by Laurel McKee
She didn’t like that feeling at all, that sense that her moorings to the real world would snap and she’d drift up into the sky.
She turned away to pretend to study a menu on the wall. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean his elbow on the high counter to order. He gave a smile to the waitress, and the girl giggled. Lily studied his profile, the sharply etched perfection of it, the way he casually brushed his hair back. She was accustomed to being around handsome men. The St. Claires were all very good-looking and garnered more than their share of female attention wherever they went. The actors they worked with were often the same. She hardly noticed such things now.
It was different with Aidan Huntington. She was all too aware of everything about him.
Don’t be silly, she told herself. She twisted her soft kid gloves in her hands and forced herself to stay still. Aidan was no danger to her. Not here in this crowded place. Not if she didn’t let him.
“You look very deep in thought,” she heard him say. She glanced up to see him setting a tray of tea and scones on the table. He smiled at her but it was a different smile, quizzical, questioning. “And not very pleasant thoughts, I would wager.”
Lily made herself smile in return and reached for the tea to pour. She welcomed the routine, the familiar motions, something to root her in the everyday. “I was just daydreaming, I fear. Organizing things in my mind.”
“What sort of things?” he asked, watching her closely.
She peered across the table at him and tried to gauge whether he was merely being polite. But his blue eyes were focused only on her, waiting for her answer.
She passed him the cup of tea, and his fingers drifted over hers as he took it from her. His touch lingered a little longer than necessary, and she sighed at the warm feeling of his skin on hers, the strength of those elegant fingers. They were slightly rougher than she would expect from a gentleman.
She glanced down as he slid away and noticed ink stains on his fingers. She remembered his confession on that long-ago night at the Majestic, that he wanted to write plays. She wondered if he still harbored that dream or if being a duke’s spoiled son took all of his time.
She wondered if he remembered that night at all.
She shook her head and tried to recall what he had asked her. “I am helping my brother with a new business venture,” she said.
“Sounds promising,” he answered. “What sort of business?”
Lily took a sip of her tea and studied him over the white rim of the cup. She almost answered him by name, before she recalled that they were supposed to be strangers. “I don’t even know your name,” she said.
He gave her that rakish grin again, and she saw the flash of a dimple low in his cheek. She had the strangest, strongest urge to press her fingertip there, to lean across the table and lick him, taste him, feel that tiny indentation on her tongue.
Lily sat back in her chair in shock. She never had such feelings about a man, such erotic urges. Not after seeing her mother’s life in the brothel, the girls she knew on the streets, seeing where such things always led. She wrapped her hands tightly around her cup and looked away from him.
“Easy enough to remedy,” he said. “I am Aidan Huntington, at your service. And you are…”
Lily touched the tip of her tongue to her suddenly dry lips and tried to ignore the way his gaze sharpened on that tiny gesture. “I am Lily Nichols.”
“Nichols?” A frown flickered over his brow. “Why is that—Ah.” He sat back in his chair and stared at her, studied her. As if this were the first time he saw her. “Juliet.”
Despite the confusing swirl of emotions inside of her, Lily had to laugh at his thunderstruck expression. “I did wonder if you would remember. It was so long ago.” And he had surely known so many women, so many intimate moments, between then and now.
“Not that long ago. I have been gone on family business to the West Indies since then.” He leaned his forearms on the small table; he was so close she could smell him. The light touch of some expensive cologne, the dark scent of his skin. His stare was so intent on her face.
“So you married your greengrocer,” he said quietly.
“Yes, I did. But he died last year.”
“And you never went back on the stage.”
Lily remembered too well the frozen terror of that night, humiliation that only burned away when he kissed her. “Never. Acting is not for me.”
“I looked for you,” he said. His hand slid over hers, a quick, soft gesture hidden under the folds of a napkin. “But the name in the program was a false one.”
“Thankfully. One less embarrassment if no one knows who I really am. My sister took over the role after that.”
“Isabel St. Claire is your sister? I have heard about her.”
Lily gave a wry laugh. Of course he knew of Issy—everyone who saw her onstage fell in love with her red-gold hair, green eyes, and sweet manner. Any interest Aidan Huntington had in Lily would surely flee now. “My adoptive sister, yes.”
She waited for him to ask her to introduce him to Issy, but he just frowned. His hand slid over hers again. His fingertip rubbed across the tiny band of skin where her wedding ring once rested.
“Lily,” he said softly, as if to himself.
“Aidan,” she whispered. She turned her hand palm up and let his fingers tangle with hers for the merest instant. She couldn’t seem to help herself. He had her caught in some spell.
“There is so much I want to ask you,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the crowded cafe. “But this doesn’t seem to be the place. When can I see you again?”
Lily stared at him in surprise. “You would like to see me again?”
A rueful half-smile drifted over his lips. “You can tell me to stay away, if that’s what you want. I can’t promise I will do it, but you can tell me to.”
And that was exactly what she should do. But it was not what she wanted to do. Lily was suddenly weary of doing what she should do. She wanted to cease to be cautious for a moment, to be mischievous and seize life as her siblings did. Even as she knew it would not end well.
