Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2)

by Williams, Lana

  Victorian Romance

  Michael Drury, Viscount Weston, treats life like a business, shunning personal connections at all costs to avoid the passion that ultimately destroyed his parents. Discovering drab governess Emma Grisby in his library is a shock, especially since her uncle appears to have risen from the grave with deadly intent. He suspects her of working with her uncle and devises a scheme to watch her.

  Desperate to aid her family, Emma reluctantly agrees to Michael’s offer to give her a season with the hopes of finding a wealthy husband. She trusts no man and does her best to ignore her growing feelings for the handsome viscount.

  Watching Emma transform into a beautiful, confident woman is more than Michael bargained for. He fears losing control of his carefully ordered life when his love for her intensifies. As passions collide and secrets are revealed, Michael and Emma must decide if they are strong enough to risk their hearts, and possibly their lives, for love.

  Mom, this one is for you.

  Thank you for all of your love, support, and

  those amazing bits of wisdom you’ve shared.

  I was listening.

  I love you!

  ~*~

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Other Books by Lana

  Acknowledgements

  Thank You

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, June 1882

  Michael Drury, Viscount Weston, had to stop himself from whistling as he entered his townhome on Park Lane. What would the neighbors say at such ungentlemanly behavior? Still, his good mood couldn’t be repressed. His meeting with Adolphus Vandimer had gone swimmingly. Soon, not only would he have a significant interest in Vandimer’s lucrative shipping venture, his family’s country estate would be returned to its rightful ownership.

  Oh—he’d nearly forgotten—he’d have a wife as well. A brilliant business arrangement all around, if he did say so himself. He ignored the tug of regret at releasing his boyhood dream of marrying for love and having a real family. Such things were best left discarded on the schoolroom floor. His parents’ relationship had certainly convinced him of that.

  “Good day to you, my lord.” His ever efficient, if dour, butler greeted him.

  “And to you, Jeffries.”

  “There’s a young lady to see you.”

  “With a worthy charitable endeavor?” That had become a regular occurrence of late. Some were commendable. Most were not. While requests were normally handled by his man of business, the more passionate believers often found their way to his home. Jeffries had become adept at sorting through those who called on Michael directly. These days, there was no end to the people who came to plea for one project or another. Everyone wanted something from him now that he had money.

  “She says her business is personal in nature. Her name is Miss Emma Grisby.”

  Michael froze, astonished at this turn of events. Emotions rolled through him, one at a time, until he was no longer certain how he felt. Never mind that the first one had been pleasure.

  “Shall I send her away?” Jeffries asked. “She appears to be in rather desperate circumstances.”

  “I’m sure she does.” Michael bit back disappointment. Not her, too. Or was she here as part of some scheme her beloved uncle had plotted...if he truly lived? “I’ll see her.”

  He gave a grim smile and tried to tell himself he welcomed this meeting. At last he could put away his idyllic reminiscences and see her for what she’d become. Yet the idea of listening to some lie she’d concocted caused a knot to form in the pit of his stomach.

  Unwelcome, memories of her as a young girl drifted through his mind, pulling at him. She’d been only fifteen or sixteen when he’d known her ten years ago. Her uncle, Professor Grisby, had lived with her family and served as a father to her and her siblings. While they’d lived modestly, they always seemed to have such fun with each other. That was something with which he had no experience.

  The contrast between his last two visits had been startling. At the earlier one, her mother had been teaching her to dance.

  Emma’s big brown eyes had been lit with innocent delight, her face filled with joy as her mother whirled her about the room, humming a waltz. Emma had laughed. Oh, how she’d laughed. The sound struck Michael, reverberating through him and filling him with longing. Never had he shared an experience like that with his mother or father.

  Then he’d taken a turn with her. It had been a night he’d never forgotten. One that changed his view of families forever, especially his own.

  The next time he’d seen her—at Professor Grisby’s funeral two months later—couldn’t have been more different. The devastation carved into Emma’s expression had twisted his heart. All that delight snuffed out. Those brown eyes dark with the weight of her shattered world. Her family sobbing around her as she alone held a fragile shell of composure.

  He’d attempted to visit them soon after, to offer his assistance though he’d had no money to give them then. But he’d been too late. They’d moved and left no forward address. Then his own life had forever changed, and he’d had no time to search further for them.

  He pushed away the memories to deal with the present, bracing himself as he entered the drawing room. He’d grown weary of being disappointed by people. Distant relatives and supposed friends had come out of the woodwork since he’d rebuilt his wealth. It was now easier to expect nothing of anyone.

