An Illicit Indiscretion (A Sinful Regency Christmas)

by Scott, Bronwyn

  No gentleman wanted an astronomer for a wife.

  She was too odd to love.

  Men only wanted her dowry.

  She wasn’t cut out for the real world.

  Had her parents been right all along?

  ‘Shall I put him to the test, Elisabeth? Shall I show you the man he is?’

  Elisabeth slowly shook her head, knowing it meant capitulation. She would not cross this line. She told herself it didn’t mean she was a coward. It meant she was smart. She did not want to know the answer to her father’s test. She would not humiliate herself or Dashiell.

  Nor would she force Dashiell to make a noble stand for the sake of appearances.

  Her father snorted in satisfaction, sensing her defeat. ‘You two, help my daughter to my carriage. I’ll be along shortly. The rest of you, stay with me.’ Elisabeth knew this tone well.

  Her father was done hearing explanations. Two men advanced on her and it took a moment to realize they meant to take her away even it meant slinging her over a shoulder.

  Dashiell was hot and bristling beside her, that ‘noble last stand’ she’d feared coming to the fore. ‘You don’t have to go with them, Elisabeth.’ He would fight for her. The thought warmed her but it was a futile gesture. He could not win, not one tired man who’d been up all night studying stars against six of her father’s strapping outriders.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ To save him, she thought, and to save herself. There were indeed things left best unknown. She could not protect her heart, it was already breaking. But she could protect her memories. Elisabeth took one last look at Dashiell Steen. The fantasy was over.

  No affair had ever ended quite so badly for him as this one. Dashiell groaned and lay back again on the rope bed. It even hurt to think. Graybourne’s men had been instructed to leave his face alone. Still, a drubbing was a drubbing and Graybourne’s men had been adept at their art. His ribs hurt but weren’t broken. His back was bruised but for all the pain, there’d been no serious injury he could cry foul about, or his uncle for that matter.

  That didn’t mean he wasn’t mad or that he hadn’t fought back. By no means had he stood there and allowed that beating to happen. But he had been outnumbered and overpowered. His one thought the whole time had been for Elisabeth. If he could somehow get to her, keep her from leaving. She’d left to save him, thinking her acquiescence would prevent this. But it hadn’t. Her father had made his position on Dashiell’s behaviour very plain. Heathridge’s heir was no longer an acceptable claimant for his daughter’s hand.

  The denouncement didn’t stop the wanting. Dashiell almost wished it did. Everything would be much simpler if he could chalk Elisabeth up as another affaire and walk away. But if anything was becoming clearer as he lay there, it was that his feelings for Elisabeth were unlikely to go away. Love, once found, was tenacious. Even this rough room, so below what Graybourne’s daughter deserved, held the memory of her; the lavender smell of her on the pillow. He could recall the sight of her at the table with her precious telescope.

  At the thought of the telescope, Dashiell sat up, forgetting his injuries. He groaned at the poignant reminders shooting through his body in protest of the sudden motion. Her telescope was still in the carriage. He smiled against his pain. Elisabeth would want the telescope back and he knew just how to get it to her. It wouldn’t be the grandest of gestures.

  He was in no shape to climb through bedroom windows and surprise her in bed. But that was fine with him. For what he had in mind, doors would work better.

  He loved Elisabeth Becket and he would not hide it. He was going after her, front door and all. The viscount might think twice about beating a man up in his drawing room.

  Chapter Twelve

  December 23 1835

  Elisabeth sat demurely with her mother receiving guests at their Wednesday at-home. The drawing room was festively decorated with winter greens at the Grecian marble mantle and her mother had served a special blend of tea for the holiday. It was the day before Christmas Eve and the ladies were in high form, full of gossip about who was in town for the holidays and who was at which house party.

  Elisabeth had no taste for the gaiety around her. She smiled politely and contributed to the conversation when necessary but her mind was elsewhere, trying to get itself wrapped around the past four days. She’d climbed out of a window to see a comet and everything had changed. She’d seen the comet, she’d experienced profound pleasure, she’d found love in the arms of a man who’d hidden his identity from her until it was too late to reconsider. Then before she’d had a chance to make her own decisions that man had been taken from her. Her mother considered the whole debacle distasteful and was determined to pretend it had never happened. But Elisabeth could not forget. Nor did she want to.

