Seductive Lies

by Colleen Connally

  Seductive Lies

  Title Page

  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

  Epilogue

  Seductive Lies

  by

  Colleen Connally

  * * * *

  Published by Colleen Connally

  Seductive Lies

  Book Three, Secret Lives Series

  Copyright @2013 by Colleen Connally

  Edited by Faith Williams

  The Atwater Group

  Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill

  www.edhgraphics.blogspot.com

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  September 2013

  http://jerrihines.org/

  Dedication

  As always to my husband, Bob

  For allowing me to follow my dream.

  To my daughter, Tracy

  For all her encouragement and support

  Acknowledgement

  I would like to say a special thank you to Karen Skiby for her insights in helping me refine my work. I so appreciate the time and attention she has given to my books.

  Prologue

  1804

  Arthur Charles Francis Hammett, Lieutenant in His Majesty’s Navy, heir to the Viscount of Daneford, rode his horse up the steep hill. He took a path that led to the point where the cliff rose steep and straight from the sea along an indented coastline. He reined in his horse before a scene of breathtaking beauty. Across the cove, his home, Ayercombe Manor, stood on the cliff’s plateau facing the sea, lit brightly under a full moon in a cloudless sky.

  This was the last night he would be home for quite a while. He was set to depart for his ship and the war on the morrow. His spirits lifted up on the magnificent sight of the granite mansion, majestic and noble, that towered over its domain and defied all who came against it. Pride surged forth as he soaked up the view.

  Ayercombe Manor had been in his family for many generations. The manor had been built during the reign of King Henry VIII. Only once had his home fallen out of his ancestors’ hands—during the Civil War. The Hammetts had been staunch Royalists. Only after Cromwell’s death and the crown restored was Arthur’s family fortune and estate returned. Since that time, the Hammett name had been held with respect and honor within all of Devon.

  His great-grandfather, Charles Tristan, the Baron Sandrow, had been the first Viscount of Daneford. The title was bestowed upon his great-grandfather for his service to the Crown as ambassador to Russia. His father, Francis Geoffrey, had served within the diplomatic corps, but his service was cut short on a diplomatic mission to Lisbon when his ship sank during a violent storm. Both his father and mother perished. Though Arthur remembered little of his father, he felt his decision to serve his country against the devil himself, Napoleon Bonaparte, would do honor to his father’s memory.

  In his youth, Arthur would never have taken solace upon the sight before him now, but in his youth he had been brash and reckless, quite the devilish rake. Arthur rebelled against most told to him. Acceptance did not come easy to his nature. Resentment gnawed within him and oozed out in his behavior. A rebellious soul against the boredom that being the heir meant to a young gentleman, he gave his grandfather many a sleepless night.

  That was before Harriet. Miss Henrietta Burke…Harriet. The woman had changed everything about his life. The daughter of a major in His Majesty’s Army. The granddaughter of the local squire. Most of his life, he had given little notice of the family, much less to Harriet. At a glance, he had thought Harriet plain and dowdy in their previous meetings: her hair pulled back too tightly from her face; her dress ill fitted to her frame. Nothing in her manner demanded any more attention from him other than a polite nod.

  His eyes fixated on the cove. That was where he first met her, not a polite formal greeting. He met her…the real Harriet, the one behind the façade of polite society. That was where he was to meet her this night. Where was she?

  Surely, she would have been able to sneak out tonight…this night of all nights. He didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t able to see her one last time. A moment later, his fears eased. He saw her emerge, rounding the bend of the shoreline on her horse.

  Arthur whistled and waited only for her to look up in his direction before he began his descent down to the beach. He wasted no time. Every moment was precious.

  The cool night breeze greeted him when his mount stepped onto the sandy beach. She smiled at him. How had he ever thought her plain! She looked incredibly lovely in the moonlight. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

  Her bright eyes sparkled in the moonlight reflecting off the water’s gleam. She had a flawless complexion enhanced by the silkiness of her long eyelashes and full rosy lips. Her golden, almost sunlight color, hair pulled back in a fashionable manner, framed her oval face. Her dark brown eyes met his with a mixed expression of annoyance and adoration.

  “You are late.”

  Arthur had no time to answer. She kneed her mount’s flanks and galloped down the beach. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. The race was on! Faster and faster, the two galloped along the stretch of deserted beach. She glanced over at him and laughed.

  For a brief moment, his eyes warmed at the sight. The gown she wore gathered up about her knees; her hair, freed of its bounds, blew back in the wind. Gawd! How was he ever going to leave this woman!

  Suddenly, she reined back and slowed her pace. He followed suit and rode to her side. In one swift motion, his arms rounded her, pulling her off her horse and into his arms. Off balance, the two fell back into the rolling waves.

  Drenched, Harriet coughed. Her soaked cloak hung back on her back, leaving Arthur with a full view of her gown that clung tightly to her figure. The wet fabric left little to the imagination, outlining her round, firm breasts.