  A drab form perched on the edge of the armchair nearest the door. Did she plan to flee if he didn’t give her what she wanted? At his entrance, she bolted upright, betraying her nervousness. She was dressed in grey from head to toe, the muted color giving her a mousy appearance. Her cheeks were thin, her brown eyes difficult to see behind her spectacles. Her hair was pulled back ruthlessly into a tight chignon and, if he wasn’t mistaken, held a hint of grey which matched her complexion.

  Odd. He remembered her much prettier as a girl.

  Before he had a chance to offer a greeting, she dipped low into a curtsy.

  “My lord.” The huskiness of her voice took him by surprise.

  “Miss Grisby,” he said. “It’s been some time since we last met.”

  “Indeed it has. I apologize for my sudden arrival, but I’ve come to call in a small debt you owe my family.”

  Michael’s hackles rose.

  Of all things she could’ve said to him, that was the one certain to put him in a foul mood. He’d spent the past nine years paying off his family’s debts, removing the line of creditors that had seemed never ending. He no longer owed anyone and intended to keep it that way.

  “Well, now that we’re done with the pleasantries, allow us to discuss business.”

  Her cheeks pinkened at his sarcastic tone. At least that brought a sign of life to her dull appearance. Despite her thin face, it seemed as though she ate well enough based on the thickness of her figure. Surprising, considering how slim she’d been in her youth.
>
  He mentally shook himself. None of that mattered. “I confess I don’t remember owing money to your family.”

  Her chin lifted and a spark shone in those brown eyes. “I’m not interested in your money, my lord. My uncle provided tutoring to you on several occasions without payment.”

  “Yes, he was one of my professors at Cambridge at the time. I believe that was part of his position.” He didn’t bother to keep the bite out of his tone.

  She swallowed visibly and he thought he caught a glimmer of shame in her expression. Here it comes, he thought, bracing himself. The tragic story of their dire circumstances.

  “Correct. However, he provided assistance to you far beyond that of a normal teacher. In exchange, we would ask you to provide a letter of reference. I am presently seeking a governess position with the Marchioness of Warkshire. It’s my understanding she’s a cousin of yours?”

  “Indeed.”

  “A letter from you would go a long way toward helping me obtain the position she has available.”

  Michael folded his arms across his broad chest as he studied her. At times like this, he was almost grateful for his ability to read auras. The damned skill had been bestowed on him ten years ago at university when her uncle, Professor Grisby, had conducted an electromagnetic experiment that went terribly wrong. Michael and two of his friends had been injured, but her uncle had paid the ultimate price—death.

  Or so they believed.

  Two weeks ago, evidence had come to light suggesting that either the professor truly had survived, or someone was playing a nasty joke. But Michael wasn’t about to introduce that subject. He’d wait for her to do so.

  The dark glow hovering an inch or two above Emma’s head and shoulders told him her intent to find a governess position would not succeed. That was all he could see—success or failure of the endeavor a person was about to embark upon.

  Even if he provided her with an outstanding reference, she wouldn’t obtain the position.

  “Have you served as a governess before?” His curiosity over the reason for her upcoming failure demanded an answer.

  “Yes. For the past eight years in fact.”

  He frowned as he did the math. “That would’ve made you—”

  “Quite young when I obtained my first position.” Her brow rose as though daring him to state a number aloud.

  A vision of her reprimanding one of her charges for misbehaving filled his mind. She was certainly no one with whom to be trifled. Her no-nonsense attitude combined with that husky voice made her an authority figure.

  “Why not obtain a letter of reference from your previous employer?” he asked, unable to let it go.

  “I have letters from several of my previous employers.”

  The odd way she phrased it gave him pause. “And the most recent one?”

  Her lips tightened as pink flooded her pale complexion again—something he was starting to look forward to. “That was not an option.”

  He waited to see if she’d explain.

  With a deep breath, she added, “I left under less than ideal circumstances.”

  The evasive answer only left him more curious. “Who was your previous—”

  “Will you make good on your debt or not?” Again, those brown eyes flashed.

  Ire pulsed through him. “Do not use that word. We both know there is no debt. I don’t appreciate you implying otherwise.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but he held up his hand to stop her. “However, I am willing to provide you with a letter of reference.”

  Her eyes closed for the briefest moment, and she tipped her chin down as though saying a quick prayer. He could see her brows arched nicely now that the frame of her glasses was out of the way. Ridiculously long dark lashes closed over her eyes. Her slim nose tipped up the tiniest bit at the end. He’d forgotten that about her.

  Those eyes opened and held his gaze for the space of a heartbeat. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn memories of better times danced through her mind as well. “Thank you.”

  The simple statement of gratitude made him feel petty for considering denying her request. But there were other matters of concern here. He mustn’t forget that.

