A Scandalous Secret
Spies and Lovers
Laura Trentham
As the daughter of England’s spymaster, Miss Victoria Hawkins is no stranger to secrets. Her biggest secret is the tender feelings she holds for Thomas Garrick, her father’s personal guard. As the pressure to choose a husband at an upcoming Christmas house party mounts, Victoria grows desperate. When circumstances trap them together in a cottage with a single bed and a bottle of brandy, her infatuation with the gruff Garrick might cause the scandal of the season…and give Victoria exactly what she wishes for this Christmas.
Contents
Blurb
Also by Laura Trentham
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Also by Laura Trentham
About the Author
Also by Laura Trentham
Historical Romance
Spies and Lovers
An Indecent Invitation Book 1
A Brazen Bargain, Book 2
A Reckless Redemption, Book 3
A Sinful Surrender, Book 4
A Wicked Wedding, Book 5
A Daring Deception, Book 6
A Scandalous Secret, Book 7
Spies and Lovers Boxset
* * *
Contemporary Romance
Sweet Home Alabama Novels
Slow and Steady Rush, Book 1
Caught Up in the Touch, Book 2
Melting Into You, Book 3
Christmas in the Cop Car, Novella 3.5
The Sweet Home Alabama Collection
* * *
Highland, Georgia Novels
A Highlander Walks Into a Bar, Book 1
A Highlander in a Pickup, Book 2
A Highlander is Coming to Town, Book 3
* * *
Heart of a Hero Novels
The Military Wife
An Everyday Hero
* * *
Cottonbloom Novels
Kiss Me That Way, Book 1
Then He Kissed Me, Book 2
Till I Kissed You, Book 3
* * *
Christmas in the Cop Car, Novella 3.5
Light Up the Night, Novella 3.75
* * *
Leave the Night On, Book 4
When the Stars Come Out, Book 5
Set the Night on Fire, Book 6
* * *
Fieldstones Adventure Novellas by Leah Trent
An Impetuous Interlude, Fieldstones Adventure Book 1
A Naughty Notion, Fieldstones Adventure Book 2
A Mysterious Masquerade, Fieldstones Adventure Book 3
A Dangerous Desire, Fieldstones Adventure Book 4
The Fieldstones Adventures Boxset
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www.LauraTrentham.com
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Chapter 1
Thomas Garrick stood sentinel outside Sir Hawkins’s study. His stance was deliberately casual, but he remained on alert at all times, even in the London town house Sir Hawkins and his family called home. He didn’t try to be intimidating, yet the young scullery maid gave him a wide berth on her daily chores. He’d made the mistake of smiling at her once. She’d acted like he was planning to gobble her up and spit out her bones.
He was often stationed outside Sir Hawkins’s study in case he was needed to confer on operations, deliver sensitive messages, escort Sir Hawkins to and from Westminster, or less often these days, safeguard Lady Hawkins or Miss Hawkins on their errands. Garrick was the only man Hawkins trusted with his family, life, and secrets.
The Hawkins’s only child, Victoria, traipsed down the stairs in a long-sleeved frock of buttercup yellow, glowing like she had swallowed the sun on the chilly winter day. Her unruly black hair had been braided and pinned up, but sprigs had escaped to curl around her temple and nape. Her complexion was rosy and betrayed her forays into the garden without her bonnet even as the weather had turned colder.
Watching her from under his lashes, Garrick remained perfectly still so he could study her unawares for as long as possible. A pensive expression had settled on her features, but it was not truly at home there. Victoria’s disposition was usually as sunny and optimistic as her frock. What was she considering with such focus that she still hadn’t spotted him only an arm’s length away as she took the last step?
“Good morn, Miss Hawkins,” he said formally.
She jerked away from him as if she expected an attack, her hand at her throat. He straightened and touched her elbow, surprised at the vehemence of her reaction. She grasped his forearm and moved closer to him. It was his turn to stifle surprise.
The touch was intimate, and she didn’t let go, not even when their gazes clashed. He found it impossible to plumb the depths of her dark blue eyes for her thoughts. She had been a mystery to him since the day Sir Hawkins had brought him into his home like a stray puppy. His interactions with the opposite sex had been nonexistent at the orphanage, and memories of his time before tragedy befell him had faded.
Since reaching manhood, his experience had broadened, of course, but she was still more fascinating and complicated than any woman of his acquaintance. Her nature was in turns bubbly and introspective. The superficial facade she presented to her callers was often undercut by wry observations that reminded him of her father, whose intellect and logic made him a formidable weapon as England’s spymaster.
Only inches separated them. For his own sanity, he’d done his best to keep his distance the past two years. She was a lady whose mother expected her to marry into the ton to broaden and expand the family’s connections. The orphaned son of a blacksmith did not qualify.
