by Ann Chaney
Dangerous Pursuit
Ann Chaney
Lady Serena Preston leads a double life. Not the typical society miss, she dresses and acts the part with perfection, a flawless and unique spy for the Crown. Abandoned by her father and brother as a ‘useless’ girl, Serena determined she would prove her value and skills of observation and detail. Now highly regarded by her peers, she’s confident she can best any man in a game of wits…that is until he returns to London. Richard is the only man she’s ever loved, and the memory of his rejection still stings. Now delegated to work with him, she’s determined to show him she’s no longer the young girl he rebuffed. But can she put aside the past, ignore the familiar longing, and trust Richard with her life?
* * *
Viscount Richard Weatherington left England four years ago after quite the embarrassing episode with Serena. Now back in London, he expects she is over her infatuation now, perhaps even married. He never thought she’d be working for the king’s foremost spymaster, all grown up and using her beauty against French sympathizers. Now thrust together in pursuit of deadly turncoats, Richard’s respect grows as he watches her pragmatism and dedication to their mission. Daily he fights the incessant pull of attraction he feels for her while, frustratingly, she appears to be unaffected by him. But when she’s captured, her life hanging in the balance, Richard vows to tell her he loves her—if she survives.
Copyright © 2019 by Ann Chaney
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For more information, address: [email protected]
Cover Design by The Killion Group
Published by Windtree Press https://windtreepress.com
* * *
Dangerous Pursuit / Ann Chaney. -- 1st ed.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-950387-77-9
Print ISBN: 978-1-950387-78-6
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
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To my husband, whose love and support have always been unwavering. John Chaney you are the love of my life. Thank you for sharing this wild ride with me.
Chapter 1
14 October 1809
Countess of Edingfield’s Ballroom,
Mayfair, London.
* * *
Richard, Viscount Weatherington, detested roses. After being absent from London’s ballrooms for four years, he now found himself tucked away amid a voluminous vase of… fresh cut roses. Without a doubt, the countess must have emptied every hothouse in England to fill the large vases scattered around the Edingfield ballroom.
“Weatherington, be a man and come out of hiding. You’ve been gone far too long, my friend,” James Buckley, the Earl of Moreham muttered out of the side of his mouth while smiling at a trio of young misses strolling past Weatherington’s hidey hole. “When we spoke earlier, you made no mention of attending this evening.”
Moreham’s smile reminded him of a gouty old gentleman suffering with dyspepsia. Richard stepped away from the vase of flowers and joined Moreham to watch the dancers. “No, just as you didn’t mention you have taken a marked interest in in our friend Thorne’s little sister.” He kept his eyes forward. He’d not give his friend the satisfaction of seeing how much the idea of Moreham and Lady Serena Preston, as a couple, bothered him.
Moreham turned his head in his direction and heaved a deep breath. “Do I need to remind you nothing is ever as it seems?”
Richard winced. His friend’s words could only have one meaning. “She’s the one who’s going to help us tomorrow evening, isn’t she?”
Moreham remained silent which confirmed his assertion. Lady Serena Preston, his best friend’s sister and a continual threat to Richard’s peace of mind was now actively providing assistance to Moreham’s schemes. Serena was a spy. Moreham had a wicked sense of humor to pair him with her. The woman created chaos wherever she went. She always had. His skin bore the scars of her impetuousness.
“Beware my friend. She’s heading this way. Judging by her less than ladylike progress across the room, your death is imminent which will make your second cousin and heir presumptive, Felix, a happy man. You may not know this, but the lady carries a pistol in a thigh holster? Never without it.”
“Does she know?”
Moreham leaned closer. “No, I haven’t told her. Haven’t found the right moment. Standing in the middle of Edingfield’s ballroom is definitely not the place. Would be best for us all if you would go find someone else to annoy.” Moreham fiddled with his waistcoat pocket for a few seconds before pulling a small square of foolscap from its silken hiding place. He wiggled his fingers in Richard’s direction. “Here, take care of this.”
“Now?” Richard asked. “You’re trying to get rid of me?”
“I expect you to do your duty.”
Richard slipped the note into his own small pocket. “You know all the stories. Thorne and I have both shared the tales of her escapades. She’s trouble by any man’s definition. Headstrong with a passion for living. There’s no reasoning with her when she has decided her course.”
Moreham snorted. “You don’t see the commonality you share, do you? Every comment about the lady applies to you just as strongly. Now, leave.” He replied, his impatience echoed in every word he uttered.
Those last two words chased any thought of doing as his spymaster ordered. “No, I don’t think so. I’m enjoying this evening far too much to cut it short.” Richard grinned before turning his attention to Lady Serena Preston, the only daughter of the Earl of Burley.
