Whisper To Me of Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  BATHING BEAUTY

  Royce was nearly as wet as the soggy pile of garments he had thrown on the floor by the time he finished stripping her, and looking down at her, he asked coolly, “Now then, do I have to wash you or are you going to be reasonable about this?”

  Scrunched down in the tub, covering her nakedness as best she was able, Pip sent him a murderous look, but common sense told her that she had lost this particular battle. Reluctantly she nodded her wet head and reached for the bar of soap that had fallen into the tub during their struggles.

  Not quite trusting her, Royce stared a moment longer, suddenly very conscious of the soft curves she was trying to hide from him. It wasn’t his habit to dally with the help, but in this tantalizing and provoking little creature’s case, he just might make an exception!

  Pip was aware the instant his scrutiny changed and her mouth went dry, the vivid memory of his hard body pressed against hers as they had fought surging through her. She swallowed, suddenly aware of what a very handsome man he was, realizing for the first time how very, very attractive women might find him ... and how very vulnerable she was.

  Also by Shirlee Busbee

  SCANDAL BECOMES HER

  SURRENDER BECOMES HER

  SEDUCTION BECOMES HER

  PASSION BECOMES HER

  RAPTURE BECOMES HER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Whisper To Me of Love

  SHIRLEE BUSBEE

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  BATHING BEAUTY

  Also by Shirlee Busbee

  Title Page

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE - Villainy at Midnight

  PART ONE - The Pickpocket

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  PART TWO - Dangerous Refuge

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  PART THREE - Morgana

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  PART FOUR - Nemesis

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  EPILOGUE - Sunlight and Shadows

  PASSION BECOMES HER

  Copyright Page

  This book is warmly and fondly dedicated to some very nice people who are long overdue for their book! Here it is, guys, and hope you enjoy it!

  To DON and JOAN BERGER—With this dedication one of Don’s greatest fears comes true—he’s actually between the pages of one of my books!

  To PAUL and PAULA BUSBEE, a pair of my favorite in-laws, as well as just being a sheer delight to me! CHRISTIE, JENNY and TARIN aren’t too bad either!

  And as always, my really favorite person of all, HOWARD.

  PROLOGUE

  Villainy at Midnight

  ENGLAND, 1796

  O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!

  My tables—meet it is I set it down

  That one may smile, and smile and be a villain;

  At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark.

  SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet

  Lady Hester Devlin, the Dowager Countess of St. Audries, was dying. Oblivious to the other occupants in the room, she gazed bewilderedly about the sumptuous chamber, the lethargy that was slowly stealing through her slender body making coherent thought difficult. As she lay in solitary splendor in the huge mahogany bed with its silken curtains and fine linen sheets, nothing seemed real to her, not the two men speaking in low tones near the foot of her bed, nor the newborn infant who lay crying softly in the cradle nearby.

  Apathetically her eyes continued to scan the spacious room, passing over the delicate chairs in gold velvet, the large mahogany armoire, and the graceful dressing table. It was only when she began to look at the various portraits hanging on the walls that one particular picture caught her interest. A spark suddenly lit her pain-dull green eyes, and a warm smile curved her pale lips as she stared lovingly at the portrait of her late husband, the sixth Earl of St. Audries.

  Could it have been only a year ago that he had appeared in her life? Barely eleven months ago that one of the handsomest, most charming lords in all of England had taken her as his bride? Even now it seemed a dream to Hester as she drank in the beloved features of the man in the portrait.

  Andrew Devlin, the sixth Earl of St. Audries, had been a particularly handsome man, and the artist had captured his dark, vital looks exactly—the thick, black, curly hair, the proud nose and arrogant chin, as well as the long-lipped, sensuous mouth. All of the Devlins bore a striking and unmistakable resemblance to one another, the exotically almond-shaped gray eyes with their haughtily arched black brows appearing generation after generation without fail. It had been the laughter gleaming in those same gray eyes that had first drawn Hester to the tall, distinguished gentleman the previous spring. She had been just twenty years old, and even though he had been, at forty-five, many years older than she, it had made no difference; she had taken one look at Andrew, Lord Devlin, and fallen deeply in love.

  That this handsome, sophisticated member of the aristocracy returned her love seemed almost a dream, and though there were those who said enviously that it was only her great fortune that aroused his interest, when Lord Devlin asked for her hand in marriage, Hester could not bring herself to say no. They had married after an indecently brief courtship, but since Hester had been an orphan and her only guardian had been a fond old uncle, who had been equally bemused by the Earl’s desire to marry his niece, no objections had been raised.

