by C. J. Archer
The baron's mouth dropped open, just a fraction, and he turned to Blake. "You're getting married? Did the sky fall down in my absence or is this a miracle?" He turned back to Min. "You have my best wishes, madam. You're going to need them."
It was Min's turn to let her mouth fall open.
"Ignore him," Lilly said, giving her eldest brother a glare that could shatter glass. "He's being rude and disrespectful. As usual."
But Blake didn't seem to be in the least perturbed as his brother strode past him to his sister's bedside. "Nice to see you too, Leo."
Leo stood stiffly by Lilly's bed but eyed his brother up and down. "You're not going to roll up your sleeves and attempt to flay me over my comment? Well, it would seem the prospect of marriage has knocked some wind out of your sails where I failed. It's about time." He inclined his head at Min. "Thank you for taking on the challenge that is my brother, Mistress Peabody. You are obviously a good influence."
Blake rolled his eyes. Min simply blinked at them all. What an odd family.
The doorway darkened again, making everyone turn. Min gulped. Lady Warhurst stood in a fine black mourning dress with an equally bleak expression on her face.
"Are you all squabbling again?" She entered the room and pointed her chin at Min. "And in front of our newest member too."
"She's not yet," Leo said. "She still has time to run away."
"If you don't all shut up," Blake said, forking one eyebrow at his brother, "she probably will." Then he frowned and turned to his mother. "How did you know Min had accepted my proposal?"
"She's here isn't she?" Lady Warhurst took Min's hand and squeezed affectionately. "Welcome to my family."
"Thank you, my lady," she said, bobbing a curtsy and trying to decipher why Blake's mother was being so nice to her. She'd been braced for antipathy.
"Call me Gwendolyne. And I shall call you Min since that is what Robert calls you. I must say, I'm glad you accepted my son, faults and all."
"There aren't that many," Min felt obliged to note. Honestly, what else could she say? She was completely taken aback by the woman's change of heart. Only yesterday she'd virtually run Min out of the house.
"Mother," Blake said, frowning and crossing his arms, "I have to say your welcome is somewhat...unexpected."
She waved a hand laden with jeweled rings. "Oh, that. You always did do the opposite of what I said, so I simply devised a little trick to push you along. Did it work, I wonder?"
Leo snickered and Min had to purse her lips to stop smiling. Lady Warhurst—Gwendolyne—was nothing like she'd been at their first meeting. She was quite pleasant and polite with an impish streak Min liked. It was no wonder her children treated each other so wickedly with her as their example.
"Is there any other times you've employed that line of reasoning on me?" Blake said, his head tilted to the side as he regarded his mother.
"No, that was the first. Now, can I point out that it is my dearest wish that you and your lovely bride will find a house of your own, preferably on the other side of the world, and leave me in peace?" She winked at Min.
Blake snorted. "Very amusing," he said.
"Yes," said Leo, "there's no time for this foolishness. I've come home for the express purpose of finding out who got my sister in this state." He waved a hand at Lilly's belly. She folded her arms over it.
"It's all been taken care of," Gwendolyne said. "Robert has seen to it." And with that, the topic ended.
Except Leo didn't heed his mother's instruction. "He has?" He turned to Blake. "Well? Who is it? Who did this?"
"This is not a disease," Lilly said, hotly. "He or she is a child."
Leo cocked an eyebrow at Blake.
"Hawkesbury," Blake said. "Do you know—?"
"Hawkesbury?" Leo spluttered. "The earl of bloody Hawkesbury? The slippery cur!" Lilly smoothed the bed covers at her sides and failed to meet her eldest brother's glare. "You say it is all taken care of," he went on. "Does that mean he's going to marry her?"
Min looked away, not wanting to witness the crash she could sense approaching.
"Not quite." Blake explained the events leading up to his last meeting with Hawkesbury. He left nothing out as far as she knew. "And since he's set on not marrying her, I've decided to leave the situation as it is. There's nothing further to be done."
