by Linda Cajio
Nights in White Satin is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1990 by Linda Cajio
Excerpt from Blaze of Winter by Elisabeth Barrett © 2012 by Elisabeth Barrett.
Excerpt from Light My Fire by Donna Kauffman copyright © 1997 by Donna Kauffman.
Excerpt from Santerra’s Sin by Donna Kauffman copyright © 1996 by Donna Kauffman.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Nights in White Satin was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1991.
Cover design: (Insert name here)
Cover photo: Gettyimages
eISBN: 978-0-307-79900-5
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s Blaze of Winter
Excerpt from Donna Kauffman’s Light My Fire
Excerpt from Donna Kauffman’s Santerra’s Sin
Prologue
“You what!”
Jill Daneforth stared at her mother in disbelief.
“I sold—sold the necklace,” Caroline Daneforth confessed a second time, in the short version, then wailed copiously. “Your father’s going to kill me!”
“The Daneforth emeralds have been in the family for over three hundred years, and you sold them,” Jill muttered from between clenched teeth, unmoved by her mother’s crying. Caroline had been flighty upon occasion, but this one took the cake. “Of course Dad is going to kill you. I’m going to kill you. Mother, where was your brain?”
“But I thought you would all be relieved that I was avoiding a horrible scandal,” her mother replied in her defense. “Roger … I mean Colonel Fitchworth-Leeds said they had been stolen from his family by a Daneforth all those years ago. He showed me a photostat of an old letter to King Charles II that told of the incident, demanding justice. It was even notarized. He would have taken us to court, I know it … and the scandal … your father’s image … his law firm … We would have been laughingstocks. I was so sure it was better to sell the necklace back. I mean, he couldn’t sue us then, could he? He signed the bill of sale. I insisted on that to show he accepted it as a legal purchase.”
Her mother beamed at her cleverness.
“He would have been an idiot to sue,” Jill said. Her mother had taken a pittance for a priceless heirloom, and then tied it up in a nice and probably legal package. Fitchworth-Leeds must have been thrilled to have found such a pigeon to fall for his flimsy story. Red haze obscured her vision for a long unbearable moment. “Why the hell couldn’t you have given him the paste copy Dad had made for you because you wanted to wear the necklace to everything? I’m sure it would even have fooled the Colonel. Until he had it appraised.”
“But Jill, that wouldn’t have been honest!” her mother exclaimed, shocked.
Jill looked heavenward in supplication. “Great, I have Diogenes for a mother. You’ll have to tell Dad—”
“No! He’ll hate me. He’ll never forgive me.”
No kidding, Jill thought, angry all over again with her mother. Still, she couldn’t blame her. Jill wouldn’t want to tell her father either. She watched Caroline take another tissue from the ornate porcelain dispenser on the candlestick table, then lie back down on her chaise lounge. Another fluff amid all the rest of the pink and white fluff of the bedroom—with her mother looking like Camille about to give her last gasp. No wonder some of Caroline’s friends called her “Fluffy Buffy.” Jill might have inherited her mother’s dark hair, gray eyes, and tall, slender build, eyes, and tall, slender build, but she hadn’t inherited the brain. Lord, she hoped not.
When her mother had called and asked her to come over to discuss something important, the last thing Jill had expected to hear was that the Daneforth emerald necklace was gone in a swindle a four-year-old could have seen through. Still, she couldn’t deny that her mother had acted out of honorable motives. Misguided, but honorable.
It could have been worse, she decided. Her mother could have not had second thoughts after the Colonel returned to England. She could blithely have announced her cleverness years from now—when there was no chance of even tracing Colonel Fitchworth-Leeds.
Anger roared through her at the thought of the necklace gone. She stuffed her fists in her pockets to keep from hitting something. Dammit, it had been her heritage sold for a song. Her birthright was to receive the necklace, hold it in her care for a time, and then pass it on. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.
“This is all your father’s fault!” her mother suddenly pronounced.
Jill gaped at her.
Caroline nodded vigorously. “If he weren’t so wrapped up in that trust-fund case, he would have been paying more attention to the Colonel and this would never have happened.”
“Mom, even Dad wouldn’t buy that one.”
Her mother slumped in the chaise. “It seemed so right. I thought you all would have been so proud of me for what I’d done to save the family name. What am I going to do? You have to help me, Jill. You’re so sensible, you’ll think of some thing to get the necklace back.” Caroline began to cry again. “I can’t tell your father. I can’t. He’ll hate me, hell never forgive me, ever …”
Jill cursed under her breath. If her mother had thought the Colonel would have kicked up a fuss, wait until all the families along Philadelphia’s wealthy Main Line got wind of this one. Everyone would be howling with amusement. Her father would be devastated.
