by Regina Scott
— The June Bride Conspiracy –
By Regina Scott
Spy Matchmaker Series Book 2
© 2001 Regina Lundgren
Originally published in 2001 by Zebra
Belgrave House eBook 2011
Edwards and Williams 2017
License Note
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people unless it is part of a lending program. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for lending, please delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work and livelihood.
To the ladies and gentlemen of the intelligence community, even those whose lives will never be as exciting as that of Ian Flemming’s James Bond, and to the Lord, who sees through all our pretensions to who we really are, and loves us anyway
Contents
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
Dear Reader
Sneak Peek of The Heiress Objective, Book 3 of the Spy Matchmaker Series
About the Author
Chapter One
Lady Abigail Lindby took one look at the selection of roses in the florist’s shop on London’s New Bond Street and burst into tears for the third time that morning.
Joanna Lindby smiled indulgently, tucking a stray black hair back under her fashionable bonnet before reaching out to give her mother’s plump hands a squeeze.
“I’m to be married,” she explained to the deferent and dismayed florist, “in June.”
A tall man as thin and pale as the lilies in his shop window, the florist seemed to understand immediately.
“Many happy returns, my lady,” he warbled. “And may I say that roses are an excellent choice.”
“No, no,” Lady Lindby fussed, sniffing back tears and shaking her head so vigorously that she set the ostrich plumes on her broad-brimmed bonnet to quivering. “Roses are so ordinary. Mrs. Winterhouse had them for her daughter Belinda, and the two of them never shared the same room.”
The florist blinked in obvious confusion.
“What she means,” Joanna put in quickly, “is that unless one puts as much planning into a wedding ceremony as a marriage, the husband and wife may not be as congenial toward each other as they ought.”
Now her mother blinked. “Isn’t that what I said? There is no need to belabor the issue, dear. Now, as I was explaining, something more exotic. What do you think of India, young man?”
Joanna’s smile deepened. Her mother was notorious among the ton for her unique brand of conversation. Her round face and equally round frame, along with small, wide-set eyes and a rosebud mouth, combined to make people think she was dim. In reality, Lady Lindby was quite intelligent. She simply couldn’t stop the rapid movement of her thoughts long enough to put together a coherent train. After years of practice, Joanna found it easy to guess what was on her mother’s mind. Now she managed to order several simple arrangements for the wedding breakfast from the befuddled florist and extract her mother from the shop without further ado.
As they rejoined their already laden liveried footman and continued their walk up the street, they had to stop every few moments to accept additional congratulations from various acquaintances. The weather was chilly for early May. Joanna hugged her blue satin pelisse to her and wished she’d thought to wear a shawl over the top as her mother had done with her own serpentine pelisse.
Yet, as she was forced to smile and offer her thanks for each fervent wish for her happiness, she began to wonder whether it was the weather or her situation she found uncomfortable. Surely this uneasiness was only the pre-wedding jitters of any bride. She nodded at Lady Wentworth’s advice on household management and promised her friend Genevieve Munroe to visit as soon as possible. Her mother managed to call everyone by their correct names and remembered to thank them for their kind thoughts. It should all have been very endearing, but by the time they reached the dressmaker’s shop, Joanna’s smile was becoming strained.
“And how might we serve madam today?” the heavy-set dressmaker sang out, rushing forward in a cloud of lilac perfume.
“Yellow,” Lady Lindby pronounced. “Though not a bright shade. I would not want Joanna to blind the fellow before she got him home.”
“That is to say,” Joanna supplied hurriedly as the dressmaker’s welcoming smile faded, “my mother would like a wedding gown in an understated tone. I am to be married, in June.”
Of course more congratulations followed. Joanna was glad when the woman led her to a velvet-upholstered seat before a mirrored dressing table.
“Cream is all the rage,” the dressmaker confided, removing Joanna’s bonnet, “but with your coloring, I’d try something more dramatic.”
She draped a silver-white satin over the shoulders of Joanna’s pelisse. The color complimented her pale complexion and brought out the shine in her thick black hair. Above the material, her dark eyes glowed warmly.
“I have just the lace for it,” the dressmaker continued. “In the finest Brussels rose pattern with silver embroidery. It will match that lovely diamond ring of yours. You’ll be more regal than a queen. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
As her mother stepped forward to discuss design and fittings, Joanna twisted the heavy diamond engagement ring about her finger. She’d been so happy when Allister had slipped it on her hand. Yet somehow in the days that had followed, clouds had crossed the sunshine of her delight. She was now certain that the cut of her wedding dress would make little difference. Allister found it all too easy to take his eyes off her. What if the wedding didn’t change that?
Walking back to their carriage with her mother, she scolded herself for her lack of confidence. She should be thankful. No one had ever expected her to make such a brilliant match. Oh, she had had suitors. Her dramatic coloring and elegant figure had guaranteed that she would be sought out. But that same composure, coupled with a shy nature, had deterred close connections. Her widowed mother had begged her to try harder, but she couldn’t seem to do so. Consequently, she had earned the reputation of being cold.