“My brother and I are opening an exclusive new club in Mayfair in a fortnight,” she said. “If you will give me your direction, I can send you an invitation.”
Aidan laughed, and his hand fell away. “There’s no chance of anything a bit sooner, is there?”
Lily laughed, too, and shook her head. “I am too busy before then. It’s not a long time to open a new business.”
“I’ll take what I can get, then. For now.” His eyes held some hint of warning—he would not wait for very long.
Lily felt a shiver ripple over her skin at the threat and promise in his eyes. She didn’t know what this was between them. The power of it both drew her in, like a moth to the fatal flame, and made her want to run. To never see him again, even as the thought of that was painful.
“Thank you for the tea,” she said. “I should go now.”
“Do you have your carriage here?”
Lily shook her head. “I took a hansom.”
“Then let me drive you home.”
She considered refusing. His dashing yellow curricle was so small; she wasn’t sure how she would feel pressed close to him on the narrow seat. Her body against his.
But she found herself nodding. “Very well. Thank you. It’s not far.”
He took her arm in a light grasp as he led her out of the cafe and back onto the crowded street. He held her close, safe from the jostling, and drew her back toward the wider lanes outside the warren of shops and restaurants. He kept up a light stream of talk as they went, making her laugh at his jests, his observations of the people around them. She even found herself relaxing somewhat and let herself enjoy his touch on her arm, the protective closeness of his strong body.
But then they turned a corner, and she glimpsed a figure lounging against the brick wall across the street. A muscular figure with close-cropped black hair and clad in plaid trousers and leather
coat and holding a stout, skull-headed walking stick.
Oh, Christ, that stick! It could not be.
Lily’s whole body went stiff with a rush of raw fear. He was dead. She had heard he was, that he had died in Australia, and even the old nightmares had started to fade as the years went on and she never saw him again. This had to be an illusion. She was probably overly tired from working on the plans for the club.
She peered past Aidan’s shoulder, back to the wall, but no one was there now.
Her skin still prickled with awareness, with the fear she had known all the time as a child, and she gave her head a hard shake. She had only imagined it. He was gone. He no longer had any power over her.
“Lily?” Aidan asked. “Are you well? You look so pale.”
Lily jerked her attention away from the wall and back to Aidan’s handsome face. He looked concerned, and his hand tightened on her arm. But the fear of the past, of that man, still held her in its cold, iron grip. She drew away from Aidan.
“I am quite well,” she answered shortly, and walked away down the street.
Not real, not real, she told herself as Aidan fell back into step beside her. If only she could believe it.
Aidan leaned against his carriage door and watched Lily as she hurried up the back stairs to her house. She wouldn’t let him leave her at the front door and walk her inside. She had insisted he drive her to the mews tucked behind the garden. And as he helped her down, he could swear she nervously scanned the windows to make sure no one was watching.
What was she hiding?
That hint of mystery, of intrigue, only made her more attractive to him. He had always loved a woman with secrets. It made it so much more fun to uncover them all, layer by layer.
Especially when the secrets came in as pretty a package as Lily St. Claire Nichols.
She paused by the door to glance back at him. She gave him a tentative smile, a little wave with her gloved hand. He barely had time to wave back before she whirled around and dashed into the house.
Aidan grinned as he flexed his fingers and remembered the brush of her skin against his just there, the rainy-violet scent that seemed to linger on his hand. He was a man who liked women, enjoyed their company, and he had known a great many of them in his life. If anyone knew exactly how many, it would be a scandal. Yet he had never felt anything quite like the sensation that shot through his hand when Lily touched him. The hot awareness that jolted straight to his manhood.
He glanced up at the windows, hoping for one more glimpse of her face, but the glass was blank. Aidan swung back up into the carriage and gathered the reins. Soon he was back on the crowded streets, turning toward his lodgings on Jermyn Street. But his thoughts were still on Lily St. Claire.
Usually he knew all too easily how to woo a lady, could see as soon as they met what would lure her in. With Lily St. Claire, he was baffled, thrown off his game. She was like no other woman he had ever met.
He drew up outside his lodging house and tossed the reins to a footman as he leaped to the ground. Soon enough he would get to see Lily again, when he went to her brother’s gambling club—two birds with one stone.
And then he would start to slowly unravel the delicious mystery of Lily St. Claire.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Kate Brady
Dear Reader,
People always ask: “Where do you get your ideas for books?” Usually I don’t have a clue. But in the case of WHERE ANGELS REST, I actually recall the two seedlings of ideas that ultimately grew into this story. The first was a trailer on TV for an upcoming talk show. The interview was to be with a mother who had chased her child’s rapist from state to state for years, basically raising hell wherever he tried to surface.
I never saw the show, but I remember thinking, That would make a great heroine: a woman who has dedicated her life to exposing someone she knows is dangerous.
Dr. Erin Sims was born.
