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Reckless
Beth Henderson
Winona Abbot hadn't a clue as to who was stealing jewelry from all her rich friends.But at the rate she was going, she'd never find the thief, not with the continued distraction of the enigmatic Garrett Blackhawk, a man whose only goal appeared to be to steal her heart! Baron Garrett Blackhawk had known few women with the spark and daring of Winona Abbot.And her attempts to ignore the heat that flared between them only strengthened his desire to uncover her secrets and make the icy beauty his own.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ua860a8ca-4bd6-5097-a266-956f65513e71)
Excerpt (#u7e8d21e3-9dbd-53fb-973c-991576f82936)
Dear Reader (#u52a68f82-596d-5a14-912f-0d6a7ccac043)
Title Page (#ufee6915f-bb7a-59ca-9bb6-ac0afa40efe3)
About the Author (#uacbeabb2-9bbc-5f72-9b1b-afa3c801bce7)
Dedication (#ua5f92c6c-9a04-56eb-a06f-b00e2edc5096)
Prologue (#u957c15d0-db0f-58eb-83ad-1d974be9b7f2)
Chapter One (#udd0c8a09-b973-548c-9302-cdcf7f58431d)
Chapter Two (#uc238a8e2-7526-5ee5-a4e4-c9ee6a129034)
Chapter Three (#u4dc38c43-dc47-5b74-b65c-051c96786870)
Chapter Four (#ub6e21572-0b64-5368-a812-703e4a75f741)
Chapter Five (#uc8f4e36e-e02b-5e1c-a352-9cfa6f2bd8f7)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Wyn regained her senses first
“We can’t do this. Must forget it ever happened,” she insisted, her breathing still labored.
“Forget it? The bloody hell I can forget it.” Garrett took one long stride and reached for her.
Wyn slipped away. “We have to,” she said. “Have to make sure it never happens again.”
“Wyn!”
She evaded him, taking running steps back into the glow of lantern light. She turned as she pulled open the hatch, looking back at him over her shoulder, sorrow and regret clear in her eyes. “It can’t,” she said. “It can’t.”
Before he could stop her or ask for an explanation, Wyn was gone, slipping through the hatch, headed back to the safety of the stateroom she shared with her widowed friend, leaving him alone with the increasing whine of the wind and the echo of longing he’d heard in her voice….
Dear Reader,
This month, we are very pleased to be able to introduce Silhouette Yours Truly and Special Edition author Beth Henderson to our readers with her first historical for Harlequin, Reckless, the story of a young woman, accused of being a jewel thief, who is rescued by a mysterious baron intent on clearing her name. The Literary Times calls Beth Henderson’s writing “fresh and creative,” and we hope you’ll agree.
Rae Muir, whose first book, The Pearl Stallion, made Affaire de Coeur’s Top Ten List for 1996, is back with All But the Queen of Hearts, a lively Western set in Nevada Territory with an unsinkable heroine whose determination and skill in the kitchen finally win the heart of her reluctant hero. Also keep an eye out for Laurie Grant’s new Western, Lawman, the fast-paced sequel to her 1996 release. Devil’s Dare, about a lonely lawman who rediscovers love in the arms of his childhood sweetheart.
And for those of you who enjoy the Regency era, Taylor Ryan’s The Essential Wife is the delightful story of a dashing nobleman who suddenly finds himself in love with the penniless heiress whom he has arranged to marry out of pity.
We hope you’ll look for all four of these wonderful books, wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farren
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Reckless
Beth Henderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BETH HENDERSON
began writing when she was in the seventh grade and ran out of Nancy Drew books to read. It took another couple of decades, and a lot of distractions and pro-crastination, before her first book appeared in print.
That happened in May of 1990, and since that time she has written romantic-suspense, historical, young adult and contemporary romance under a variety of names for a variety of publishers.
Although a native of Ohio, Beth spent twenty years in the West, living in Tucson, Arizona and Las Vegas, Nevada. During that time she sampled a number of professions and has been a copywriter and traffic director in radio, done print display advertising and been a retail department manager. Now returned to her hometown, she is thrilled to be a full-time writer and loves to hear from readers. Her address is P.O. Box 262, Englewood, Ohio 45322, U.S.A.