No longer the ebullient girl he’d known, his heart stuttered at the sight of the lovely woman making her way in their direction. No, she wasn’t lovely, she was beautiful. He wanted to take her hand and lead her into the garden, to hold her until his kisses chased the angry fire from her eyes, and she smiled at him as she used to–before that night. Before he ruined everything.
He should offer his apology for all he said four years earlier. Now, was not where he would offer his regrets for the past with every gossip in London watching them. Most likely, a wasted effort, on his part. He knew this lady would not accept his apology with ease. A small ache shuddered through his heart, just as it did every time, he dwelled on those few moments at the foot of the stairs.
Serena stopped a respectable distance and bobbed a curtsey. She kept her gaze trained on him all but ignoring Moreham. “My lord, I hadn’t heard you were back in Town.” Each word uttered in a clipped cadence.
“Yes, Mother wanted to do a little shopping. I thought she sent a note to Lady Philly,” he replied, smiling at her. He refused to give the nattering old matrons anything to chew on when they made their afternoon calls tomorrow.
“My aunt never mentioned it, but she knows how little I care about your whereabouts.”
Ever the peacemaker, Moreham moved closer, “Enough, children. Play nice at le
ast until you don’t have all of Society watching.”
Serena laughed and swatted Richard with her fan, raised her voice in a singsong trill. “My lord, you still manage to amuse me with the most humorous observations.” She turned to Moreham, each of her words spoken with all the warmth of the ice sculpture gracing Edingfield’s refreshment table. “Is that better?”
Not one to allow another to have the last word, Richard canted his head to the side and smiled. “Your social graces have suffered since I last saw you. If we are to be successful you must remain the ever so proper Lady Serena. Would I be remiss if I offered my assistance in refreshing your memory of proper comportment?”
Serena’s icy glare shifted back to Richard. “What is he talking about?” she demanded of Moreham.
Richard wished he had done as Moreham directed and taken his leave before Serena had appeared. He did not care for bold ladies. He should have known with her unorthodox upbringing, Serena would forget herself when in a temper.
Moreham leaned forward and whispered, “You’ll be working together on a new assignment.”
Richard watched Serena absorb the news. She smoothed down the front of her gown and nodded her agreement. He didn’t believe for a single moment that she was done.
The lady looked at Moreham then him. “My lords, so good to see you both again. If you’ll excuse me, I must see to my aunt.” Serena dropped down into a courtly curtsey. She rose to her full height and left without uttering another word.
“That went rather well. She didn’t slap me,” Richard muttered as she disappeared into the crowd.
Moreham shook his head. “You disappoint me. I’ve always thought you to be the more intelligent one of our group. If you think Lady Serena just accepted you as a partner, you are a dullard.”
“She used to love me.” He winced at the sound of regret in his voice.
Moreham shook his head and heaved a deep sigh. “Yes, I’m sure she did. Before you declared in a crowded ballroom she dressed like a strumpet. That was what you called her, wasn’t it? If your memory is lacking on that occasion, anyone in this room can recount what you said word for word. Just ask.”
Richard wished he could rebut Moreham’s words, but he knew his friend spoke the truth. He raised his hands in surrender and spun on his heels. Time to do what he did best. Handle whatever task Moreham’s note detailed. He may have destroyed his friendship with Serena, but he still possessed the skills of a topnotch agent of the Crown.
Chapter 2
Later that night
Burley House,
12 Hanover Square, London
* * *
Would this night ever end? He could not sleep until he knew if Serena would be agreeable to working with him on the Arnold matter. Which was his reasoning for scaling the west wall of her father’s townhouse.
He’d climbed this wall with Thorne, Viscount Abingdon, Serena’s older brother and Burley’s heir, when they slipped out to sample the nightlife of London without the earl or Lady Philomena being the wiser. The only price they paid was the coins the ever-resourceful Serena charged for allowing them to use her window to come and go. The girl should have a sizeable amount in her coffers with as many times as he and Thorne climbed up and down the trellis outside her window.
Frustrated and more than a bit impatient with himself, Richard shoved the third-floor window upward. The screech of wood grinding against wood shot through the still night. A randy tomcat’s caterwauling when searching for a willing lady kitty to scratch his itch came to mind.
He waited. No instant flare of candlelight. No shrieks of outrage. Not that Serena would succumb to schoolgirl hysterics. Would serve him right if she stood waiting, with a dainty pistol in hand, pointed at his head. He had no trouble envisioning that eventuality. Serena was not a faint-hearted English rose.
Richard heaved a deep breath and lunged headlong through the window into the lady’s bedchamber. He landed with his middle straddling the windowsill. His legs remained outside while the rest of him ended chest down and his mouth and nose full of rug fringe. Not a graceful entrance to be sure. He spit out the bits of rug and rolled over to pull his feet into the room.
