a Rake so convincingly, all good mothers hide their daughters as soon
as I enter a ballroom.”
“As the brother of a Duke, you and I both know your
reputation will not stop them from wanting an association with your family.”
“All they see is my connections and fortune. I desire to
meet someone fresh and new. Someone who is not skilled with the arts and
allurements used to ensnare a husband.”
“Look at this as a blessing. Now that you no longer have
to look over your shoulder and peer into every dark corner for the enemy, you
can enjoy the full social whirl. With your charm and exceedingly handsome
visage, you will have no problem securing a nice young lady.”
George doubted that very much but didn’t have the heart to
contradict his friend and mentor. All this talk of meeting eligible wives gave
him a roaring headache. He’d take a rough and tumble spy any day to a cunning mother
on the hunt for a son-in-law.
“What of my contact here in London? Do you have anyone who
can continue on with our work?” He deftly moved the conversation away from the
delicate subject of marriage onto something more pressing, and in his mind, not
as dangerous.
“Sadly, no. Not many men or women are willing to live a
secret life. As you are the only person who knew their identity, I shall leave
you to inform them of our decision to retire you.” Lord Grayson rose from his
chair and extended a hand toward George, who returned from the window and shook
it firmly. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Lord George. I wish you a long
and healthy life.”
“Thank you, Lord Grayson. Might I add, it was an honor to
serve my country and if you ever require my services, you need only send word
and I will be there.”
“I know you would, lad. I know you would. Since Percival’s
assassination, we live in perilous times and we need all those who are loyal to
the Monarchy.”
Within minutes, George exited the offices where Lord
Grayson conducted his business and approached a nondescript carriage manned by
his trusted driver, Henry.
“Where to, m’lord?”
“Kerr house.”
“Yes, sir.”
George entered the carriage, settling onto the comfortable
bench. Henry closed the carriage door and climbed up to his seat at the front.
He flicked the reins and the horses took off at a brisk pace toward Mayfair.
George used the time to reflect on the past few days. He’d hired some private
investigators, ones he trusted and had used before, to scour the area for any
leads. With a touch of luck, he hoped they’d ascertain the identity of Reggie
and who his connections were.
He’d instructed the men to be discreet with their
inquiries as spies had a tendency to hide. He should know – he’d been hiding in
plain sight for almost five years.
***
“My Lord, I had not expected to see you again.”
Evangeline greeted George with a kiss on the cheek before
inviting him to follow her to the main parlor. He handed his hat, gloves, and
topcoat to Evangeline’s new butler, MacDougal, a burly Scot who never broke a
smile. He’d moved up from under-butler when Smithson became injured. One would
have to be a fool if they didn’t realize he was more of a bodyguard than a
butler.
Without a sound, she opened the door to the front parlor
and made for the tray where clean glasses and expensive, smuggled brandy
waited. Other than a new rug in the middle of the room, there was no visible
sign that two men had died a violent death here. She didn’t ask if he wanted a
drink, she just poured some amber liquid into two tumblers and handed him one.
“Have you found out who the thief was?” She moved toward
the couch and sat down while George took the chair opposite.
“Not a single clue, although I began some discreet
inquiries through secure channels. I hate waiting about but Mother is pleased
with my enforced company. Since my wings have been clipped, so to speak, she
has encouraged me to escort her to a few teas and afternoon soirees. I shudder
to think of what she has in store when the Season gets into full swing. ‘Tis
only a matter of time before she begins to pester me about taking over Keswick
Manor and managing the property.”
“I am sure she will pester you about more than managing
your future estate. Your mother is hungry for grandchildren and wishes to
bounce a few babies on her knee while still young enough to enjoy them. Poor
George, such a hard life you lead.” She chuckled at his grimace and sipped her
drink, closing her eyes as the alcohol made its way down her throat. “Mmmm…. As
much as I abhor the French, they do have excellent port brandy.”
“Has Miss Bledsoe recovered from the incident?”
“Although extremely nervous for a few days, she has since
settled. One does not like the sound of a bullet whizzing by their ear. It
reminds us of our own mortality.”
“None of us live forever.” He assessed his friend, perched
so politely on the divan, the embodiment of alluring femininity. “I still do
not know how you did it. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, no one would
convince me you were that good of a shot.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me Lord George,
and until that imposter is removed from France and my Cavendish is returned to
me, I dare not share my story.”
“Has Miss Bledsoe mentioned anything which might help us discover
Reggie’s identity?”
“That is a dead-end street. Women have many reasons for
entering into a life of servitude and sometimes their motive is personal and
fraught with danger. I will never divulge her secret. I am sure you understand.”
Yes, he did. Keeping secrets was something he understood
only too well. He placed his untouched drink on the side table and leaned
forward until his forearms rested on his thighs.
“I do not know if our operation was compromised.” He held
Evangeline’s gaze. “And there are too many loose ends here. It is not safe to
continue.”
“I thought as much.” She didn’t show surprise at his
statement and he wondered what, exactly, Miss Bledsoe shared with her.
“Let us begin to circulate among our friends that we were
never lovers, only good friends. When Cavendish returns, it will be much easier
on you if the ton believes you have
been a virtuous wife, which is the truth.”
“You mean you shall conceal my moment of weakness, where I
almost begged you to take me to bed?” she teased.
“I knew you were not serious. You have only had eyes for Cavendish
from the moment you met him.”
“You are a good man, George. What will you do with
yourself, without all this intrigue to spur your imagination?” Her eyes
sparkled with mischief as she relaxed against the back of her chair, rolling
the glass between her hands. After three years of working together, she was
comfortable in his presence.
“I have a friend getting married in Derbyshire the first
week of November and the Duke and I are invited to attend. Our brother Nathan
resides in a small village near our friend’s estate, so I shall force my
company on him, enjoy the country air and maybe learn how to raise sheep.” He
rose to his feet, took possession of Evangeline’s fingers, and raised them to
his lips. “I bid you adieu.”
“Stay safe, dear friend,” she murmured, withdrawing her
hand from his.
“I shall endeavor to do my very best and wish you success
with your re-entry into Society.”