To my aunts, Catherine Hemme Ocskasy and Marjorie Daniels Schemmel
Prologue (#ulink_a1facfe1-d76a-57fe-ab20-f9539f7a8b6c)
San Francisco, 1879
With the heavy brocade drapes drawn, only a sliver of moonlight entered the room. It was enough to catch the gleam of cut stones and to silver the rich setting as the necklace dangled from the dark-gloved hand.
The thief smiled, a small, self-satisfied curving of the lips, and admired the piece. The diamonds were as clear as water and nicely matched. They had been hoarded away in a vault at the bank for years, nearly forgotten by the family, before Oswin Hartleby had remembered them. His first wife had been a rarity in San Francisco society for she hadn’t cared for ostentation. But Hartleby’s second and much younger bride liked to flaunt his wealth. To please her, he’d spent a fortune having the diamonds made up in a glittering necklace and matching earrings: The gold for the setting had come from his own mines.
Nearly played out mines.
Of course, no one had known that until life with a wife forty years his junior had been the death of old Hartleby. There were some who claimed that, married to the coldly beautiful Hildegarde Keyes, Oswin’s last years had been joyless. It was the young widow who wasn’t smiling now. Hartleby’s will had been read the day before and the news had sped about town, running rampant through the parlors. Oswin Hartleby had left few bequests and astonishingly high debts.
Old fool, the thief thought in derision, then grinned widely in amusement. Poor Hildy. Having lost her husband, she was about to lose her precious diamonds, as well. If not to a thief in the night, or hungry debtors, then to her prickly middle-aged stepchildren who felt the exquisite set should remain in their care.
The stones shimmered in the thin ray of moonlight. The necklace was a gaudy trinket in many ways. It reeked of new money, lacking the taste that came with inherited wealth.
It was much admired in San Francisco.
If, by some chance, the widow didn’t weep for it, there were a good many other covetous women in the city who would.
The necklace dropped into a dark bag with a slight tinkle of sound and was joined by the matching earrings. There was little else of interest in the jewelry box to add to the cache. Although they’d been married nearly five years, Hildy had received promises from Oswin rather than more baubles. The thief closed the lid quietly and walked silently to the window. More moonlight spilled into the room, outlining the dark-clothed form as the drapes were parted. If there had been another in the room they would have seen a figure of average height but little else. A silk mask covered the lower section of the thief’s face, a cloth cap disguised both the color and length of the robber’s hair. A shapeless sack coat and baggy trousers hid any trace of build. To all intents and purposes it had been a shadow that had retrieved the diamonds from the wall safe in Hartleby’s house.
If any of the sleeping residents heard a sound in the master suite, they put it down to Oswin Hartleby’s ghost Now that he was gone, his young widow had moved her personal belongings to a more cheerful room down the hall.
The thief moved quickly, letting the drapes fall closed, returning the room to its peaceful slumber. Outside the night grew attentive to a shadow’s needs. Tendrils of fog stretched from the sea to shroud the moon. When the veil was complete, the thief slid from hiding, hastening to take Hartleby’s diamonds to their new home.
Chapter One (#ulink_918747ab-84d4-507f-b522-a7990c3d0fe9)
The slap echoed in the parlor.
A lone beam of sunlight shone through the bow window, falling on the intense young couple who stood frozen in the center of the room. It burnished the pale flaxen locks of the woman, and brought a brighter sheen to the rose fabric of her afternoon gown and the multilayered train that spilled away from it across the fading patterns in the Oriental rug. The man’s dark-suited back was turned away from the day, his expression temporarily masked by shadows and the tawny, rather rakish side whiskers that framed his lean cheeks.
The woman was the first to recall her lines, words she had heard other women speak, words she had never thought to utter, especially to this man.
“How dare you,” Winona Abbot rasped. Her hand stung sharply, a physical reflection of the blow Deegan Galloway had dealt her ego.