Nothing about this night was going as he’d planned. First, Moreham’s note detailed a meeting with an informant in Seven Dials. Richard considered not following the instructions in the note. Most likely, Moreham had several folded squares of foolscap in his pockets. Easy way to rid himself of company. No one questioned the spymaster’s directives which was why Richard went to the Three Swans tavern. He’d been surprised when a stranger joined him for a pint, asking for payment before he’d hand over what he’d come to sell.
It was because of the information he’d purchased he found himself in a less than elegant sprawl on Serena’s floor. Still wearing the clothes of a laborer. One didn’t show up in Seven Dials in one’s best evening finery. Resigned to waiting for Serena, he rested his head against the wall. Bloody hell, he was tired.
He feared the stitches in his shoulder from an encounter the week before had torn loose. Could this night, or rather, morning have any more surprises?
The darkened bedchamber was quiet. Too quiet. Perhaps Serena was still at Edingfield’s ball? He closed his eyes and listened. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the hissing of the banked fire on the other side of the room.
The air in the room shifted. He froze in place. A faint rustling resonated from the shadows.
The distinct click of a flintlock trigger thundered through the darkness. His head dropped to his chest. He regretted the day he’d taught her to shoot a pistol. Squinting, he tried to decipher her whereabouts.
A white specter materialized, crossed the room with ghostly dignity then stopped inches from his reach. A voluminous nightrail floated around her body, giving her a heavenly countenance. He knew better. Lady Serena Preston was no angel.
She possessed a streak of stubbornness a mile wide. A sense of loyalty that ran deeper than any ocean. He’d count himself lucky if she didn’t shoot him where he sat. The last time before tonight he’d had the pleasure of being in her company, she’d promised to do exactly that if he ever came near her again.
Backlit by the embers, her unbound hair reminded him of all the times when the younger Serena chased after him and Thorne on the grounds of Pendleton, her father’s country house in Hertfordshire. A time before everything changed. Before she had grown up and become the beauty standing before him. Before if Moreham was to be believed, she became a somber lady with a secret life much like his own. It was too much to comprehend.
“Weatherington, what the devil are you doing in my bedchamber?” She waved the pistol upward. “Stand up. Before you try to talk your way out of this calamity, light one of the candles on the mantle. I want to see your face when you lie to me,” she instructed in a low disembodied voice.
He edged his way over to the fireplace to do her bidding. To his way of thinking, whoever brandished the gun was the one in charge.
He lit the candle but remained by the fire, waiting for Serena’s next move. He felt like a pawn to her queen on a human chessboard. He hoped she’d lower her pistol from its dead center aim at his chest. He kept his body loose as she moved closer, but the smart girl remained out of his reach.
No matter how much he hated involving her in a potentially dangerous encounter, he’d do all in his power to convince her to help him. Moreham’s plan was foolproof. Serena would bat her eyelashes at their target and the fool would follow her out into a dark garden where Richard and his friends would arrest the blighter. Simple enough. A chill ran up his neck at that thought. Nothing was ever simple when Serena was involved. He had a scar on his right hand to remind him of that tenet.
“Hard to believe a year has passed”—Serena hesitated— “please allow me to extend my condolences on your loss. I sent a letter at the time of the funeral. Considering our last encounter, I fully understand if you didn’t open it.”
The embers popped. The sou
nd surprised him, causing him to jerk his body away from the fire.
“I read your letter. Mother and I both appreciated your kind words.”
She lowered her pistol to his middle. How like Serena. A bullet in the belly would be a slower and more painful death. “Now that we’ve taken care of the social niceties, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to be sure you agreed to help me with the Arnold business tomorrow evening. I assume Moreham found a private moment to put forth his plan. If you refuse to help us, then I must find another lady who’ll be willing.”
“All Moreham said was you needed my help at the Whitney ball tomorrow evening. Nothing more. He told me you would be in touch. I don’t think he thought you’d crawl into my bedchamber in the dead of night, but I doubt if the all-knowing Earl of Moreham knows my bedchamber is located above the rose trellis.”
“No, I’m certain you are right which is rather humorous. I think it is for the best if our illustrious leader remains ignorant about this meeting.”
“For you to ask for my assistance screams of desperation. Our very public confrontation four years ago is still discussed in the drawing rooms. Mamas relish telling the story as a chastisement for young ladies to conduct themselves with the utmost propriety or they will end up on the shelf like poor Lady Serena.”
Richard gritted his teeth. He’d not risked his life scaling the deflowered trellis to argue with Serena about the past. Wasn’t it enough, he’d left the country? Didn’t his father warn him that night he could run, but his chickens would most assuredly come home to roost? For a moment, he thought he heard clucking.