  She could put on the lovely claret velvet gown her mother had selected with its high neck and delicate lace and look like an innocent girl but she could not forget. She burnt for him during the day and dreamed of him at night. All the while, her family watched her with the intensity of a hawk circling its prey. There was no chance to escape, no way to contact Dashiell. She did worry for him. One of the footmen had come back with a black eye, suggesting that not all had gone peaceably inside once she’d left.

  The more she thought about it, the less it mattered Dashiell was Heathridge’s heir. It didn’t change who he was: a man who made sandwiches for her, stayed up all night with her, who put his resources at her disposal. Those were thoughtful gestures and they had been genuine. He’d always been genuine. It had been one of the first things she’d noted about him.

  A raised voice in the hallway caught her attention briefly before fading. A footman approached her mother with a card on a silver salver. Her mother took the card and frowned. ‘He will not be received. Tell him we are not at home,’ she said in tones deliberately loud enough to be overheard. She knew her power. Whoever was not received by Viscountess Graybourne would not be received by others who wished to have her favor.

  ‘Tell me yourself.’ The masculine voice filled the room, instantly recognizable above the din of feminine tones. All conversation died.

  Dashiell! Elisabeth’s heart leapt. It had been too long since she’d seen his face. Today, he was clean-shaven and dressed to his station in expensive town clothes—a tightly fitted coat of blue superfine over a waistcoat of oyster paisley, fawn trousers and polished high boots. He was immaculate, handsome, undeniably wicked in his proper attire and he’d commandeered the attention of every woman in the room. In his left hand he carried a long tube. Elisabeth’s breath caught.

  Her mother tossed the footman a meaningful look. He moved towards Dashiell with menacing intent but Dashiell did not hesitate. His right fist came up and landed squarely on the footman’s jaw, sending him staggering into a potted palm. ‘That’s for Burnham, my friend,’ Dashiell growled in tones that set the women around Elisabeth gasping in excitement.

  Elisabeth rose to go to him but her mother stalled her with a hand at her arm. ‘Sit down, Elisabeth. Mr. Steen is beneath our notice.’

  ‘He’s not beneath mine,’ Elisabeth said staunchly. She refused to be seated, refused to give way on this even though it meant publicly defying her mother. Punching a footman wouldn’t be the only piece of gossip being chewed over dinner tables tonight.

  Dashiell approached until he stood mere inches from her. ‘I brought you something.’

  Dashiell held out the item he carried. ‘You left this. It belongs with you, in your home, not in hiding.’

  It was her telescope, carefully packed into its leather travelling case. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘You’ve risked life and limb to bring this,’ Elisabeth whispered. ‘My father will be none too pleased to see you.’

  ‘I’ll risk more than that before I’m through.’ Dashiell tipped her face upwards, not caring that they had an audience. Women leaned forward, straining to hear every word.

  ‘I’m sure your father will throw me out momentarily, so let me say what I cam
e to say. I want to marry you, Elisabeth. This has nothing to do with being Heathridge’s heir and the plans of our parents. It has to do with you and with me.

  ‘When I met you, I thought you were a thief. I thought you’d be my last adventure before I settled down and embraced my uncle’s expectations for me. I was right on both accounts. You have stolen my heart and you are my last adventure, all the adventure I’ll ever need. Elisabeth, my thief, would you do me the honour? I want to spend my life chasing comets with you.’ His voice was low and intimate, his words for her alone in spite of the crowd.

  She should say no. This was impetuous, her logical mind argued. They’d only known each other a handful of days. What they’d shared had worked only because it had been time out of mind. They hadn’t had to contend with reality. But staring up into his blue eyes, logic wasn’t enough to defeat her heart.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered just in time.

  Her father’s footsteps thundered into the drawing room followed by three beefy footmen to back up his chagrin. ‘Get out of my house,’ he bellowed. ‘And get away from my daughter you scoundrel. The next time, you won’t escape with only bruises, Heathridge’s nephew or not.’

  ‘That might be hard to do, sir. I have just proposed to her and she has accepted.’ Dashiell reached into his coat pocket. ‘I have a special license and I most cordially invite you to our wedding tomorrow morning.’

  The women oohed and aahed and gasped by turns. This was both romantic and outrageous. The Graybourne at-home would be the most talked about event of the week, quite possibly of the Little Season.

  ‘Elisabeth?’ Her father turned his stony gaze in her direction, looking for confirmation.

  ‘Is this true?’

  Elisabeth squared her shoulders and slid her hand in Dashiell’s, taking strength from his warm grip. For the second time in as many minutes, she said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s this one here called?’ Dashiell backed away from the eyepiece of the great telescope at the royal observatory in Greenwich to give his wife of twelve hours a peek.