That damned Colonel Fitchworth-Leeds had ruined a family, she thought murderously. He’d been charming and suave. Even she had liked him when she’d met him at the Harpers’ party, where he had been guest of honor. She supposed she ought to call the Harpers, humiliating as that would be. Marion Harper had a big and busy mouth, and Jill had no desire to relate the Daneforth disaster to the woman. Who would? She wondered where Fitchworth-Leeds had gotten the British society credentials to achieve legitimate introductions there in the States. She wondered how she could catch a thief.
Not with her background, unfortunately. Having a degree in medieval history didn’t train one for this job. It hadn’t trained her for much of anything—except teaching. For Jill, that ranked about on a par with toenail cutting. After rushing into and out of a marriage, she had found a niche at the Philadelphia Zoo as a volunteer, booking world tours for its members. She had never felt right taking a paying job because of her trust fund—until last month, when the zoo had offered her the prestigious position of director of volunteers. Hart Redding, the current director, would be retiring in August. But much as she liked her work and loved the animals, it also hadn’t given her the skills to cope with this. About the best she could do was to borrow Webster the lion to sic on the Colonel.…
“Are you thinki
ng of some way to get the necklace back?” her mother asked hopefully.
Jill made a face. “More along the lines of retribution.”
“I’m so sorry,” Caroline whispered. “Jilly, please help me.”
Jill sighed. Her mother might not have the most logical mind, but she had a good heart. She remembered how Caroline had staunchly supported her after her disaster of a marriage ended. Jill owed her mother for that one. She wanted so badly to have the necklace back and make the Colonel pay, she could taste it. There had to be something she could do.…
Jill blinked. She might not know the something to do, but she did know the someone. A wonderful someone who had great connections in England, and who had great discretion besides.
She walked over to the nightstand, picked up the telephone, and began to dial.
“What are you doing?” her mother asked.
“Calling Marshal Dillon,” Jill answered.
“But we don’t know any Dillons!”
“Yes we do. Alias Lettice Kitteridge.”
“… yes, my son, Edward, has all kinds of connections with the English authorities,” Lettice Kitteridge, one of the ruling matriarchs of Philadelphia society, said a short time later. “I’m sure he can help you, Jill.”
“Wonderful,” Jill said fervently.
Hardly missing a beat at the interruption, Lettice went on, “I was disappointed when the family chose to stay on after Edward’s stint as ambassador was over. Only his daughter, Susan, had the sense to come home. Interesting child, Susan. Full of surprises. My grandson Rick, however … Mmm, my grandson Rick. Now why didn’t I see this ages ago.…”
“About my problem,” Jill broke in, deciding to keep Lettice from going off on a tangent. The last thing she needed now was a monologue on some grandson.
“Yes, of course. I thought that Leeds man was a little too ‘Jolly Old England’ the night of the Harpers’ party,” Lettice said. “I didn’t care for him. Still, he’s very clever in first presenting your mother with a scandal to hush up, and then in leaving the family with another to hush up. Or look ridiculous. I wonder how many others he’s swindled in that fashion.”
“He swindled this one, Lettice,” Jill said. “And that’s enough for me.”
“Edward will help you get your necklace back, Jill. Don’t worry.”
Hope began to filter through Jill’s anger, changing it to determination. She’d retrieve the family honor.
No matter what it took.
One
“Don’t stand there gaping! I haven’t died and come back from the dead. I just look that way.”
Rick Kitteridge stared at his American grandmother, who looked impeccable, as always. Her soft pink lightweight wool suit was unwrinkled, and not a single silver hair was out of place. Tall as she was, she barely had to reach up to kiss his cheek, then she swept past him into the house. His house, his Devil’s Hall and farm in the heart of England.
“Wha …” He swallowed back his astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
“Your father wasn’t home,” Lettice replied matter-of-factly. She dropped her purse on the entry-hall table. “Where are your parents anyway? And why are you covered in curly hair and what is that awful smell?”
“Sheep dip,” Rick said. “We’ve been shearing sheep. And my parents are in Moscow—”
“Moscow! But he can’t be in Moscow!” shrieked a voice from behind him.
Rick whipped around to find a second woman on his threshold, which was open to the fine spring morning. If his grandmother had surprised him, this woman took his breath.
Her eyes were the color of the sea. Beneath their agitation, they held the promise of sensuality. She was tall and slim, and her features were fine-boned, not perfect, yet put together in a way that drew a second look … and a third. Her skin was pale, but flawless. Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face in an all-American ponytail, making her look like a teenager, though he guessed she was in her mid-twenties. Her simple denim skirt and checked blouse barely revealed her slender curves, and he found himself staring at the touch of lace just visible at the second opened button of her blouse. It taunted him with what was hidden underneath. Silk and satin. Innocent and bewitching.
His grandmother might have popped up on his doorstep unannounced, but she hadn’t come empty-handed. Who was this lovely woman, and why was she so interested in where his father was?
