by Robyn DeHart
Also by Robyn DeHart
The Secrets of Mia Danvers
The Temptations of Anna Jacobs
A Dangerous Liaisons Novel
Robyn DeHart
INTERMIX BOOKS, NEW YORK
To the Anna in my life: My sweet goddaughter, you are more precious than you know and I love your little bones.
To my kiddos, M and Z, you have certainly turned my life upside down, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Thank you for your patience and unconditional love while I figure out this whole motherhood thing. Someday maybe I’ll get it right.
And as always to my love, Paul, your support seems never-ending no matter how many times you come home to find that I haven’t yet showered and the kids have watched entirely too much television, and that we’re having eggs again for dinner. Love you.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE TEMPTATIONS OF ANNA JACOBS
An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
InterMix eBook edition / April 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Robyn DeHart.
Excerpt from The Secrets of Mia Danvers copyright © 2013 by Robyn DeHart.
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62337-4
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Version_1
Contents
Cover
Also by Robyn DeHart
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Secrets of Mia Danvers
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While writing is a solitary profession, thankfully no book is written completely alone. To my critique partner extraordinaire, Emily McKay, for fielding too many emails and phone calls to count and always assuring me that it’s better than I think it is.
To my mom, Hattie Mae, with whom I share this writing bug and love of stories, you are the best and I love being on this writing journey with you.
To my brainstorming peeps, Anne, Shane and Margo, you save me more times than you realize. And you’re also just some of my favorite people in the world so thanks for everything.
To the ladies in my reverse book club, I love our dinners where we eat and drink and gripe about our books and talk about why we love our books. Y’all are the very best co-workers a girl could have.
And finally to my editor, Kerry, who believed in this series and shared my vision to bring Jack the Ripper to the pages of a historical romance. And to my agent, Kevan. You’re just the bomb in every way possible!
Prologue
London 1889
Andrew Foster sat in what he fondly referred to as “the hole” and waited. It was all he could do. Sit, wait and listen. The other inmates fought and wailed and hurled curses at one another. It was a wretched existence.
The metal gates a few cells down from his opened and then closed with a heavy slam, and he heard voices. It was dark in his pit; although torches spit and sparked on the walls outside his bars, they offered no real solace from the black surrounding him. After all those years of heavy drinking, it would have been easier if he had finished the job and drunk himself to death. It would have at least saved him from this wretched fate.
Of course it was the damn drink that had put him here in the first place and made him feel so piss-poor. The retching had stopped, but he still suffered from the tremors.
Footsteps sounded and then his own gate rattled.
“Drew.”
The voice belonged to Simon Jacobs. The lead investigator on the Jack the Ripper case, the series of crimes that had landed Drew in this small piece of hell. Still Drew was thankful for the visit. So far the man came once a day, to check in with him and give him reports of the goings-on in London. Drew knew it was to prevent him from succumbing to the darkness. Simon didn’t believe Drew guilty; he’d merely been doing his job. Drew wasn’t a fool, though. He knew this wouldn’t last forever. Eventually Simon would stop visiting. No one would come to see him and then he would rot in here alone with the rest of London’s criminals.
He inhaled sharply and was pleased to smell something other than the filth surrounding him. “Simon,” Drew said. “Smells as if it might rain.”
“Indeed, dark clouds have been rolling in and collecting all day.” There was a pause as Simon got close to the bars. “I need to speak with you. It is of great importance.”
Drew stepped forward. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a shrug.
Simon looked over his shoulder, then gripped two of the bars. “I know you didn’t do this. I know you’re not the killer we seek. And we’ve had a situation. One that will prove your innocence to everyone else.”
Drew’s heart thundered in response. Did he dare hope he would be released from this p
rison? “What happened?” Drew asked.
“Another attack—another victim—but this time she survived. That is what will keep you in here a little longer.” Simon shook his head. “There are those who believe this wasn’t the same man. But I know it was.”