While it was winter outside, her scent was summer—honeysuckle and heat. He cursed the leap his heart made into a faster rhythm. Victoria was off-limits. Sir Hawkins was his employer. No, he was more than that. He was both mentor and a father figure. Sir Hawkins had plucked him out of poverty and deprivation. It was not being melodramatic to say Garrick owed Sir Hawkins his life and livelihood.
The cynical part of Garrick that had blossomed in the orphanage understood the way Sir Hawkins had saved him meant his loyalty to the man knew no bounds. It was a wise, if cold-blooded, ploy on Sir Hawkins’s part.
Would Sir Hawkins mourn if one day Garrick lost his life in service to Crown and country? He thought so, but Sir Hawkins would replace him within the week nonetheless. Garrick alternatively admired and despised the pitiless mentality Sir Hawkins possessed.
Victoria released his arm and stepped to the opposite side of the study door. He opened and closed his hand, flexing his forearm, the ghost of her touch branding him and applying a spark to the tinder of attraction simmering between them. As usual, he ignored it.
Victoria smiled. Not a polite, simpering smile. He wasn’t sure she even had the skill for such. Her smile was one of such warmth and energy that blood hummed through Garrick as if he’d downed a carafe of Arabian coffee.
Had Garrick ever seen Sir Hawkins smile out of simple happiness? He stifled a guffaw at the thought. Sir Hawkins was not a sunny, happy man. And neither was Garrick. He didn’t have the luxur
y of happiness. Life was a struggle and mostly unfair, and nothing in his recent experience had contradicted that theory.
Yet Victoria’s mere existence proved there was light and goodness and beauty in the world. How some London dandy hadn’t snapped her off the marriage mart was a great mystery of the universe.
He resumed his stance of casual alertness, and she mimicked him, propping her shoulder against the wall and crossing her arms. His gaze dipped to her décolletage, which her arms framed rather deliciously even though her bodice was modest. He snapped his attention back to her face.
“Thomas.” No one called him Thomas but her. “You were lurking.”
Her voice held a sultry, husky quality that hinted at a passion barely constrained by her innocence. How he envied the man who would have the honor of unleashing her ardor and nurturing her natural curiosity. The intimacy should not be allowed, yet he did nothing to correct her.
“I apologize for frightening you.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “However, I wasn’t lurking. I was standing here clear as day, but you were woolgathering.”
“I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Father would be disappointed in me.” The look she cast him through her lashes was unintentionally flirtatious. Or was it intentional? His ruminations on the possibility were interrupted when she asked, “Has Father tasked you with holding up the wall for the duration of the day?”
“I shall endeavor to keep it from toppling upon your head.”
“That seems like a waste of your considerable talents.” Her gaze flicked across his shoulders and chest, and his muscles tensed in response. “But I imagine you will do an admirable job.”
What did the gleam in her eyes mean? Was she comparing him to the foppish men who came to call on her in their tailored frock coats? Most of them had never known a day of real labor. How did he measure up against the gentlemen of her acquaintance?
In his line of work, brawn was an asset, and while Garrick hadn’t been gifted with breeding or luck, he had brawn in spades. He was taller than most men, many inches taller than Victoria, and held no illusions as to his looks. His nose had been broken his first day in the orphanage as a welcome from the older boys. Every time he stared into the looking glass, the crook was a reminder of how quickly happiness could be snatched away.
Unlike some of his comrades, he would never be called upon to don proper attire and pass for a gentleman. He was known as Hawk, the silent protector.
“Is Father working at the house today?” Victoria tucked a springy curl behind her ear.
“He is in his study,” Garrick said vaguely. Sir Hawkins was secretive and tight-lipped, and even Garrick never knew what to expect from day to day. He’d learned to think on his feet and be prepared for anything.
“I suppose you know we have been invited to a yuletide house party by Mr. and Mrs. Barclay at their manor in Bedfordshire. Will you be accompanying us?”
“I should think not.” While he’d spent years in Hawkins’s household, he wasn’t part of the family. Yet he wasn’t a servant either. Much like his old tutor, Garrick was caught between worlds.
Sir Hawkins had made sure Garrick’s education was well-rounded and in depth, covering mathematics, history, and weaponry. Not altruistically, of course. Sir Hawkins had reaped the rewards of Garrick’s skills many times over since war with France had broken out.
A crinkle appeared between Victoria’s eyes. “Please tell me Father is not sending you off somewhere distant and dangerous.”
“I don’t believe so, but…” Garrick shrugged. If Sir Hawkins had plans for him, he wasn’t aware of them.
“I worry one day you won’t come home.” Victoria bit the fullness of her lower lip and met his gaze squarely.
It wasn’t unusual for Garrick to return from missions a bit bruised and the worse for wear, but he hadn’t known Victoria noticed. A vulnerability and awareness of their difference in station hit him like a punch to the chest. “This isn’t my home.”
A puzzled look crossed her face. Of course Victoria was aware he’d been orphaned, but he’d never discussed his parents. His life was defined as before and after the tragedy, and even though years had gone by, the loss had the ability to eviscerate his lungs and make it difficult to draw a steady breath.