  She laughed. ‘Not all the stars have names.’

  He took her in his arms and she temporarily forgot the stars. Her whole universe was right in front of her. She’d married him that morning in a small ceremony at his uncle’s house, with only his uncle and her family in attendance. It wasn’t the wedding her mother had dreamt of, but it was what Elisabeth had wanted: quiet and devoid of fuss. All that mattered was that she was marrying a man who loved her.

  There had been a wedding breakfast and shortly afterwards Dashiell had whisked her away to Greenwich for the first part of their wedding trip. He’d surprised her with a private visit to the royal observatory and the rest of their itinerary; their wedding trip would be as unconventional as their marriage. Instead of spending six months in Italy, they’d spend the year travelling from one observatory to the next. They’d stop in Dorpat and eventually end up on the Cape with John Hershel in hopes of seeing the comet one more time before it left on another seventy-six-year journey.

  ‘I have something for you.’ He let her go long enough to reach into the inner pocket of his coat and produce a small velvet box.

  Elisabeth gave him a quizzical look. ‘I don’t need anything else. This is gift enough.’ She gestured to the great, empty room around them. He’d arranged to have the observatory at their disposal tonight. While everyone was at church or parties, they had the universe to themselves.

  Dashiell flipped the small lid open to reveal a diamond studded pin inside.

  ‘A comet pin!’ Elisabeth exclaimed. She traced the diamond tail of the comet with the tip of her finger. ‘Oh, it’s perfect.’

  ‘Turn it over,’ Dashiell said. The pin had been fashioned to commemorate the return and there were several variations available but there was none quite like this one. On the back, etched in tiny letters were the words, ‘E and I always. 1835.’

  ‘I’ll never take it off,’ Elisabeth whispered, moved profoundly by her husband’s thoughtfulness.

  ‘I hope you will some of the time. If not, it could make certain things rather difficult.’

  Dashiell gave her a knowing look that made her smile. They’d wasted no time in seeing their marriage consummated the moment they’d arrived in Greenwich that afternoon.

  ‘Speaking of ‘certain things,’ I think we’ve had enough looking at the universe. Why don’t we go back to the inn,’ Elisabeth suggested.

  She slipped her hand through Dashiell’s arm and they headed out into the night for the short walk to the inn. ‘It’s a midnight clear,’ Elisabeth commented, breathing deep of the night air.

  The evening was cold and clear, perfect for winter star-gazing. She cast a glance skyward, marvelling at the perfection of it all. ‘It’s a Christmas comet, you know. Edmund Halley predicted its return for late December, 1758 and he was right. Johann Palitzsch spotted it Christmas night that year.’

  In the distance, church bells rang. ‘And the Bethlehem star?’ Dashiell queried. ‘Do you think your comet was the Christmas Star?’

  Elisabeth shrugged, leaning against Dashiell’s shoulder as they walked. ‘Perhaps. The timelines suggest it would have been twelve years too early, but it’s possible. What’s twelve years to the stars? The universe counts time differently than mere mortals.’

  Dashiell laughed and drew her to him for a kiss. ‘Merry Christmas, wife.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, husband.’

  ‘Are you ready to go ‘birth some stars’?’ Dashiell whispered.

  Elisabeth smiled softly. ‘Of course. I have it on good authority Christmas Eve has always been a good night for stars.’

  If you enjoyed this story, don’t miss this other Harlequin Historical Undone ebooks in the Sinful Regency Christmas collection:

  A Rake for Christmas by Ann Lethbridge

  Spellbound & Seduced by Marguerite Kaye Virgin Unwrapped by Christine Merrill

  One Wicked Christmas by Amanda McCabe

  Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:

  The Liberation of Miss Finch by Diane Gaston A Wickedly Pleasurable Wager by Carole Mortimer Craving the Highlander's Touch by Michelle Willingham The Lady's Scandalous Night by Jeannie Lin Unlacing the Lady in Waiting by Amanda McCabe The Wanton Governess by Barbara Monajem

  Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at http://www.Harlequin.com or your local bookstore.

  Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to undone@harlequin.ca.

  Bronwyn Scott is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy— and studying history and foreign languages. You can learn more about Bronwyn at www.nikkipoppen.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-8274-2

  An Illicit Indiscretion

  Copyright © 2011 by Nikki Poppen

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  Document Outline

  Title Page

  Letter to Reader

  Dedication

  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

  About the Author

  Copyright