The second idea evolved more gradually, but I can still name it: It’s the town where I grew up. You see, I’m from Hopewell, Ohio. Well, not really, because there is no “Hopewell” in Ohio—at least not one I could find on a map. But I grew up in a Hopewell. Towns like my fictitious Hopewell are scattered all over the Midwest and, for that matter, the whole country. They’re chock-full of sleepy charm, and they provide the perfect haven for someone battered and beaten by the evils of the larger world.
Sheriff Nick Mann was born.
When the two ideas merged—a man protecting the sanctity of a town that appears peaceful, and a woman who knows that appearances can be deceiving—I knew I had the makings for a story.
In WHERE ANGELS REST, Erin Sims takes her hunt for a demented serial killer to a quaint town that couldn’t possibly harbor such evil. There she unearths secrets Nick Mann refuses to believe—after he’s spent years working to make Hopewell his refuge from a tortured past and a safe haven for his daughter’s future. Eventually he can’t deny the truth, no more than he can deny that the fire in Erin Sims has reignited not only his long-buried passion for police work but also his long-denied desire for love.
I hope you’ll enjoy the ride as Erin and Nick set out to unravel a demented villain’s compulsion to silence the angels who are privy to horrific, long-hidden truths. And while you’re at it, catch a glimpse of my next hero, Nick’s brother, who will hopefully whet your appetite for the second book in the series, coming soon!
Happy Reading!
www.katebrady.net
From the desk of Laurel McKee
Dear Reader,
For as long as I can remember I’ve been a “theater geek”! My parents took me to see a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream when I was about six, and I loved everything about it—the costumes, the music, the way it felt like an escape from the real world into Shakespeare’s fairy-tale woods. I decided right then that I wanted to be an actress. I put on productions at home (recruiting my little brother and our family dog to be the other performers) and made my parents buy tickets. (Until I got in trouble for using my mom’s antique lace tablecloth for a costume.)
Then I got older, did some community theater, and found out I was lacking one essential element for being an actress—talent! But I’ve never lost my love of going to the theater. There is just something about settling into one of those velvet seats, reading the glossy program, waiting for the curtain to go up and a whole new world to be revealed. I was so happy to “meet” the St. Claire family and have the chance to live in their world for a while, to vicariously be part of the theater all over again.
The Victorian age was a great era for the theater. The enthusiastic patronage of Queen Victoria meant that the theater was becoming more respectable, and actors and actresses were more accepted in society. People like Ellen Terry and Henry Irving at the Lyceum Theater were celebrities and artists, and a new style of theatergoing was taking hold. The audience actually sat and watched the play in silence instead of having supper and gossiping with their friends! Our modern idea of theater was born in this time period.
I loved seeing my own St. Claire family in the very thick of this exciting period, on the cusp between scandal and respectability! But with them, I think they will tend more toward the scandal side of things…
I’m thrilled with how TWO SINFUL SECRETS turned out, and hope that you all enjoy it!
Happy Reading!
www.LaurelMckee.net
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Twitter, @AmandaLaurel1
From the desk of Cara Elliott
Dear Reader,
For those of you who have been asking me about the maddeningly mysterious Cameron Daggett, well, the wait is over! Connor and Gryff—those two other devilishly dashing Lords of Midnight—have been tamed by love, and now, in TOO DANGEROUS TO DESIRE, it’s Cameron’s turn to meet his match. But trust me, it wasn’t easy to find a way to unlock his heart.
The most cynical of the three friends, he had go
od reason to keep his feelings well guarded, for he had been hurt in the past. Luckily I knew just the right lady to turn the key. (Be advised that opening locks is not as easy as it might seem. Sometimes it takes some very deft and clever manipulations to release all the little levers—as several scenes in the book will show!) But of course, as this is a romance, Cameron finds his happily-ever-after with Sophie Lawrance.
I, however, must confess to shedding a few tears on having my Lords of Midnight trilogy come to an end. All of the characters have become such dear friends, so it’s hard not to feel very sad as they move away from the cozy little neighborhood of my desk to live in far-flung places all around the world. I’ll miss their wonderful company—we had coffee together most every day for so long! However, it’s time to let them go off and have their own future adventures, so I’m looking forward to making new friends who will share my morning jolts of caffeine (along with those afternoon nibbles of chocolate).
And speaking of new friends, I’ve already met a delightfully unconventional trio of sisters with a passion for writing. Olivia, the eldest, pens fiery political essays; Anna, middle sister, writes racy romance novels; and Caro, who is not quite out of the schoolroom, is a budding poet. Of course, proper young Regency ladies of the ton—especially ones who have very small dowries—are not encouraged to have an interest in intellectual pursuits. Indeed, the only thing they are encouraged to pursue is an eligible bachelor. Preferably one with both a title and a fortune. So the headstrong, opinionated Sloane sisters must keep their passions a secret.
Ah, but we all know that secret passions are wont to lead a lady into trouble…
Alas, I can already report that Olivia has set off sparks with the Earl of Wrexham, a paragon of propriety, who—
Oh, but that would be spoiling all the fun! I’ll let you read all about it for yourself. All I’ll say is that I’m so excited about starting my new series! Please be sure to check out my website www.caraelliott.com for more updates on the Hellions of Half Moon Street!