Yet nothing could be further from the truth. A passionate heart beat within her breast. She had simply waited for the right man with whom to share it.
Enter Allister Fenwick, Baron Trevithan. One could not ask for a more likely hero. His hair was as dark and thick as hers, and wavier, swept back from a square-jawed face. His deep-set eyes were chips of sapphire that warmed with his mood. His figure was trim; he prowled with the grace of an African predator. To top it all off, he was something of a mystery, having been on assignment to the War Office since graduating from Oxford ten years ago. Rumors suggested there was much he had done for the Empire in secret.
That this dark and dangerous lord should show interest in her was beyond anything she could have imagined. Yet, the first time she had danced with him she’d known he could unlock the door of her heart, and after a month of courting she had been willing to hand him the key. The day he had proposed had been the happiest day of her life.
Except…
He had yet to introduce her to any of his friends. While it seemed many people knew of him, few knew him. She could not help
but wonder whether there was something amiss that so perfect a specimen of manhood would have so few intimates.
Except…
She could not keep his interest when discussing wedding plans. A certain reticence on the part of the groom was to be expected; in her experience gentlemen seldom cared about the details of decoration and deportment the way a lady did. But she couldn’t help noticing that there were moments when she was talking to him about more serious subjects and his gaze dimmed. If she questioned him he could answer readily enough, but she had the impression that his thoughts were elsewhere.
Except…
He hadn’t told her he loved her. She’d been so brazen as to ask him outright once, but his smile and wink in response had been only momentarily satisfying.
It wasn’t that he was indifferent. He demonstrated a kind consideration whenever they were together. And certainly she had no complaint for his romantic abilities. He sent her flowers, he took her for long walks and held her hand, he waltzed with her more often than was strictly proper, and he stole kisses at flatteringly frequent intervals. In fact, the touch of his lips to hers raised a tempest inside her that the kiss usually resulted in a swollen mouth, tousled hair, and a beaming smile. But not once had he seemed so affected.
As Joanna and her mother alighted from the carriage and climbed the stairs to the cheery red door of their small stone town house off Grosvenor Square, she sighed. Perhaps she had no confidence in his devotion because they had known each other such a short time. He had only courted her for three months before proposing, after all. How could anyone feel comfortable after only three months? She’d lived in the trim three-story town house since her father had died eight years ago, and it still felt stiff and formal to her, for all that her mother had decorated it in shades of yellow and bought many fine paintings and porcelains to enhance it.
If she took so long to welcome change, she could not expect Allister to change his bachelor ways so quickly. She had to remember that he had proposed—that was the important thing. While he might not love her as deeply as she loved him, they had time. She was certain she would make him a good wife. Perhaps, with proximity, he would lose his heart more fully.
“So much to do,” her mother lamented as they entered the marble-tiled foyer. “We’ve only issued the first batch of invitations. The family is already sending presents. My friends are clamoring to know if they may throw parties for you. This wedding will be the death of me as long as I live.”
“I promise I’ll be right there to help, Mother,” Joanna assured her. Pausing by the half-moon hall table, she thumbed through the stack of cards and invitations that had arrived in their absence. One cream-colored note stood out from the others. It was addressed to her mother, and the sealing wax bore no signet.
“What could this be?” she asked her mother.
Lady Lindby handed her reticule and pelisse to Dames the footman, waiting beside their elderly butler Mr. Harris, and crossed to Joanna’s side. Raising a brow, she took the note and opened it. As her gaze moved down the page, all color drained from her face. Joanna watched in alarm as her mother collapsed onto the scroll-backed chair beside the table.
“Mother!” she cried, kneeling in front of her. “Dames, fetch the smelling salts from my mother’s dressing table.
As their footman hurried away and Harris hovered close, her mother moaned. “Oh, my poor heart.” She stared off into the distance. Tears sparkled again, but Joanna knew they could not be from joy. Her mother focused on her with difficulty. “Oh, my poor Joanna!”
“Mother, what is it?” she begged, taking the nearest hand in her own. The short fingers were icy in her grip.
Her mother held out the note with her other hand. “I’m so sorry, dearest.”
Joanna gasped in realization. “Allister? Has something happened to Allister?” She snatched the letter from her mother’s trembling fingers, rising to scan it.
“Lady Lindby,” it read in a firm masculine hand, “it is with great distress and after many hours of consideration that I must rescind my offer for your daughter. I find I am simply not ready to embark on the sea of matrimony. I wish you luck in the future.” It was signed merely Trevithan.
Joanna felt cold to the center of her being. How could he? Had she been so uninteresting that she could be summarily dismissed? How dare he end their engagement with this disgustingly inadequate note? How could he send it to her mother, like some coward afraid to face her? How could he offer no reason, no excuse for putting them through such embarrassment, such pain? Did he think she was without sensibility, without feeling?