“I love you,” he answered simply. “I made a mistake and…”
“A mistake!” Wyn swung away from him. Crossing the room, she snapped open the pocket doors. Moments ago they had turned the front parlor of her family’s Nob Hill mansion into a private haven for lovers. Now that same sanctuary felt like a prison that confined Deegan and her in each other’s company.
“You don’t understand, Wyn,” he said.
She wheeled back to face him, the rich fabric of her train whirling with the motion. “Oh, I understand only too well. It was never me you cared about, Deegan. It was my dowry. After all,” she snapped, her usually soft tone harsh with sarcasm, “there is so much a man can accomplish with a quarter of a million dollars.”
He stood his ground on center stage, the imprint of her hand still clear on his face. “With you it was never the money, Wyn. Never.”
If he meant to pacify her with the compliment, the effort was a failure. Her deep green eyes, dark lashed and mysteriously foreign against her fair coloring, flashed with indignation. The delicate curve of her chin tilted upward in a challenge. “So you admit it You are a fortune hunter.”
Deegan drew a deep breath, the air hissing through his clenched teeth. “I wish to God I knew who told you about Leonore Cronin.”
There was a part of her that wished she had never learned of his perfidy, as well. But she had, from Leonore’s own lips. “Did you think she and I didn’t travel in the same circles, Deegan?”
“I thought,” he said, “that you would understand when I did the girl a kindness…”
Wyn’s brows rose at the inappropriateness of the term.
Deegan plowed on as if he hadn’t noticed, “…and danced attendance on her last night. She looked so miserable sitting with the chaperons along the wall. I merely asked her to dance.”
“I see. And was it then or on a previous occasion that you poured honeyed love words in her shell-like ears?”
She noticed Deegan had the grace to look embarrassed at hearing his own words thrown back in his face. How many times had he praised her own beauty using the trite phrase? How many times had she fallen happily into his arms, her maidenly reserve melted by his murmured praises of her charms?
At twenty-five, Wyn had thought she knew the wiles of men well enough not to make herself a fool over one of them. She had been wrong.
Wyn turned her back on Deegan, unwilling any longer to gaze on his handsome features. She had believed she loved him and yet had never been sure of him, never trusted him. That being so, the pain of his deception should not be this sharp. Wyn rested her brow against the highly polished molding around the door. “Oh, Deegan,” she whispered in anguish, “tell me true. Was this gallant behavior begun before or after you discovered Leonore’s father made his fortune in Nevada silver? Did you know she is his sole heir?”
When he didn’t answer immediately, her heart broke a little more.
“Wyn…” Deegan took a step toward her, his hand touched her shoulder.
“Don’t.” She didn’t want him to lie to her anymore, wouldn’t tempt him to do so for the sake of a relationship that, for her, no longer existed. Wyn straightened her shoulders, gathered her courage. “I think it would be best if you left.”
Deegan’s hand fell away. “You aren’t being fair to me, Wyn,” he said quietly. “I love you. You love me. I would think you’d be pleased that I played Galahad for your little friend.”
Played Galahad. Is that what he called the hours he’d spent with Leonore? According to the desolate girl, he had called on her with flowers, had whispered tender words, had squired her on rides through the park, had in every instance shown that he was courting her. In Leonore’s eyes Deegan had done everything except formally ask for her hand. Earlier that day when they had both chanced to visit the same home, Leonore had burst into tears when Wyn was teased about her own relationship with Deegan Galloway. Flinging the accusation that Wyn had set out to steal her fianc#233;, Leonore had run from the room, leaving an embarrassed silence behind her.
“Please, Wyn. Forgive me,” Deegan pleaded softly.
How could a woman forgive unfaithfulness? It was the ultimate insult and Deegan had compounded it by being unfaithful to two women at once.
Surreptitiously Wyn regarded him, her gaze dispassionate. Once she had thought his brown eyes to be beautiful, an almost feminine feature in his otherwise masculine face. But now there was a desperation in them when they met hers. Rather than eliciting tenderness and compassion, the emotion hardened Wyn’s heart. Leonore had looked that way before fleeing earlier that day. Wyn would never forget that moment, or the man who had caused the younger woman such pain and disillusionment.