  He needed to know if the little evidence he’d seen was true and her uncle still lived, if she’d been in contact with him. Michael had no intention of allowing Emma to disappear again without gaining some answers. Not after events of late.

  He moved to his desk and, with as much casualness as he could muster, asked, “How is your family?”

  Her pleasure at his agreement to write the letter fell away.

  “Fine. Thank you.”

  He studied her a long moment, wondering what the truth of the matter was. “Your mother is well?”

  “Yes.”

  As he withdrew a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, he continued, “Your sister and brother?”

  Emma bit back the bitterness that stole her breath. The poor health of her younger sister was what had driven her here under false pretenses to collect a nonexistent debt. Yet what else could she do?

  She’d lost her governess position due to her employer’s wandering hands. Tessa’s illness had worsened. They owed the doctor money but needed to pay rent. She had no choice. “Forgive me for being rude, but we both know you don’t care so I won’t bother answering.”

  He frowned and she leveled him a look that dared him to disagree.

  As he opened his mouth—whether to protest or agree—she found she couldn’t bear to hear either. “If you have a need to make polite conversation, allow us to discuss the weather instead. June has been quite pleasant, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She glanced down to check the cuff of her sleeve, hoping the patch wasn’t showing. She well knew she didn’t look the part of a successful governess but every penny she earned went to the doctor or medicine.

  Her fingers bore traces of white ash and she realized she must’ve touched her face or hair. She could only hope her disguise was still in place. Long ago, she’d learned beauty was not an asset when applying for governess positions and she hid hers with as many tricks as she could.

  Michael—rather Viscount Weston—hadn’t bothered to reply to her comment about the weather. She could no longer think of him as Michael. That was something that belonged in the past along with the fleeting friendship she’d mistakenly thought they shared.

  As he bent his head to scrawl on the paper, she studied him. Age had only increased his attractiveness, adding strength to his appearance. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, his eyes as blue as the morning sky. The strength of his jaw balanced with high cheekbones and a narrow nose with just a hint of a bump near the bridge.

  She bit her lip as she reminded herself it didn’t matter. Viscount Weston had cut off their association immediately after her uncle’s death. Therefore she had to conclude he had no interest in her or her family, and that meant she had no interest in him.

  Still, she couldn’t help but watch him while she had the chance. He’d certainly looked her over thoroughly. The way he’d studied not just her face but all around her head and shoulders had been disconcerting, as though he was trying to discover her very essence. For a long moment, she’d held her breath, worried that he would see beneath her disguise.

  Sometimes, in the dark of the night, in her cold bed, she permitted herself to remember the evening she’d danced with him. Her heart still fluttered at the memory. She couldn’t allow herself to think on it too often, else a deep longing coursed through her for things that could never be, filling her with melancholy.

  She continued to watch him, determined to memorize every detail of his appearance so she could retrieve it later. A stab of regret filled her at the suspicious way he’d greeted her, as though he’d known she’d wanted something from him. She straightened, reminding herself that asking for a letter of reference was of little consequence. It took only a few moments of his time, nothing more. By the look of his elegant home, he could
afford much more than that.

  Desperate times had forced her to take drastic action. As far as she was concerned, being unemployed with an ill sister and near-to starving family excused her forward behavior. But she had no intention of sharing that with him.

  After her uncle’s funeral, he’d never bothered to speak with them. She’d wondered if he felt guilt for her uncle’s death and that was why he’d severed communication with her family.

  Whatever the cause for his behavior, it had hurt.

  Deeply.

  He sealed the letter, then rose and walked over to her. “I fear it will do no good, but here it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His expression froze. “Only that I have little sway with my cousin.” He held out the letter to her.

  As she reached for it, their fingers brushed. She paused at the unexpected contact before reminding herself that his touch meant nothing.

  “Thank you. I truly appreciate it.” At last she met his gaze, only to find him looking all about her again. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” He looked nonplussed at her question.

  She stopped herself mid-air from touching her hair, not wanting more ash to come off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  And it didn’t. She wouldn’t see him again. The despair the thought caused had to go away along with the lump in her throat. Anger was much easier.

  “I’ll bid you good day.” She curtsied and turned away, not daring to look at him.

  “You’ve nothing more to say?”

  She swung back, confused at his words. “I said thank you.”

  His eyes narrowed as a scowl twisted his lips. The expression was one she’d seen many times when her uncle had tried to explain some complicated concept on the occasions when Michael had visited their home. The memory nearly made her smile.

  But not quite.

  “What else would you have me say?” she asked.

  “There’s no news you’d like to mention?”

  Heat crept up her cheeks at the idea of not being completely honest. Had he somehow heard of Tessa’s illness? “No.”