"Leave the situation! Nothing further to be done!" Leo shook his head, over and over. "Love has softened you, Blake. There is much still to be done. I'll challenge him to a duel."
"I did that. Nearly killed him."
Lilly's sharp intake of breath filled the room.
"Robert," Gwendolyne said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Do you have to speak of such things around your sister and your betrothed?"
"The whole point of a duel," Leo said with a sneering lift of his top lip, "is to kill your opponent."
"Killing Hawkesbury would serve no purpose," Blake said, squaring up to his brother. They were a match in height and bulk and anger. Min took hold of Lilly's hand and squeezed. "Enough, Leo," Blake said. "Our sister doesn't want us to kill him, nor does she want his money. It is our duty to protect both her and the baby. We must focus our attention on that now."
Leo took one step closer to his brother so that they were nose to nose, chest to chest. "You are a fool, Blake." Seconds passed and neither moved. Then Leo stepped back. With a curt nod to all the women in the room, he spun around and left.
Everyone let out a breath. Blake put his arm around Min's waist. "He's the fool. I'll speak to him later when he's calmed down and make him see sense."
"I doubt he will," Lilly said, rubbing her temple.
Gwendolyne patted Min's arm. "I'm sorry you had to meet us under such trying circumstances. Everything will settle back to normal as soon as Leo realizes he's on a futile errand."
It seemed everyone else in the room had already decided that getting Lord Hawkesbury to marry Lilly was indeed futile.
"Let us talk about more pleasant things," Gwendolyne said. "Like your wedding feast. We'll have it here of course."
Lilly instantly brightened. "You must wait until I'm better of course."
"Of course," Min said with a tentative smile. She was still a little shaken by Lord Warhurst's outburst but everyone else seemed to have cast it off already, as if it were nothing.
"And you've decided to stay in London to be with your wife, Robert?" Gwendolyne asked. "For good?"
"For good," he said, drawing Min into his arms.
"Then we owe you much, Min," his mother said. "We've tried everything from pleading to blackmail to get Robert to remain here but he's always refused."
Min tried to smile but suddenly felt a little out of sorts. She wasn't sure she wanted their appreciation. It was quite a burden to keep him here for everyone's sake.
Blake pecked her on the cheek. "It's not just Min," he said. "Lilly's baby will need one sensible male figure in his life because his other uncle doesn't know the meaning of the word love. But I do," he said softly, capturing Min's gaze with his own bright, bright blue one. "I do."
THE END
A message from the author:
I hope you enjoyed reading A SECRET LIFE as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends and writing a review at the store where you purchased it. My other novels and novella, A SECRET DESIRE, THE ADVENTURES OF MISS UPTON AND THE SKY PIRATE, THE MERCENARY'S PRICE, HONOR BOUND and KISS OF ASH, are also available for immediate download to your ereader.
**Read on for an excerpt of A SECRET DESIRE (Book 2 of Lord Hawkesbury’s Players).**
A SECRET DESIRE
(Book 2 of Lord Hawkesbury’s Players)
By C.J. Archer
CHAPTER 1
London: Autumn 1589
The White Swan Inn was the last place Leo Warhurst, third Baron Warhurst, wanted to be on a Friday morning. The worst part about it wasn't
that he could have been attending court, greasing the palms of some of London's most influential men. No, the worst part was that he couldn't even stop for a drink in the taproom. Thanks to the mess created by his siblings, he had gone to the Gracechurch Street inn to speak to a seamstress. A bloody seamstress!
He made his way through the archway to the inn's yard where the ostlers and travelers shared the square cobbled area with a theater stage. The raised wooden platform stood towards the back of the large yard. Steps led up to it from the ground and a curtain separated the stage from the tiring house beyond. According to his half-brother, that's where he'd find the woman who might be able to help him with his family's problem.
A problem that had landed firmly on Leo's shoulders like a canker. He needed to remove it before it was too late and any chance of restoring the tenuous respectability of the Warhurst title was lost forever. Since the perpetrator of the problem was not at home that morning, or last night, or the day before, Leo had come here.
