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Indiscretions
Gail Ranstrom
Tropical heat…burning passionDaphne had sacrificed everything to remain unknown in her tropical paradise. But if Lord Lockwood recognized the woman who had fled England with a crime on her conscience, nothing could keep her safe….Even the thought of future punishment could not dampen present desire. Lockwood's lips reawakened the passionate woman she had once been. What harm, Daphne reasoned, could come from one stolen kiss? Still, she could not allow her feelings to overpower her sense–it was too dangerous. She'd denied herself for five years. Surely she could deny Lockwood for a few weeks?
It had been months since he’d kissed a woman as enticing as this one.
Slowly, allowing her to escape if that was her wish, he bent to her lips. To his profound relief, Daphne did not demur. When her lips parted ever so slightly, he was quick to take the gift she offered. Her mouth was plush and tasted of a subtle honey blended with flowers and heat.
Lockwood met her tongue, shared his fire and hunger with her. A shivering sigh was her only response, as if she was struggling to regain her senses. Dear Lord, he knew he was lost. A single kiss, and he wanted her with an intensity that nearly doubled him over.
Instead, she placed one trembling palm against his chest and pushed him away with a little gasp.
What a sweet little fool she was if she thought they could recork that bottle. Once opened, that particular brew was too intoxicating to leave untasted.
Praise for Gail Ranstrom
The Courtesan’s Courtship
“This book should not be missed.”
—Rakehell
The Rake’s Revenge
“Ranstrom crafts an intriguing mystery, brimming with a fine cast of strong and likable characters and a few surprises.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
The Missing Heir
“Ranstrom draws us into this suspenseful tale right up to the very end.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Saving Sarah
“Gail Ranstrom has written a unique story with several twists that work within the confines of Regency England… If Ranstrom’s first book showed promise, then Saving Sarah is when Ranstrom comes of age.”
—The Romance Reader
A Wild Justice
“Gail Ranstrom certainly has both writing talent and original ideas.”
—The Romance Reader
Indiscretions
Gail Ranstrom
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Shirley, Fritzie, Winnie and Sadie, who taught me
all I needed to know about being a lady. And for
Cheryl, Tanya, Christine and Sandi, who taught me all
I needed to know about being a woman.
And with everlasting gratitude to Lisa, Suzi,
Eileen and Tracy.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Prologue
London
August 11, 1815
T he second blow sent sudden pain racing along Elise’s nerves to explode in her brain. She cringed and raised her arms to protect her head. Striking back only angered him further. Oh, but the last little shred of pride and self-respect she still possessed demanded that she defend herself, no matter what the cost. No matter what the consequences.
She skittered backward until she cleared his reach and then staggered to her feet. “No, my lord! Back away now, before I call for help.”
Her husband laughed at her hollow threat. “The servants won’t come, madam. They’d lose their living, and they know it. And you, pathetic cow that you are, will not leave me because you’d have to leave your brat behind.”
“Your heir,” she corrected.
“Heir,” Barrett snarled. “You gave me a puny, sickly squalling little brat. That’s what I get for marrying a chit barely out of the schoolroom. But you’re going to remedy that now, aren’t you, Elise? Spread your legs and I might not hit you again.”
He unfastened his trousers and bile rose in her stomach. His eyes were wild and his breath stank of whiskey. If he touched her, she would vomit. She’d had enough of his brutal lovemaking. She shook her head. “Go back to your mistress, Barrett. There is no comfort for you here.”
He launched at her with a strangled cry. “By God, your brother did not warn me of your stupidity when I bought you. Give me value for my money. Do your duty!”
Her back hit the wall, trapping her. A thin wail drifted from the adjacent room. Their voices had woken William. She turned toward the sound. The governess had quit after Barrett’s last fit of temper, and she hadn’t been able to find a replacement. “Let me go to him, my lord. He needs me.”
“Your duty is to me, Elise, and ’tis time you learned it.” He turned and headed for the adjoining door.
Terrified, she followed. “Wait, my lord. Let him cry. I… I will give you what you want.”
“Aye, you will. When I’m done here.” He threw the door open and crossed to the bed. Seizing the three-year-old, he held him aloft. “Is this what you love best, madam?”
“Barrett, please,” she choked, fear clogging her throat. She tore off her wrapper, exposing herself in her thin nightdress. “Put him back and…and I…”
“I’ll have it anyway, madam. It’s mine to take as I please.” He tucked little William under one arm and headed to the window. “But first I’ll rid us of this useless appendage.”
