Silent Revenge

by Laura Landon

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2012 Laura Landon All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612184777

  ISBN-10: 1612184774

  This book is dedicated to my editor Eleni Caminis. Thank you for everything, especially for making me laugh.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Jessica Stanton sat alone against the far wall of the ornate ballroom and watched her host and hostess, the Duke and Duchess of Stratmore, greet another guest. As usual, few even noticed she was there, and the people who gave her more than an occasional glance were greeted with her usual unapproachable air of aloofness.

  She was, without a doubt, the only female in all of London society determined to be a wallflower.

  With her hands folded properly in her lap and her back uncompromisingly rigid and straight, she ignored the four young debutantes who twittered past her. They stared curiously and whispered rude comments, then made a wide circle to avoid her. Let them think what they wanted. That she was a recluse. An oddity. Any description they cared to use was better than the truth.

  She turned an envious gaze to the scores of elegant ladies dressed in silks and satins swirling across the dance floor in the arms of fashionably tailored gentlemen.

  She would never be one of them.

  With a graceful turn of her head, she dismissed the thought, then smoothed the pressed pleats of her slightly outdated, pale green bombazine gown. Her gaze focused on the arched entry as Baron and Baroness Littlebrook began their descent down the wide stairs. They were not the couple whose arrival she awaited. Nor was the baroness wearing the gown she’d waited all evening to see. Her gown. The gown she’d designed.

  Jessica breathed a heavy sigh of disappointment and touched her hand to her perfectly pressed lace collar, determined to wait a little while longer. Patience had never been one of her mastered virtues, but she refused to leave until she glimpsed Lady Penelope Drummond’s gown. She had dreamed it, sketched it, and pictured it in her mind’s eye a thousand times over. She would not leave until she saw it.

  The silk moiré would be the softest shade of peach, a color perfectly suited to the newlywed viscountess. The design would be ornamented with rows of beautifully hand-sewn ivory lace trim, the décolletage dipping just enough to be enticing, but not so low as to be vulgar. Jessica closed her eyes and envisioned how the young beauty would look in her creation, and excitement raced through her veins.

  The designs. The colors. The parade of magnificent fashions worn by the cream of London society. Many of them were hers. Her creations were the reason she risked coming, her motivation for sitting unnoticed in the crowd, ignored for the most part, while a world of gaiety and laughter revolved around her. A world in which she could never be a part.

  Over the years, she had become an invisible nonentity. Never without an invitation, for it would be a major breach of etiquette for society to ignore her, considering her late father’s influence with the queen and her deceased stepmother’s claim to nobility. Yet never was Jessica a part of their circle, either. But that was not why she braved society discovering her secret. She came only to see her creations.

  Jessica lifted her gaze to the top of the empty stairway. Where was Lady Drummond? She only intended to stay long enough to see her gown, and then she could be gone.

  Suddenly, three raucous young men in long tailcoats came toward her, hampering her view of the stairway. Obviously emboldened by drink, they moved in her direction, snickering as two of them pushed their friend toward her.

  “Would you care to dance, Miss Stanton?” he said as he wove back and forth like a wave on a churning sea.

  “Perhaps,” Jessica answered with a regal lift of her chin and a faux smile pasted on her lips. “If a gentleman who possessed at least a modicum of maturity and who could stand upright without assistance were to ask me. You, unfortunately, possess neither.”

  Uproarious guffawing followed from his two friends as the red-faced young noble backed away, executing a low bow that threatened to topple his unsteady figure to the floor.

  Jessica averted her eyes, dismissing all of them with a turn of her head.

  She kept her gaze focused on the other side of the room only long enough for the three men to move away, then turned her attention back to the ballroom. Lady Drummond was nowhere in sight, but Jessica’s cousin, Melinda Wallace, Duchess of Collingsworth, walked toward her with a slight grin on her face.

  “I see you have dashed the hopes of yet another fine young nobleman seeking to gain the attention of the unapproachable Miss Jessica Stanton,” her cousin said, sitting beside her.

  Jessica breathed a heavy sigh. “I only wish their futile attempts would stop.”

  Melinda laughed. “I would not hold out too much hope for that to happen. James says your name has been associated with wagers taken at White’s.”

  Jessica sucked in a harsh breath and stiffened her spine even straighter. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone?

  Melinda covered Jessica’s hand fisted in her lap. “Your attempts to become a nondescript wallflower have only created more of a challenge to see who will be the first to break through your icy facade, Jessica.”

  Jessica looked at her friend and saw a mixture of compassion and understanding. Melinda wasn’t only her cousin, she was her friend. Her only friend. Friends since they were old enough to talk. From that time on they were as close as sisters. Melinda was one of the few people in all of London who knew her secret and did not care.

  “Has Lady Drummond arrived yet?” she asked. There was an expectant look on her face that indicated she was as excited as Jessica.