To speak to a seamstress.
It would have been laughable if the situation wasn't so dire. He'd only ever dealt directly with one seamstress. A slack-faced woman reeking of cheap wine had accosted him in the street years ago demanding Leo pay for the gown his late father had commissioned her to make for his mistress. The seamstress had threatened to tell Lady Warhurst about the other woman if Leo didn't pay the debt. He'd told her she was welcome to speak to his mother since she already knew, as did the better half of London. The seamstress had curled her top lip, baring broken teeth, and scampered like a rat back to the gutter out of which she'd crawled.
Hopefully the seamstress his brother had sent him to possessed more sense and less drink-fueled audacity.
He paused on the bottom step leading up to the stage and squeezed the bridge of his nose. God, he was tired. He'd traveled like the devil for a week to reach London and not been able to sleep since. This woman had better know something other than how to thread a needle. Leo was in no mood for a fool's errand.
He lifted the curtain aside and peered into the room beyond. Several chests, some opened, occupied most of the space. A row of stools dotted one wall and a central bench almost disappeared beneath piles of neatly folded costumes. A massive pair of wings made of feathers hung between two hooks and what looked like a cauldron was slotted beneath the bench. The room was crowded but not chaotic. Someone kept it orderly.
Whoever it was, they weren't there. Another bloody wasted effort. He was about to close the curtain when he heard the swish of lush fabric, velvet perhaps, coming from behind what appeared to be an unhinged door propped up in the middle of the tiring house.
"Damnation!" The voice, a woman's, came from behind the door screen. With language like that, she must be the woman he sought.
"Hail!" he called out. "Is someone here?"
A pale, heart-shaped face topped with a tall hat popped out from behind the door. "Oh! I didn't know I had company."
"I'm sorry to startle you," he said.
"You didn't. I'm simply surprised."
He failed to see the difference and was about to say as much when she stepped out from behind the door and his words were sucked away along with his breath. He'd been wrong. She couldn't be the seamstress. This lady wouldn't have been out of place at court with her tall, slender frame, striking cheekbones and a firm, almost imperial set to her shoulders. She was a lady used to speaking her mind if her direct gaze was any indication. He had no doubt she usually got what she wanted too. A lifetime of experience with such women had taught him to identify the species. Unfortunately it had not taught him how to deal with them.
"Madam, I am Lord Warhurst." He bowed.
She stepped forward and the swish of her crimson gown was soon drowned out by the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears. Her simple movement had caused the exposed flesh above her too-tight bodice to wobble most...ah, delightfully.
"Perhaps you could step a little closer," he said when she hesitated. "I would like to have a better look at your...face."
She did, with hands firmly on her hips, and stopped directly in front of him. "My face is above my neck, my lord."
He glanced up and got an icy blast from a pair of pale blue eyes. He bowed again, partly to hide the color rising to his cheeks and partly because it afforded him another view of her bounteous flesh. If God gave her a pair of luscious breasts like that, surely He meant for man to gaze upon them. Otherwise why create such low-cut gowns?
But on second glance, the gown seemed a little too low-cut for this lady's, er, jewels. Although exquisitely made from what he could see, and certainly beautifully—and expensively—embroidered in gold thread, it was a poor fit.
"If you are looking for the players then I'm afraid they're not here," she said.
He looked up again. Although her glare was still cool, her mouth seemed to be smiling—and yet not. How did she do that? It was quite intriguing. And certainly alluring.
"You are all alone here, my lady?" He could have bitten off his tongue after the words tumbled out. He sounded like a villain assessing the likelihood of having his wicked way with a defenseless woman.
"Lady?" She blinked at him. Then looked down at her sleeves, the crimson velvet slashed to reveal the gold of the lining beneath. "Oh."