Oh, dear God! He meant to throw William out the window and he was drunk enough to do it! He had his back to her and, without thinking, she seized a brass candlestick and hit him over the head. He dropped to his knees and William tumbled onto the woven rug, still crying and hiccupping.
Barrett turned toward her, hatred in his eyes and a trickle of blood oozing down his cheek from his temple. “You will pay for that!” He staggered to his feet, the child forgotten in his fury.
It was hopeless. Barrett was insane and he knew her weakness. William would never be safe. His lips drew back in a snarl and his hands stretched out for her. He no longer meant to claim his marital rights—he meant to kill her. She fled back to her room and he tackled her, bringing her down with a breathless thud. Her forehead hit the marble hearth and her head swam as blood streamed from the gash in her skin.
Frantic, knowing that if he killed her there would be no one left to protect William from his father, she groped above her head, seeking anything she could use to stop him.
She gripped the fire poker and rolled faceup.
Barrett’s expression was a study in madness. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he ripped her nightdress away from her breasts. Sobbing, she brought the poker down on his shoulder and again on his head. And again. And again.
He collapsed on her and was still, his weight compressing the air from her lungs. Still weeping and panting, she dropped the poker and pushed his weight to the side. She wriggled free, clutching the gaping sides of her nightdress together and using a shred to wipe the blood from her forehead.
William’s cry was frenzied now, almost a scream. She half crawled, half stumbled back to the other room, gathered him up from the floor and held him close. Still in a daze, she crooned and rocked back and forth, murmuring reassurances.
“Hush, William. Hush. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
When she’d soothed the toddler, she put him back in his bed and returned to her room. Barrett still lay facedown and unmoving in front of the fireplace. There was a wide split on the back of his head and his skull showed through a gap in his hair. A widening puddle of blood had formed on the hearth. A clock in a distant part of the house struck midnight.
Her stomach convulsed. She had killed her husband! She groped for the chamber pot, emptied her stomach and then wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. There would be hell to pay! Barrett’s younger brother, Alfred, would take William away, then see that she was arrested and hanged. Alfred had always been ambitious for his own sons. Elise would not put it past the man to eliminate William so his own son could inherit the title and wealth.
No. No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She staggered to her dressing room and donned a dark blue dress, then pulled her valise down from an upper shelf. With no particular plan, she threw a few serviceable gowns and the contents of her jewel chest into the case, then carried it to William’s room and packed the necessary items for him. There would be a ship leaving the docks. Any ship. It didn’t matter where it was going. She’d go to hell if she had to.
Chapter One
London
September 1, 1820
R eginald Hunter, sixth Earl of Lockwood, regarded the undersecretary of the Foreign Office with doubt. “I don’t know, Lord Eastman. I’m with the Home Office. How can I help you?”
“The lines between the Home and Foreign Offices have blurred recently, especially in the West Indies. St. Claire is a British colony, which would put it under the auspices of the Home Office, but since we are dealing with other nationalities and subjects, the Foreign Office has taken charge.”
Hunt settled into the deep overstuffed chair across from Lord Eastman and accepted a small goblet of brandy from the footman. What could the man be about to say that required them to meet at their club instead of the government offices? Either Eastman wanted him drunk, or he had a concern with security at the office.
He cupped the goblet in his right hand and warmed the deep red liquid. “Did Castlereagh inform you that I’ve tendered my resignation to the Home Office?” The last thing he wanted on the eve of his retirement from public service was to become embroiled in someone else’s problem. He’d paid his dues, and an extra measure besides. What more could they ask than his soul?
“Yes, your resignation.” Eastman nodded. “That’s why we were hoping to persuade you to join us.”
“Thank you for the confidence, but why would I trade one dangerous job for another? I’m weary of risking my life at the turn of a corner. And now that we’ve finally dealt with—”
“The white slaver. Yes, heard about that. Just a week or so ago, wasn’t it?”
“That was the last loose end. I can quit in good conscience now, take my seat in the Lords and settle down.”
Eastman sipped his own brandy. “You’ve barely reached your apex, Lockwood,” he said, using Hunt’s title. “This assignment is a little plum. Easy as pie and something you could do in your sleep. Think of it as a holiday.”
In his experience, nothing the government asked of him was that simple. “Then have someone else go on holiday.”