  Despite the differences in their ages and despite the fact that the Earl of St. Audries’s finances had been in desperate straits before his marriage to the Heiress of Bath, as Hester had been called, no one seeing them together could doubt that, incredible though it might seem, theirs was a true love match. That the Earl had lived scandalously, the infuriatingly indifferent object of much shocking gossip and speculation among the rich and powerful, before Hester’s advent into his life could not be denied. Nor did he attempt to hide his wild and wicked past from his bride. Perhaps it was his own rueful admission of his less than respectable history that made Hester love him even more.

  Hester never doubted his love for her, and that first month of marriage had been thrilling and exciting as she had discovered the erotic pleasures of the flesh in her husband’s strong arms. And then there had been London! The theater and the balls and the shops had been utterly fascinating to a young woman who had known only the tranquillity of country living and the sedate society of Bath. But Andrew had opened an entire new world for her as he had proudly escorted her about London, introducing her to the many delights the city had to offer.

  But the time she had treasured the most, the time she remembered as being the happiest in her life, was that painfully brief time that they had lived together at St. Audries Hall near the picturesque town of Holford in the lovely Quantock Hills of Somerset. She had enjoyed her honeymoon sojourn in London, but the glorious hills and valleys near her husband’s home app
ealed to something deep inside of her, and she had eagerly looked forward to their life together in this beautiful corner of England.

  Those first weeks at St. Audries had been enchanting. During the day, Andrew had acquainted her with the countryside, and together they had made plans for the restorations they would make to the once lovely, but now crumbling, manor home that had housed the Earls of St. Audries for generations. And the nights ... Even now, months later, her body weakened and racked by pain, a soft smile curved her gentle mouth as she remembered those nights in her husband’s arms, not only the passion, but the plans they had made, the children they would have, the improvements to his estate her fortune would allow them to make, the sweet future that awaited them.

  A future that had ended with stunning brutality less than six weeks after their marriage. Even now Hester could not believe that Andrew was dead; even now she could not accept the fact that her husband had apparently gone to meet his mistress in a secluded cottage on the estate and that the mistress, furious at his marriage, had driven a knife through his heart before doing the same thing to herself. Hester had been utterly bereft. Not only was the man she had adored and trusted dead, but he had died in such sordid and ugly circumstances. She had not believed his infidelity then, and even now as she lay dying, she still did not believe it.

  Andrew had loved her! He had admitted to his wicked past and had claimed sincerely that all of his wild living was behind him, and despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, she still believed that he had spoken sincerely. All through the painful months that had followed his death, Hester had never doubted that there had to be some other explanation for Andrew’s having been in that cottage with that woman. There had to be! If not, everything Andrew had appeared to be, everything she had loved about him, was a falsehood, and she could not and would not accept the knowledge that their entire courtship and marriage had been a sham.

  When Andrew’s younger brother, Stephen, who had been touring Italy with his wife and young son, hastily returned home to comfort his young, widowed sister-in-law and to inherit the title and estate, Hester had spoken earnestly with him, telling him that she did not believe that Andrew had gone to meet his mistress. Stephen, looking heartbreakingly like Andrew with his black hair and gray eyes, was very kind to her, but Hester could see that he pitied her and believed that his brother had, as the gossips claimed, simply married her for her fortune and had intended to continue with his scandalous life.

  Hester had liked Stephen, although she could not say the same for his wife, Lucinda. For some reason, Lucinda greatly resented her and had made no bones about it, making it very clear that she was now the Countess of St. Audries and that she could not wait for Hester to remove to the shabby dower house and out of St. Audries Hall. Lucinda had also made it bluntly apparent that she would have preferred that Hester leave St. Audries altogether. “After all,” Lucinda had said cruelly, “there is nothing here for you, and with your fortune, you can live wherever you choose. My husband is now the Earl, and my son will one day inherit the title from him.” Her hazel eyes full of hostility, she had finished the unpleasant conversation by saying, “And don’t be fooled by Stephen’s kindness to you. He wants you gone from here too—no matter how much he pities you, nor how much he might want to convince you to expend some of your great wealth on this pile of rotten timber and stone he calls home!”

  Lucinda’s words had cut deeply, but Hester had remained, quietly making plans for the improvements to the dower house and, despite the advice of others, bestowing a large sum of money upon Stephen for the restoration of St. Audries Hall. As she had explained it to him: “It is what your brother would have wanted me to do, and it is in memory of him that I beg you to accept my help.”

  Reluctantly, for he was a proud young man, Stephen had taken the money, and within days, the work that she and Andrew had dreamed about had begun in earnest. Seeing the many workmen scurrying about what would have been her home had helped her in some indefinable way to get through those first agony-filled weeks after Andrew’s sudden death.