He frowned. She had not seemed to grasp the crude yet unintentional meaning of his question. Thankfully. But...why was such a woman as this alone in the tiring house? What gentleman would allow his wife, sister or daughter to fend for herself at, of all places, an inn and a theater at that? Guilt twisted his stomach at the similarity to his own situation but he cast it off. It was too late for guilt. Besides, his sister's pregnancy was not his fault.
"Madam, I am—."
"Mistaken." Her laughter seemed to rise up from the depths of her being and burst forth like a sudden gust of air.
He tried not to notice how the laugh made the flesh above her bodice jiggle. "Mistaken?"
"Quite, quite mistaken. I am not a gentlewoman. It must be this dress..." She caressed the velvet of her gown as if it were her lover's skin. "It used to belong to Lady Dalrymple. She and I are of a height which will suit Freddie, but the similarity does not extend to the chest area." She smiled that smile again, the one that wasn't quite a smile. This time it was accompanied by a wicked gleam in those clear eyes. "As you noticed."
He felt like he was walking on a different path to her. Whatever was she talking about? "Freddie?"
"Freddie Putney the company's boy actor. He plays the lead female roles."
At least her path was within sight now. "And that gown once belonged to Lady Dalrymple?"
"As I said." She looked at him as if he were a half-wit.
His limbs tensed. He had a bad feeling about this. "And you are wearing the gown because..."
"Because I'm adjusting it of course." She shrugged and the gown slipped off one shoulder. He stared at the smooth, white skin and wondered if it felt like silk because it certainly looked silken.
She fixed the gown and he was once more running along the path in an attempt to catch up to her.
What had she been saying? Adjusting it... Adjusting...the gown!
The bad feeling slammed into his gut with the force of a hammer blow. "You're Alice Croft," he said heavily. "The seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury's Men."
She nodded. "And you're Lord Warhurst, brother to Robert Blakewell."
"Half-brother," he said without thinking.
"What can I do for you, Lord Warhurst? I assume you're looking for me since you know my name. Did Blake send you?"
She didn't seem in the least surprised or in any way alarmed by his presence or by the prospect of being sought. Women of her station usually lowered their eyes and spoke only when he asked a direct question of them. Unless they were whores. This woman certainly wasn't a whore—readjusting the gown to cover her bare shoulder was proof of that.
Then why was she so different to all the others?
The fact that he was wond
ering disturbed him.
"Blake did send me," he said in an attempt to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. "He said I should seek you out and that I'd find you here."
"As indeed you have."
He cleared his throat. "I'll have you know this goes against my better judgment."
Her eyes narrowed. "You haven't told me what 'this' is yet."
"If there was anyone else, I'd ask them first. I'd rather not involve someone else in our family dilemma but Blake assures me you'll be discreet."
"Discreet?" She shook her head, a frown furrowing her pretty brow. "My lord, is this about making a gown for your mistress? Because if it is—."
"No!" He knew this would be a mistake. Whatever was Blake thinking to send him to this woman? How did he even know she could be trusted? He was wasting his time. Leo opened the curtain leading out to the stage.
"My lord, wait!" The seamstress placed a hand on his arm. There was no pressure, no attempt to halt his progress, yet he stopped anyway. There was something compelling in her touch, something far more forceful than mere strength. "If Blake sent you then it must have something to do with Lord Hawkesbury. And," she cleared her throat, "and your sister."
He half-turned to see her and was struck once more by those eyes. Of the palest blue, they were almost colorless, and yet they seemed to see right into him. He recoiled. The bad feeling once more returned like a vengeful warrior.
"You're right," he heard himself say. "I've come to ask you for help."
"Help?"
He focused on the tiny crease between her brows because he had the disturbing sensation that if he looked into her eyes any more she might see too much. "Yes. Help with the business between Lord Hawkesbury and my sister, as you said."
"But how can I possibly be of service?"
He hesitated only a moment. "I have need of someone who is capable of finding out information. Blake suggested you because you are associated with Lord Hawkesbury's Players, and they have a tendency to hear and see a great many things when in their patron's presence. Well? What say you?"