“Oh, silly me,” Lettice said, startling him from his mesmerized trance. She put a finger to her cheek in an enlightened gesture. “I completely forgot your father was going on that economic summit, and your mother with him. Is it this week, Rick?”
“This entire month. Grandmother, you know—”
“Month!” The sexy Madonna looked stricken at the thought. She staggered over to a carved paneled chest and collapsed onto it. “I think I’m going to faint—or throw up.”
Any fantasies Rick had burst faster than a zeppelin. He glanced around the foyer and handed her the first thing that looked accommodating—after yanking out its contents. “Here.”
“You want me to throw up in the umbrella stand?” she asked dryly, looking at the tall brass cylinder stamped with grapevines.
He shrugged, still holding the umbrellas. “It always looked nauseating to me.”
“I told you to eat on the plane, Jill,” Lettice said. “Get her legs higher than her head, Rick, so she doesn’t faint.”
Lettice’s innocent words evoked a very uninnocent image in Rick’s mind. “What do you propose I do?” he asked, forcing the image away. “Stand her upside down?”
“Please, I’m woozy enough,” Jill said. She groaned and closed her eyes. “It’s just jet lag.”
Rick gazed at her, captivated by the slight arch of her brows and the way her lashes fringed her cheekbones. He resisted the urge to trace the softened lines of her face, to feel if her pale skin was as smooth as porcelain.
He remembered she was feeling “woozy” and berated himself for what he was thinking. “Are you ill?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him as if he had grown two heads. He admitted he couldn’t have asked a more inane question if he tried. The smell of sheep dip probably wasn’t helping matters either.
“Not yet.”
“There’s a loo opposite the stairs.” He pointed to the right end of the foyer, then realized he was still holding the umbrellas. Feeling like an idiot, he set them against the wall.
“Thanks,” Jill said. “I won’t have to completely humiliate myself. I must have been insane to come here on a moment’s notice with you, Lettice. Now what?”
“All is not lost,” Lettice said with her usual indefatigable determination. “Rick, this is Jill Daneforth. I don’t think you ever met her on one of your rare visits to the States. You didn’t even come for your sister’s wedding, for which I still haven’t forgiven you. Say hello to Rick, Jill.”
“Hello,” Jill said.
Her low voice sent a shiver of expectation down Rick’s spine, and he wished he had changed from the threadbare corduroys and tweed jacket he was wearing. He also wished he’d gone to the States a little more often, seeing it contained women like Jill. Realizing he’d been completely sidetracked from the main issue, he mumbled, “Delighted to meet you,” to Jill, then he turned back to Lettice. “Grandmother, what are you doing here?”
Lettice gave him the “regal eye”, as her stern look was known in the family. “We came to England. What do you think? Jill is exhausted, and seven hours on a plane is enough to age me ten years, which I certainly can’t afford to lose, let alone the ride here—”
“We must have gone around every single roundabout between here and London ten times,” Jill broke in, “because your grandmother couldn’t make up her mind which road to take.” She covered her eyes and shuddered.
“You drove?” Rick exclaimed.
“It wasn’t Whistler’s mother behind the wheel,” Jill muttered.
His home in the Cotswolds of Glo
ucestershire was a nearly three-hour drive northwest from Heathrow Airport, practically halfway to Wales. And everything was completely opposite for her with the left-hand driving. It was a miracle they hadn’t killed themselves. “You must be insane.”
She smiled wryly, giving him a glimpse of hidden vibrancy. “I see you’ve driven with your grandmother before.”
“Now, Jill,” Lettice said. “I just wanted to be sure we were on the right road. Don’t worry. Rick will put us up.”
“Put you up!” Rick stared at her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had company other than his parents. He didn’t even know what condition the other rooms in the house were in. A thousand panicked thoughts jumbled through his head. The foremost was that Jill Daneforth would be in proximity twenty-four hours a day. He wasn’t sure if that was a heaven or a hell.
“Be a good host, Rick,” his grandmother commanded, “and go get the bags from the car, while I show Jill up to one of the rooms.”
“The hell I will!” Rick bellowed in complete frustration. His peaceful existence had been shattered the moment his grandmother had walked in the door. He sensed she was up to something that involved her lovely companion. He knew he was being rude, but he wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
“All them bleedin’ public schools,” a loud voice interrupted, “and not a lick of manners learned!”
Rick groaned as a large bald man strode into the entry hall.
“Jeeves must be turning over in his grave at your attitude,” Rick said to his majordomo. Grahame Sulford merely raised his eyebrows.
“Jeeves was bleedin’ lucky to have an idiot wastrel to watch over and not you.” Grahame beamed at Lettice and took her hand. “Madam, what a pleasure to see you again. And who is this charming creature with you?”
“Jill Daneforth,” Lettice said, smiling in pleasure. “Jill, this is Grahame Sulford. He works for Rick, although I don’t know what he does exactly.”
