Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  He had managed to succinctly reduce all her fears, built up over a lifetime of experience and disappointment, into a few sentences. It was galling that he actually did know her that well. Galling too, when she had never once mentioned to him or anyone how self-conscious she was about her cumbersome bosoms, yet the clever wretch had worked that out all for himself too. As she glared and tried to think of a suitable answer which wouldn’t make him smug, while simultaneously not allowing him to realise that she didn’t trust him fully yet because her suspicious and pessimistic mind did require more proof, he smiled his customary cocky, lopsided smile. ‘Guess what? I do want to bed you!’

  He grinned at her affront. ‘I cannot wait to bed you. You are the most beddable woman I have ever met, Hope, as well as the most vexing, and I shall spend all of tonight tossing and turning and yearning, thanks to that splendid kiss earlier, because it wasn’t anywhere near enough to sate the rampant lust that I have for you. Lust which is still coursing through my veins and has pretty much since the first moment I clapped eyes on you sat by that fountain. However...’

  The wolfish smile slowly changed into a different sort, the sort which was all Luke beneath the bravado.

  ‘Unlike those idiots who only ever see your breasts and who assume that because you were given them you must have been created by the Almighty solely as a vessel for man’s passions—I don’t want to just bed them.’ He pointed directly at her chest while still managing to look her directly in the eyes. ‘Because my ardour and affection is for all of you, Hope. Your tempting body is but a fraction of what I want to possess and having you in the carnal and physical sense would feel hollow without having your heart and soul too.’

  She had no earthly idea how to respond to that or even how she felt about it, but conscious that her jaw now hung slack at his hugely improper but strangely thrilling words, she forced herself to close it as he jabbed the night air with his finger.

  ‘And I’ll tell you another thing, my seductive sceptic, I have selflessly decided to deny myself the pleasure of bedding you until you entrust me with all those things unreservedly. In fact, I shall go one further. I shan’t make any attempt to have my wicked way with you until you declare your overwhelming love for me and expressly invite me to. How is that for noble and worthy?’

  He was exasperating with his perfect compliments and annoying respect for her fears. But words were words and he had always had a way with them, but actions spoke louder. She wasn’t entirely sure what sort of action she expected from him on top of all those notable things he had already done to make her wary heart waver, but decided she would know it when she saw it. Until then it was better to be safe than sorry.

  ‘I still see no hurry to make our courtship official.’

  He rolled his dratted eyes again. ‘That is because you are a coward and I am fearless—but at least you concede we are courting at least.’ Doubtless before she could argue that point too, he took himself back inside, closed his stupid French doors on her and pulled his curtains closed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rumours abound, Dear Reader, that the charming new Marquess of T. is about to announce his engagement! And if the sudden arrival of his reclusive mother is any gauge, we anticipate a very hasty wedding indeed. Could it be that the bountiful Miss H. from Bloomsbury, who I am reliably informed appeared intriguingly more bountiful than usual at the theatre last week, is in a hurry to wed...? Or are we all labouring under a misapprehension?

  Whispers from Behind the Fan

  July 1814

  ‘It is an excellent story, Miss Brookes. Suspenseful, chilling and yet still filled with humanity.’ Mr Cooper steepled his fingers on his imposing ebony desk and smiled as he glanced down at the thick manuscript piled symbolically between them. ‘And despite your convoluted ruse to get me to read it...’ A ruse he had not taken well when she had first arrived for their appointment. ‘I would be delighted to publish it. There is a strong market for the Gothic at the moment and your story is without a doubt one of the best examples of the genre I have ever read.’

  She beamed at him in elation, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion to have been deemed worthy enough for such an honour and relieved that she did indeed have a modicum of talent for something, and something she loved to boot. ‘Thank you, Mr Cooper!’ She couldn’t wait to tell Luke she was finally going to be in Hatchard’s. He had insisted on accompanying her here and was likely wearing away the pavement outside because she had refused him entry into the publisher’s office because she needed to do this for herself.