  “No. And I don’t know how much longer I can stand the wait.”

  Melinda’s understanding smile showed off pretty white teeth and deep green eyes that glistened with happiness. “I’ve already received three compliments on my gown, Jess. Lady Smithson wouldn’t give up until I told her where I’d found such a stunning design.”

  Jessica returned her smile. “Did you tell her it was an original? Designed especially for you?”

  “Yes,” she said with a giggle. “Then I just happened to let slip the dressmaker’s name. Accidentally, of course.”

  “Of course.” Jessica tried to hide her grin.

  “I’m sure that by tomorrow afternoon Madame Lamont will have another customer, thanks to you.”

  Melinda gave Jessica’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you come with me and we’ll sit over by the window? It’s terribly stuffy here
against this wall, and there’s such a nice breeze coming from the garden. I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable in the open.”

  Jessica shook her head. “It’s enough that I’m here, Mel. There is no need to take unnecessary chances.”

  “No one will notice, Jess. I promise I’ll stay right beside you and make sure—”

  “Please, Mel,” Jessica murmured, touched by her concern. “I’m used to being alone. I prefer it that way.”

  “It would help stop the talk, Jess. Then everyone would not think you such a recluse.”

  “I don’t mind.” Jessica turned her face toward the empty doorway, then tried to change the sober expression on Melinda’s face with an impish grin. “Would you like to hear all that I have discovered as an unnoticed wallflower?”

  Melinda’s eyes widened in anticipation. “Yes, you devious little spy.”

  Jessica laughed. “I am, aren’t I? Well, let’s see.” She propped a dainty finger against her cheek and lifted her eyes thoughtfully. “The very prim and proper Lady Drucilla Englewood is, even as we speak, meeting quite clandestinely in the greenhouse with a man whose nearness makes her ‘fairly swoon with the vapors.’”

  “No!” Melinda gasped. “Who?”

  “Lord Ducannon.”

  “They are in love?” Melinda asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

  “Yes. Very.”

  “But she’s promised to the Duke of Eddinton.”

  “Only because Drucilla’s father has his cap set on a duke for his daughter, or a marquess at the very least. Ducannon is only a baron.”

  “Poor Drucilla. And she is so sweet.”

  “It’s too bad someone doesn’t ask to see our hostess’s azaleas. I hear they’re simply beautiful this time of year.”

  “Oh no, Jess. That would compromise the two lovers in a scandal.”

  “Scandals are forgotten. Marriage to the wrong husband is an agony that lasts a lifetime.”

  She and Melinda exchanged serious glances.

  “How astute you’ve become, Jess. And without anyone knowing. I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

  “I am hardly a romantic. I only see two people in love who are being kept apart. All of society knows how desperately Drucilla and Ducannon love each other. Everyone knows it would be a sin to force Drucilla to marry Eddinton.”

  Melinda worried her lower lip. “Do I dare?” Melinda asked, eyeing the doorway leading to the greenhouse.

  Jessica gave her friend’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I see Lord Parley straight ahead talking to Lady Munster’s widowed sister. I hear his fondness for flowers is almost obsessive. Perhaps he would enjoy showing the widow our hostess’s azaleas.”

  Melinda nodded and then stood. “I think I’ll get us a glass of punch, and perhaps…”

  Jessica gave her friend a satisfied look, then sat back in her chair. “And if you see your husband, tell him to avoid any involvement in a new company Lord Mottley is forming. He’s recruiting investors for a new trading firm. I fear the men connected with the venture cannot be trusted. Not only is the plan’s legality questionable, but the words smuggling and illegal cargo were mentioned in their discussion.”

  “How do you discover all this?”

  Jessica shrugged her slim shoulders. “It’s amazing what people say when they think no one is around to overhear them.”

  “I’m going to get us that punch. I’ll be right back.”

  Jessica watched her friend cross the ballroom and then looked again at the empty entryway. Lady Drummond obviously preferred to be fashionably late in the extreme.

  Jessica breathed a sigh of frustration, then scanned the crowded dance floor. A myriad of muted rainbow shades twirled hither and yon, bold and vibrant with the movement, captivating her until Melinda returned with two glasses in her hand.

  “Lord Parley seemed very interested in seeing the Duchess of Stratmore’s azaleas. And James said to tell you thank you. He knows the new company to which you are referring and is grateful for the warning.”

  Jessica lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. “Have you noticed Lady Ellis this evening? Someone should really take pity on her and tell her how absurd she looks in that dress. She’s entirely too buxom to wear something so revealing, and a woman her age should never wear pink. She should only wear—”

  Mel grabbed her shoulder in silent warning, and Jessica instantly quieted. The cautionary look on her friend’s face gave her pause, and she became even more concerned when Mel placed a silencing finger against her lips. Jessica turned around, her gaze taking in the suspended stillness that covered the ballroom. She’d never seen anything so odd. Anything so astounding.