Drew nodded. “So I might get out. Someday.” Hope crumbled from him and fell to the dirt floor beneath his bare feet.
“You will get out. And when you do, I will need your help.” Simon paused and again looked behind him. “I know you don’t owe me anything, as I’m the one who brought you here. But I think you’re in a unique position to assist in this investigation.”
Drew narrowed in on Simon’s features. The man was sincere and earnest, Drew could plainly see that. “What are you asking, Simon?”
“How would you like to do some work for me? Secret work,” Simon said. “For whatever reason, the Ripper used you to take the fall for his crimes.”
“You believe he framed me?” Drew asked. He had suspected the same thing. The evidence had been too convenient and he’d been too bloody drunk to offer an alternative explanation.
Simon nodded. “He enjoys toying with people. He especially enjoys toying with the police. What better way than to send us off investigating the wrong man? But I believe because he picked you, you were obviously in the same places he was, at least part of the time. Perhaps you even know him. You could be quite useful in this investigation.”
“So essentially you want me to become a spy for you? For the Yard?” It was an appealing offer. Frankly Drew was feeling ready to unmask the real killer and get the hell out of this place.
“I do. I know this is a lot to consider, so I shall give you time. I merely wanted to speak with you first, before you were released.”
Drew shook his head. “I don’t need any time,” he said. There was nothing to consider. If he got out of here, he was going after the bastard who had put him there—might as well have official resources and make some coin while he was at it.
“I should hope you would reconsider—”
“I’ll do it,” Drew said, interrupting Simon.
“Oh. Excellent.” Simon tapped a finger on the bars. “In the meantime, I shall work on getting you released.”
“You do that. The food in here is terrible.”
Chapter One
Anna Jacobs closed her textbook and stifled a yawn. “Simon, I do believe I’ve had enough. For tonight, that is.”
Her older brother looked up from his notes. “When is your examination?”
“Not for a few weeks still.” She gathered her books in a tidy pile, then stood. “But I do like to be prepared.”
“Indeed. Come along, then, I shall walk you home.” Simon carried her books and they stepped out into the cool evening air. The streets were relatively empty, save for a carriage now and again. People were either abed or attending one of the evening’s balls.
“Do you think you’re any closer to indentifying him?” Anna asked. Simon was the lead investigator on the Jack the Ripper murders. Recently he’d come close to catching him, but the villain had got away.
“I have a few more leads to investigate, but the chief superintendent is losing patience with me,” Simon said.
“Well, that is ridiculous. They certainly weren’t handling the investigation any better without you.”
A ruckus broke out in the alleyway adjacent them. Simon shoved Anna’s books at her. “Stay here,” he barked.
Then he ran in the direction of the commotion. As best she could tell three men had pinned a fourth on the ground and were taking turns kicking and hitting him. Poor creature.
Simon yelled and the men scattered, leaving the one on the ground alone.
Anna set her books aside and ran to aid her brother.
“Christ, Drew, is that you?” Simon asked. He looked up at his sister. “Anna, help me get him into the house. You can tend his wounds while I find some constables to round up the perpetrators.”
Anna helped pull the bleeding man to his feet, then together they hauled him up the stairs of Simon’s front stoop. Two footmen came to their assistance. Simon barked out instructions, then turned and ran back to the alleyway. The servants helped her bring the injured man into Simon’s study and laid him gently onto the settee. Anna gave them a list of items she’d need to care for the wounds; once they were off gathering the materials, she turned her attention to the man.
His eyes were closed, but his brow furrowed and the muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth. He was, quite obviously, in a lot of pain. Her nerves hitched in her throat, but she swallowed hard against them. She was to be a physician. She could manage this man’s injuries.
“Sir, can you hear me?” she said.
He grunted in response.
“Excellent. Can you tell me your name?”
Just then the footmen returned with her supplies and then looked to her for further instructions. “I shall need you to remove his shirt so that I can access the damage done to his torso.”
The men went about doing as she instructed. She removed her brother’s brandy decanter and set it on his desk, then used the tray to organize the items she’d requested.