  ‘I’ll give you twenty guineas for the copyright.’ That knocked the wind out of her sails, as it took her precious manuscript completely out of her hands and then prevented her from earning any more money on it if the book became a success.

  ‘The copyright isn’t for sale, Mr Cooper.’ As tempting as it was to settle for thrilled that her work was finally going to be published, she had done her research. Years and years of research while she waited for this opportunity to finally knock. It was the main reason why she had been so determined to court Cooper and Sons in the first place. They were the biggest and best publishing house around, with a brilliant reputation, so they could afford to be choosy.

  She knew that and he knew that, but only moments ago she had promised Luke faithfully she would hold firm. Do not sell yourself short, he had said repeatedly over the last week as he schooled her in the dark art of the business transaction, and never accept the first offer. In business, being able to look a man in the eye and negotiate as if you truly have something they want is the key to getting them to do exactly what you want. And as Luke seemed to be the master of getting people to bend over backwards to do exactly as he wanted, she was prepared to stick to his sage advice like glue. He wanted what was best for her and Phantasma. Mr Cooper wanted what was best for Cooper and Son.

  ‘While twenty guineas is a generous offer, and I am pleased to hear it, Mr Cooper, I am seeking a profit-sharing arrangement. I need no advance.’ Phantasma would stand on its own two feet. Deep down inside she believed the story had what it took. So did Luke who never stopped raving about it to anyone who would listen, so much so, even her parents were taking the time to read it and they never read. And clearly so did Mr Cooper else he wouldn’t be offering twenty guineas to own it lock, stock and barrel.

  The publisher pondered this for several moments, his finger tapping his chin as he stared at her, no doubt waiting, exactly as Luke had cautioned, for her to crumble first. Then, when she didn’t, he begrudgingly nodded.

  ‘I would consider that. Your story is certainly appealing enough and fits the current appetite for the macabre perfectly. What sort of terms are you looking for?’

  ‘A tenth of each book sold.’ He didn’t baulk at that because she had done her research and knew that was within the realms of the going rate. It was reasonable but not outlandish. When he took out her share and the cost of printing, distribution and the bookseller’s cut, he would still earn a tidy profit. And profit, as Luke had also rightly pointed out, was every businessman’s true paramour. ‘And I want my name on the cover.’

  Instantly his face changed. ‘As H. B. Rooke—yes. That pseudonym, it is a nod to your true identity but suitably vague not to raise undue alarm. As you doubtless already know, the general public find literature more palatable if they think it has come from a man’s pen.’

  ‘As most readers are female, I struggle to believe that, Mr Cooper.’ What he actually meant was that he found it more palatable. He and likely every other male publisher out there.

  ‘Yet there it is.’ He smiled, unapologetic. ‘If you’re desirous of seeing your name on the front, Miss Brookes, then perhaps one of the vanity presses are a better option for you to consider than Cooper and Son.’ Even though they both knew that it was also the least profitable route because not only would Hope have to pay all the costs herself, she would then also have to distribut
e it. Whereas, Cooper and Son were the most successful publishing house in the country and sold their books to hundreds of booksellers from Land’s End to John o’ Groats. If Phantasma was going to be a success, and if she was ever going to see it on the shelves in Hatchard’s, she needed a proper, experienced publisher behind her. ‘H. B. Rooke is practically your name anyway give or take a few handy spaces in the text, it seems petty to split hairs over a trifle.’

  A trifle!

  It was hardly a trifle when it meant the world to her!

  She wanted to scream her frustration at the man and if she had had a real trifle handy, he would soon be wearing it.

  ‘Hold your fiery redhead’s temper, harridan! No matter what the provocation.’

  Luke’s final words before she entered this office echoed in her ears.

  ‘Call his bluff instead. Business is a game, play it like you are a master. Show him you are prepared to walk away—and do it if you have to. N-E-G-O-T-I-A-T-E!’

  The wretch had even spelled that last bit exactly like her mother purely to vex her.

  ‘Believe in yourself and your story, Hope, because I do.’