  Wide-eyed servants stopped where they were, balancing teetering trays of glasses in their hands. Musicians held their horsehair bows awkwardly above the silent strings of their violins. Hundreds of shocked dancers stood frozen in transfixed amazement, like marble statues in a garden. Every mouth of London’s nobility gaped in shocked disbelief, as if the incredulous sight crossed so far over the line of comprehension that it paralyzed them in midmotion.

  Jessica looked at Melinda in confusion, and her friend squeezed her hand in a death-clenching grip. She studied Mel’s serious expression, then followed her gaze to the man poised at the top of the stairs.

  Every nerve in Jessica’s body tingled with a charge that came from somewhere beyond the here and now. His presence captured her and refused to release her. She tried to shift her gaze from his imposing form, but could not look away from the tall dark stranger who towered above them from the entryway. The scorching look on his face as he stared out into the crowd sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  She was fixated by the daunting figure, waiting for him to move. The power he exuded engulfed her in an uneasy mixture of vibrancy and fear.

  He stood ramrod straight, his shoulders back, his chin high, and his long, muscular legs braced for battle. The broad expanse of his shoulders filled out his midnight-black dress tails to perfection. The snowy cravat at his neck glowed in contrast to his bronzed skin. His impressive height and extraordinary stature dominated the entire room. But it was his deadly glare that caused her heart to skip a beat. The lethal glare he cast over the ballroom defied any of London’s elite to challenge his presence.

  No one did.

  No one moved. No one breathed.

  No one dared.

  With overt certainty, he allowed the gaping nobility to drink their fill, and then slowly, deliberately, he followed one step with another until he stood at the bottom of the staircase. As if he didn’t care that all eyes remained riveted on his every move, he greeted his host and hostess with unquestioning self-assurance and aplomb.

  Not wanting to miss even the slightest detail, Jessica leaned a little to the left to see around the portly gentleman blocking her view. She stared in fascination as the broad-shouldered stranger reached to kiss the duchess’s hand. The duchess’s mouth dropped, and her complexion paled.

  Jessica held her breath as she waited for tragedy to strike.

  The intriguing stranger executed a low bow. His unsmiling eyes did not soften, nor did the stony expression on his face relax. When he straightened to his full height, the Duchess of Stratmore clenched a trembling hand to her throat in obvious discomfort.

  As if he realized how close his hostess was to losing her composure, he nodded curtly and squared his shoulders, then walked away as the duchess crumpled in a heap at her husband’s feet.

  The foreboding stranger seemed oblivious to the chaos he’d left in his wake. He took a few steps into the ballroom and lifted a glass of champagne from the tray of a benumbed servant, then stopped. With slow deliberation, he turned to face the gaping crowd.

  As if some mysterious force controlled her destiny, Jessica felt compelled to get a better look at the handsome stranger before he disappeared. She stepped into an opening where she could get a better view.

  His gaze caught her movement, and his haunting intensity
locked with hers.

  A shivering awareness ran through her, heightening the sensation that prickled at the back of her neck, tightening the pronounced confusion that struggled deep within her breast.

  His frown deepened, and his brows narrowed to a thick, formidable line. His telling expression warned her that he was as aware of her as she was him.

  All stability ceased to exist while he held her captive with his concentrated look. Her blood blazed hot as a raging fire. The air she needed to fill her lungs vanished.

  He held her captive, and then, with a brutal jolt, he released his grasp of her. Her heart lurched violently as if she’d just fallen from a very great height. With a final commanding look at the crowd parting before him, he strode through the open double doors that led to the garden.

  The nighttime darkness enveloped him as if he was one of its own, swallowing him into an inky blackness.

  Melinda sank down in the nearest chair and stared at the empty doorway. “He’s come back.”

  “Who is he?” Jessica watched the doorway, hoping he would reappear.

  “Simon Warland. The Earl of Northcote.”

  “His entrance caused quite a commotion.” Jessica looked at the stunned faces in the ballroom. No one was dancing. The more curious of the ton fitted from one group to another as they discussed the appearance of the Earl of Northcote with growing animation.

  “I cannot believe he’s here.”

  “Why not?”

  “The scandal. His father was found dead three years ago. Everyone believes Northcote killed him.”

  “You don’t?”

  Melinda lifted her chin. “James refuses to believe he did. They have always been close friends, and James says the earl is incapable of murder.”

  Jessica looked at Melinda, amused at the unquestioning confidence she placed in her husband’s opinion. “Why do you think he’s come back?”

  “There can be only one reason,” Melinda said decidedly. “He has come to find a rich wife.”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows and gave her friend a skeptical look. From the expressions on the faces of the eligible females in attendance, a dark grave would be a more pleasant alternative. “A wife?”