  The time immediately following her husband’s death had passed by in a blur for Hester. Shock upon shock seemed to have been piled onto her slender shoulders and they all contributed to Hester’s lack of awareness of the changes within her body. It was not until Andrew had been dead and buried for over a month that Hester concluded that she was pregnant. With a growing sense of awe, she realized that something wonderful would come out of those brief weeks of her marriage—Andrew’s child. Possibly his heir.

  Needless to say, Lucinda and, to a lesser extent, Stephen were not particularly delighted by the possibility that Hester’s child might be a boy. If Andrew’s posthumous son was born to Hester, Stephen would lose the title and the ancestral lands and mansion he had assumed were now his. Polite London thought it a delicious situation, and just like Andrew Devlin, even in death, to create a sensation. All through the winter and early spring of 1796, the ton, amidst much malicious speculation (for Lucinda and Stephen were not overly admired), had waited for the birth of Hester’s child.

  It had not been an easy time for any of the principals. Hester, while delighted with her pregnancy, continued to grieve for her dead husband. Stephen and Lucinda were in a state of great agitation, uncertain whether the home they were living in, a home that was being lavishly and expensively restored to its former grandeur, was actually theirs; and as for the title ... Were they the Earl and Countess of St. Audries or not?

  During these uneasy months, Hester had grown very fond of Stephen. He was unfailingly kind to her and was extremely solicitous of her health and well-being. It was Stephen who undertook on her behalf the overseeing of the complete renovation of the dower house. He had insisted that he be allowed to pay for everything. A wry smile curving his full-lipped mouth, he had said gravely, “It is your money, after all, even if the account has my name on it.” But Hester had tossed her blond head and had replied lightly, “Yes, so it is, but if you will remember, I gave it to you ... to use on the manor house, not on your sister-in-law’s home!” A twinkle in her green eyes, she had added tartly, “She is quite capable of paying her own bills.” They had laughed together, and that had been the end of it—the dower house had been as richly and elegantly restored as the main house, and Hester had paid her own bills.

  As her pregnancy had progressed, Hester had found herself relying more and more on Stephen; he spent a great deal of time with her, willing to run her every errand, and while Hester appreciated this coddling of her, it was also very painful—Stephen looked so very much like Andrew that there were times when he entered a room unexpectedly that her heart would leap in her breast and for one wild moment she would think that miraculously Andrew had come back to her. But then reality would intrude, and the wound of her husband’s death would be torn open anew, and she would be dreadfully unhappy for days.

  Sometimes Hester fretted that it was Stephen’s many kindnesses to her that had aroused Lucinda’s antipathy, but when she attempted to discourage his frequent visits, explaining how it might offend his wife, he had merely laughed and brushed her concerns aside, saying negligently, “My wife understands her position well enough. You have nothing to fear from her, and do not distress yourself about her haughty ways—she is merely puffed up with herself for having gone so suddenly and unexpectedly from being the wife of the younger son to possibly being the Countess of St. Audries.” If his attitude seemed cold and unfeeling, Hester convinced herself it was only her own imagination, but it still made her wonder about the type of marriage they had.

  When Hester was nearly eight months pregnant, it was Stephen who had suggested that she see to the making of her will. Holding her slim hand in his, he had smiled down at her and murmured, “I am certain that you will deliver safely, but should something go wrong ...” Since she had come to rely on him so heavily these past months, and had never really shaken the apathy that had overtaken her upon Andrew’s death, she had obediently followed his ins
tructions and had allowed his attorney to draw up her will. It was an extremely simple document—if she died, her immense fortune passed to her child, and in the tragic event that both she and her child should die, the bulk of her wealth would go to “her brother-in-law and dear friend, Stephen Devlin.”

  Her will made, her affairs in the capable hands of her brother-in-law, Hester seemed to lose all interest in life. Her appetite diminished, and day by day she grew paler and weaker. Not even the impending birth of her child aroused her from the debilitating lassitude that had overtaken her. As Stephen had worriedly explained it to the rector, “It is as if her will to live has vanished. All she talks of is Andrew ... and that soon she hopes they will be together. I am most fearful of her life and that of her child. She is alone in the world, except for me—her uncle died just last month. Poor child! If only there were some way to make her want to live.” Stephen had shaken his dark head. “I have done my best, even Lucinda has come to see her, but nothing seems to do any good. If only there was something I could do to give her a reason for living. I feel that I have failed her in some way.”

  The rector, with the familiarity of a long-standing association, had touched him lightly on the arm and murmured soothingly, “Now, now, my son, do not condemn yourself; everyone in the village knows how much you care for your young sister-in-law and how very kind you have been to her during her time of trouble. You have done your best—what happens now is in God’s hands.”