  With her heart in her throat, and bravado firmly strapped in place, she shrugged in what she prayed appeared an unperturbed manner. ‘I think I shall wait to see what Longman’s offer is first before I take that route.’ It was a gamble choosing Mr Cooper’s biggest rival only two doors down on Paternoster Row, especially because she hadn’t heard a squeak out of them since she had sent them a copy of her book two weeks ago, one she hoped paid off as she gathered up the manuscript. She would certainly strangle Luke if it didn’t. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Cooper.’

  She stood, turned and with a cold trickle of sweat dripping down her spine, walked with purpose to the door.

  ‘A hundred guineas for the copyright or a fifteenth of the profits.’ It was a staggering amount for a debut author and he knew it. ‘And that is my final offer, Miss Brookes. I really want that book.’

  ‘But I still do not get my name on the front, do I?’ She could see that as clear as crystal in his wily old eyes.

  ‘Correct...but...’ He sat back in his chair and stared at her levelly as if weighing her up. Then exhaled slowly. ‘I am confident enough in it that I will meet you halfway.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that you agree to be H. B. Rooke in the first instance, and in return I shall give you my word that if this book does as well as we both suspect it will, then Hope Brookes will be emblazoned across the second edition and upon every edition of any subsequent book you write for me.’

  According to Luke, the best compromise should hurt you both equally. And at least this was a compromise. It still hurt, but she hadn’t lost and Mr Cooper was throwing her a bone. ‘Will that offer be written in the contract?’ She wouldn’t settle for an empty promise.

  ‘There are no flies on you, are there, Miss Brookes?’ He smiled as he nodded, clearly impressed. ‘Yes. I will have it all put in writing too.’

  ‘Can I think upon it?’ It wasn’t quite her dream come true but it could be, and that was surely a gamble worth considering?

  ‘Of course—as long as you do not expect me to wait for ever while you court my competition. There are no flies on me either, Miss Brookes, and I won’t be used as leverage.’

  ‘Only until tomorrow.’ She needed to consult with Luke first, even though her gut told her this was likely to be the best offer she could expect when she had never had anything published before. And the cold hard truth was that she’d have bitten his hand off for a mere tenth without quibble if that offer had come with her name attached.

  * * *

  ‘Well?’ Luke dashed towards her the moment she stepped into the churchyard of St Paul’s where he had been pacing for the last half an hour. ‘Has he made you an offer?’

  She nodded, looking at little stunned by it. ‘Fifteen per cent.’

  More than she had hoped for. ‘I knew it!’ He picked her up and spun her in a giddy circle. ‘And you negotiated! I am so proud of you!’ He couldn’t resist giving her a quick kiss as he lowered her to the ground. ‘You did it, Hope. You are going to be in Hatchard’s!’

  ‘I am.’ But she wasn’t beaming from ear to ear at the prospect as he expected. If anything, she seemed deflated. ‘Or at least Phantasma will be.’

  Luke almost kicked a gravestone, he was so furious. ‘The fool won’t allow you to use your real name, will he?’

  ‘Not to begin with. For the first edition I must be H. B. Rooke, which is my name I suppose, give or take a few pertinent spaces in the text.’ He forced himself to remain tight-lipped while she regaled all the terms where she tried to put a brave face on things and his heart bled for her. It was all so unfair. Such a dilemma wouldn’t even be a dilemma if she were Mr Henry Brookes and not Miss Hope.

  ‘What utter nonsense!’ Luke was sorely tempted to head directly to Paternoster Row and give the blinkered fool a stern piece of his mind. ‘Your book isn’t a gamble, it’s a dead cert and he knows it! Else he wouldn’t have sweetened the deal with a fifteenth. Please tell me you haven’t accepted.’

  ‘Not yet.’ He huffed in relief. ‘But I think I have to, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course you don’t! There are other publishers! Better publishers.’ And by Jove he would march into each and every one of them on her behalf this very afternoon and make them read her brilliant work. ‘We shall approach them all forthwith. Mark my words—old Crocker will rue the day he tried to hoodwink us.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake it’s Cooper! Cooper and Son. And there are no better publishers of Gothic fiction than Cooper’s. Or any other sort of fiction for that matter. They are and will always be my preferred choice, even if I have to swallow being H. B. Rooke for ever!’