“But where will you spend the yuletide?”
“I expect I’ll remain in London.”
“Have you… friends in town to make merry with?” The slight hitch in her voice was a chink in her usual confidence.
“Of course.” Lies. He couldn’t name a single person he would feel comfortable calling upon socially. Agents of the Crown made for terrible friends. None of them trusted one another. It was difficult to make merry when constantly on guard against a double cross.
“I see.” Her gaze skated away from him.
What did she see? He wanted to take her by the shoulders and force her to look at him, to strip away the polite, slightly distant facade they’d erected two years ago. Ever since— No, he couldn’t allow himself to revisit their brief moment of madness.
At least not while standing within arm’s length of her. The temptation to engage in another bout of madness was all too strong. He would only allow himself to relive every glorious, agonizing second at night in bed. Alone.
He couldn’t afford entanglements of any kind. His solitary existence was a necessary part of his job. Emotional ties could be manipulated and twisted until desperate choices were forced to be made.
By comparison, Victoria’s social circle was extensive. All manner of ladies came to call in the afternoons, young and old, peeresses and cits. Victoria was the sun, drawing others into her orbit like planets. She could converse on fashion and politics with equal insight. Ladies tripped over themselves to have her ear. It was unfortunate Sir Hawkins didn’t possess his daughter’s charm to coax secrets directly from their sources.
“I’m looking forward to leaving London for the country air. I’m tired of choking on coal smoke,” Victoria said, her own tone turning as brisk and cool as the winter’s wind.
“Won’t you miss the merriments of town?”
A shadow darkened her features before her lips quirked in a small, wry smile. “I will welcome the change in scenery and hopefully find some peace. I confess, even in December, I find London exhausting.”
The hairs on his nape wavered. His natural instincts had been honed by years of confronting subterfuge. What—or who—was she looking to escape? “Is there something amiss?”
“Of course not.” Once more, she avoided meeting his eyes.
She was lying. Or at least not being entirely forthcoming. That Victoria enjoyed a bit of subterfuge was no secret to him, but her sojourns to bookshops and museums in the disguise of a plump, veiled widow in black were harmless. Or was she more like her father than Garrick wanted to believe? Was she dallying in more serious deceptions? He did not enjoy the off-balance feeling the thought gave him.
Lady Hawkins poked her head around the morning room door. While she was petite and delicate-looking, she had ambition and intellect to rival her husband. At the moment, her focus was centered on matching Victoria with a peer in hopes of their family rising another rung in society, and he had no doubt she would succeed. Lady Hawkins and Garrick got on like a hen tolerating a mutt as long as he kept the foxes at bay.
“Come and have tea while it’s hot, Victoria. We have an appointment with the modiste in an hour. How are you this morning, Garrick?” Lady Hawkins asked in a way that indicated polite disinterest.
“It’s a fine, brisk day, ma’am, with bright blue skies.” Garrick inclined his head. “And how are you?”
“Tolerably well.” A smile didn’t mar the stern lines of Lady Hawkins’s face, and her nod was perfunctory. “You take care of yourself and Sir Hawkins too.”
“You can count on me, ma’am.”
Lady Hawkins made a harrumphing sound, but the lines etched along her forehead smoothed. She retreated but left the morning room
door cracked.
If anything happened to Sir Hawkins, Britain would be at a great disadvantage in the chess game of war. It was Sir Hawkins, and not Wellington, who deserved the accolades, but the world at large would never know his name.
Instead of rushing to do her mother’s biding, Victoria tarried with Garrick. The undercurrents between them ruffled his calm like a hand rubbing a dog’s fur the wrong direction. “What’s amiss?” he asked again, this time with more vehemence.
Her lips moved slightly, as if words were desperate to form themselves into a confession. She finally shook her head and smiled a bright, sunny smile that didn’t banish the shadows in her eyes, and her voice took on a falsely blithe lilt. “What on earth could be amiss? I’m to get a new frock this morning.”
With that, she glided away. But before she disappeared into the morning room, she glanced over her shoulder, and their gazes clashed like flint. Fingers of sensation tiptoed down his spine as she disappeared.
Still looking over her shoulder at Thomas, Victoria tripped over the rug and caught herself on the small breakfast table set for two. The bump made the china cups clatter in their saucers. Her mother shot her a glance over the top of the morning paper but returned to reading without commenting on Victoria’s unusual clumsiness.
Victoria had almost told Thomas about her complication. No, it had been a complication a fortnight ago. Now it was bordering on a full-fledged catastrophe. Why had she involved herself in someone else’s love affair?
It was easier to blame her penchant for novels than her naivety. It had seemed romantic and harmless to be the go-between with letters and notes to and from Lady Eleanor Stanfield and Lord Berkwith. Yes, Eleanor’s parents had forbidden the match, but Victoria thought Lord Berkwith charming, not unattractive or old, and in love with her friend. She had been happy to help nurture the tendresse.
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