“Oh, my poor dear,” her mother moaned, gazing up at her with tears staining her plump cheeks. “What will we do?”
“Do?” Joanna asked, voice trembling in her fury. “Do? Oh, I promise you, madam, we will do something. This is insufferable. Unthinkable.”
She drew herself up to her full height and glared at her mother, the gaping butler, and the footman who had just returned with the smelling salts.
“I will be married,” she swore, “in June.”
Chapter Two
Allister, Lord Trevithan, generally did not have second thoughts. He had lived too long in a world of split-second decisions. One made a choice with the best information available and either reaped the rewards or paid the consequences. Now that he had chosen to leave that world behind, it only remained to be seen which result it would be this time. He had every expectation and hope that, with Joanna Lindby, he had found his reward at last.
“Then you’re certain I can’t entice you into coming back to Lord Hastings’ service?” Davis asked.
Allister eyed his long-time friend and partner as they sat in the sparsely furnished flat Allister had rented in London. Despite ten years of intense work, Davis Laughton still looked like a newly graduated Oxford scholar in his simple brown coat and pantaloons. His round boyish face, light brown hair, and large liquid brown eyes habitually caused the enemies of the Crown to underestimate him. Behind his innocent facade lurked a keen mind and a determined spirit. No doubt those traits had been what had induced Lord Hastings to recruit him along with Allister into his cadre immediately after they had left college.
That was what his lordship did, after all. England’s spymaster looked for the best and brightest among the aristocracy to serve in gathering intelligence. Most, like Kevin Whattling, circulated among the ton in London. A chosen few, like Allister, Davis, and Sir Richard Collins, crossed boundaries both social and geographical when needed. For many years, Allister had enjoyed it. The excitement and challenge had been more than enough to compensate for the loss of family and friends.
Until recently.
“Sorry,” Allister said with true regret, chamois trousers rubbing together as he crossed his legs at the ankles. “It’s time to hang up the sword.”
“If you quote me the verse about beating them into plough shares I shall demand brandy,” Davis threatened. “In fact, I may demand a brandy anyway. Are you really intent on leaving me to go it alone?”
Allister grimaced. “They’ll give you a new partner. Lord Hastings already has several candidates.”
“Untried steeds,” Davis complained. “And I get the dubious pleasure of breaking them in.”
“We were young, once,” Allister reminded him. “We turned out all right.”
“Well, one of us did,” Davis joked. Then his dark eyes clouded. “Seriously, Trev, I’m going to miss you. Are you sure this Lindby chit is worth upending your whole life?”
“She isn’t a chit,” he corrected his friend. “Joanna Lindby is a diamond of the first water. She is well-bred, well-educated, and well-respected. I am the most fortunate of men.”
Davis sighed. “I had a feeling you were smitten the first time you pointed her out across the room. You had a look in your eye I’d never seen before. I envy you.”
Allister squirmed internally under the praise, though he was too well-trained to allow it to show in his demeanor. Joanna w
as everything he had claimed to Davis, and more, but he was acutely aware that his feelings did not do her justice.
He knew it was no fault of the lovely Joanna. Her midnight black tresses, thick and lustrous, framed an oval, high-cheek-boned face. Her skin was like pearl, her eyes dark and soulful. Her figure was willowy and elegant, with just enough curves to set a fellow dreaming. She was modest and soft-spoken, intelligent and gracious. That this virtuous paragon should be agreeable to his courting was the best for which he could have hoped. The first time he had danced with her he’d known she was special, and after a month of courting he’d been certain she’d make the perfect wife. The day she had accepted his proposal had been the happiest day of his life.
Except…
He wasn’t sure how honest he could be with her. He had spent the last ten years of his life pretending. He’d played a carter, a courtier, a coachman, and a count. He’d had to hide his thoughts, his opinions, and his feelings. Could he now learn to share them openly as was required for a good marriage?
Except…
Could he settle down with no more excitement than watching prices on the Exchange and visiting the gaming tables at White’s? Courting had held a certain charm; it was a bit like matching wits with the enemy. But once life moved to happily ever after, would he be satisfied with his lot?
Except…
He’d never had a traditional relationship with a woman. Any other lady had been wooed either in the service of his country or to forget it. Both types had seemed rather pleased with his abilities; certainly, he had never had any complaints. And by the way Joanna kissed him, full of innocent fire, no passion would be lacking from her side. Still, she was a proper young lady and what he felt for her was far superior to anything he had felt before.
He simply wasn’t certain what he felt was love. He barely remembered his mother and father, who had died when he was ten. The uncle who had served as guardian seemed content to merely do his duty by sending Allister to school and having him watched by a tutor during holidays. He could honestly say Davis was his first true friend. He had no experience with love. In his darkest moments, he wondered whether he was capable of it.