  She was selling herself short and it was killing him. ‘Then let me go and speak to the esteemed Mr Cooper now and help him see reason.’

  ‘Do you seriously think intimidating him is going to glean a better result? He’ll likely rescind his offer and I will have burned my single biggest bridge.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on intimidating the idiot. I am not that daft. I was merely suggesting that I take over the negotiations on your behalf.’ Clearly the man had a problem with women if the fear of having the name of one of them on a book gave him palpitations. ‘He’ll listen to me. I’ll dazzle him with the Duff charm and by the time I’m done, you’ll have a proper deal on the table, not the outrage he’s trying to palm you off with.’

  That was obviously the wrong thing to say because she went from frustrated to incandescent in the blink of an eye. ‘This is a proper deal and I am not an idiot, Luke!’

  ‘I didn’t mean to imply that you were. But you have to concede that publishing is obviously a man’s world. Therefore, it stands to reason he’ll be more agreeable to dealing with a man. He probably took one look at you.’ He flapped his hand to encompass the flower-shaped buttons on her emerald-green pelisse and jaunty feminine bonnet. ‘Didn’t take you the least bit seriously and typically thought he could take advantage as all men do when confronted by a beautiful young woman.’

  The funny thing was, even as he said the words, he realised they weren’t the right ones. Not only were they poorly chosen, they were bad words. Reducing Hope to a physical mass of attractive constituent parts which entirely lacked any substance, reason or agency of her own. Reducing her to the very thing she abhorred the most. He flapped his hand again, intending to make it right, then realised he was wafting it not just in the vicinity of her silly hat and prettily braided bodice which had formed the basis for his clumsy argument—but to her breasts. The exact same breasts most men couldn’t seem to tear their eyes from.

  Her tone was clipped. Her expression haughtier than he had ever seen it but her eyes radiated such disappointment he got the distinct impression, if she had had
a weapon, she would have used it on him in a heartbeat. Coldly and precisely. ‘Thank you for that resounding vote of confidence in my abilities, Luke. I do so enjoy being underestimated and patronised by a member of the superior sex.’ She spun on a self-righteous heel and he grabbed her arm. She glared at his hand in utter disgust until he dropped it.

  ‘I didn’t mean any of that how it sounded.’ This time he would choose his blasted words more carefully. ‘I can see how it could be taken as patronising, demeaning even, but I was genuinely trying to be supportive when I...’

  ‘And to do that, you needed to remind me that to most men, a woman who looks like me is only good for one thing? Because I can assure you, I need no reminders of that. Helpful gentlemen have been reminding me of that unfortunate fact near daily since I was fifteen.’

  Now she was being unfair! ‘I have never...’

  ‘Not never, Luke, for you just did.’ She swept her arm up and down his body from ribs to chin in the exact same flippant manner which he had likely just done to her, making him wince to have the mirror held up to his face. Then she mimicked his voice, perfectly capturing the hint of west country in his accent but making him sound like a stupid and insincere oaf as she parroted some of his ill-chosen words back to him with her own acidic take on them.

  ‘Obviously he didn’t take you seriously, Hope. How could he possibly take you seriously when you look like you do?’

  Then she shook her head, her lip curling in disgust. ‘And I thought you were different.’

  She couldn’t have wounded him more if she had had a weapon.

  ‘Hope...’ He held out his hands beseechingly. ‘I’m sorry. Sincerely sorry. Why are we fighting when we are on the same side? When I offered my well-intentioned assistance just now, I certainly never meant to offend you, although clearly I have. Neither did I mean to imply that...’

  She held up her gloved hand. ‘I am going home, Luke. I have important things to think about which concern my future, and would much rather think about them without feeling any more furious at men in general, and you in particular, than I already am.’ She marched towards the neat row of hackneys lined up outside the cathedral and he followed, desperately trying to work out how to make it right after he sent it all wrong, until she suddenly turned and skewered him with her glare.