“Drew Foster,” the man rasped.
Anna stopped cold. “Did you say Drew Foster, as in the younger brother of the Duke of Carrington? The one recently imprisoned for the Jack the Ripper murders?” she asked.
“One and the same,” he said, then released a hoarse cough.
“My lady, he’s bleeding pretty steadily here,” one of the footmen said.
“Hold his shirt to the wound to staunch the bleeding.” She wrestled open one of the windows and poured brandy on her hands to clean them before carrying the tray back over to him. Drew Foster. She knew him by reputation only. Knew that he was a drunk and a lecher, and kept wretched company if he was in the same place as Jack the Ripper on more than one occasion. While many still believed him guilty of the crimes, her brother believed Drew innocent. She didn’t have to approve of Drew Foster, but she would agree with her brother’s assessment of his guilt.
Carrying the tray back to where her patient lay, she set it down on the occasional table nearby and assessed the damage. His face had taken a pounding, one eye was swollen shut and abrasions marked up his cheeks and forehead. Bruises were already forming on his torso, but she couldn’t help noticing the tight muscles of his abdomen, muscles that were artfully carved. He was too thin, no doubt from his stint in prison, but he still cut a fine figure. Good heavens, what was the matter with her? She was not to assess his physique, but rather tend his wounds. She took the shirt from the footman and lifted it off the wound. “This will need to be stitched up.”
“Find my valet, girl,” Foster said through his teeth. “I’ll not have a woman such as yourself treat my injuries.”
“I hardly think you are in a position to make such demands,” she retorted, then she poured a liberal amount of the brandy on his wound.
He flinched and swore, making no concessions for her feminine ears.
She returned in kind by being none too gentle as she inserted the needle into the flesh of his upper side. “I suppose along with your other charming qualities, you’re one of those numskulls who believes the only stitching a woman should do is at her needlepoint table.”
“I didn’t precisely say that. Ow!”
He didn’t have to. She was used to people’s attitudes about her attending medical school. “Who were those men who attacked you?” she asked, ignoring his yelp of pain.
“How the devil should I know?” His green eyes pinned her. “What kind of woman are you, walking about the streets after dark?”
“I’ll have you know I am perfectly respectable—”
“Not if you’re attending that school for women doctors. Ow!”
She tied off the stitch and put a salve on his wound. �
�You have a decidedly backward attitude, Mr. Foster,” Anna retorted. “Society needs as many qualified doctors as—”
He held up a hand. “Spare me the lecture, Miss Jacobs. I’ve endured about as much as I can stand for one evening.”
Anna knew it was pointless to try to enlighten anyone so small-minded. If only there were more men in the world like her brother, society would have fewer ills.
“You are badly bruised, Mr. Foster,” she said, examining the rest of his injuries. “Lie still another moment. This will most assuredly be a blackened eye.” She ran a finger along the sensitive skin already bruising beneath his eyebrow. He winced.
Just because he was churlish did not mean she wouldn’t treat him to the best of her ability. She took a bottle of liniment from her bag and poured a dollop onto the palm of her hand, then began to rub it gently across his abdomen, where the worst of the bruising appeared to be.
“I hardly think that is necessary,” he grumbled.
“I can stop, but you will hurt worse in the morning without it.” She paused, her hands merely resting on his taut stomach. She was already having to concentrate doubly on his injuries so that she wouldn’t focus on the play of his muscles beneath her palms.
“Do what you must,” he said.
She worked quickly, doing her best to finish so she could remove herself from Drew Foster’s presence. He was precisely as she’d imagined him: boorish, crude, not to mention narrow-minded.
A moment later she finished and Simon returned. “Anna, I shall have a footman escort you home. I have other matters to attend to.”
“Very well.” She moved the tray back to the shelf and returned Simon’s brandy to its appropriate position, then she gathered the rest of the materials.
The two men whispered back and forth.
“You’re certain you won’t change your mind,” Simon said tightly.