  She gave little thought to her appearance. She pushed back against his chest, trying desperately to gain her balance. “My horse! Arthur! Look at him! What if he returns to the stables? Uncle Walter will know!”

  “I don’t give a damn what Uncle Walter knows,” he said. He held her so his eyes bore into hers. She didn’t back down, but challenged him.

  “I do, Arthur. You are leaving. I have…”

  He would have none of it. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her up to face him. Swiftly, he bent down and pressed his mouth upon hers. He kissed her before she had time to object and not sweetly either. He took her mouth hard, releasing a swelling hunger within him for this woman.

  He seduced her mouth open so his tongue was in her, tasting, exploring, and possessing her. Her gasps spoke her shock, yet he felt her relax in his arms. His hand slid up to her breast, coaxing a cry from her. He kissed her neck as his hand cupped her breast.

  “Harriet, my love,” he whispered. “Whatever are we going to do?”

  “Arthur, I can’t,” she protested rather weakly.

  He broke from her only far enough back to see into her eyes. She would. She would
let him ravish her at this moment. He felt her need…his. Bloody hell! He wanted her, but it would never do. He was to leave in the morning and would not be here if there were consequences. He had to suppress his want.

  “I know. I know,” he answered her with the greatest reluctance. “It was not my intention to seduce you, but God knows I want to, as do you.”

  Harriet nodded, seemingly lost for words. Pressing her lips together tightly, she nodded as tears began to well in her beautiful eyes.

  He reached over and caressed her cheek. “I love you, Harriet.”

  The words undid her. A dam of tears burst. She fell into his shoulders and wept. He held her then in the stillness of the night with the only sound of the waves rolling in and out.

  “I love you, too, Arthur.” She choked back her tears. “I’m so proud of you. You are going to do your family proud. It is only…I’m going to miss you so.”

  “And you do not know where we stand. You and I. I have been so thoughtless, Harriet. I should have well proclaimed my feelings before this night. Be strong, my darling. I will return.” He leaned down and brought her chin upward. He kissed her lips, gently this time. “I will return and make you my wife.”

  She could do little to contain her shock. “Your wife? Oh, Arthur, whatever will your grandfather say?”

  “It is not his consent I want to hear at this moment. Tell me, Harriet Burke, that you will be my wife. I know what is true. I want only to remember this feeling between us, how it feels to touch you, hold you…love you. Let me leave knowing you will be here for me when I return.”

  “If you want to know I love you and will wait for you forever, then go and hold no doubt I will be here,” she uttered before his mouth claimed hers once more.

  Chapter One

  Harriet Burke paced the length of her bedchamber to look out the window. Ignoring the sunlight’s promise of a glorious day, her eyes fixated on the long, winding path up the entrance to Beebe Manor. It was empty. She closed her eyes and prayed the night before hadn’t been a dream.

  Unlatching the window, she opened it, allowing the fragrance of the roses below to encompass the room. Since her grandfather’s death, the estate had fallen upon a financial strain. The once magnificently maintained grounds had fallen into a state of disrepair, which showed in the shabbiness of the lawn where now weeds had been allowed to run freely.

  Beebe Manor was the only home she had ever known. It was an older house, worn through the years where the aged bricks had been laid over a century ago. Ivy covered the front side of the entrance, with a small flower bed on either side of the path up to the front door. The manor was set off the lane, quite a distance from the ocean shore.

  The long neglect was quite evident on one glance. The impoverished estate cried for attention, except for her grandmother’s beloved garden. Harriet tried to give the flowers the care needed for the blooms to thrive. The garden gave great pleasure to her sickly grandmother.

  Climbing white rose blossoms intertwined, creating an arbor. Her grandmother loved roses and the garden abounded in the blooms. Complimented with asters, zinnias, and dahlias, the assortment gave the garden a brilliance of color. At the far end, a stone wall covered with sweet smelling Clematis flanked the gardens, with espaliered fruit trees completing the small landscape.

  Harriet drew in a deep breath in an effort to calm her racing heart. The whole of her body trembled with anticipation. The remembrance of the night surged within her. Arthur loved her! Never had she experienced such joy as when he uttered those words. Moreover, he wanted to marry her!

  In his arms, Arthur pushed back any misgivings gnawing within her of their union. “Your uncle will have little choice in accepting my offer for your hand. Nothing will come between us.”

  “What of your grandfather?”

  Arthur smiled a devilish grin, which lent to erasing any lingering doubts she had about their marriage. “Grandfather trusts my judgment. You will see. My enlistment in the navy has given him hope of my redemption in becoming a true Hammett and living up to his expectations. Lest I remind you that it was you that inspired me to seek honor and glory for my family. It is my duty as heir.”

  Harriet accepted all Arthur said in the still of the night, but with the morning light, doubts emerged. She was under no illusions. As heir to the Viscount of Daneford, a heavy burden lay on Arthur’s shoulders of respectability and responsibility. She doubted whether Lord Daneford would be as understanding of Arthur’s choice of bride as Arthur wanted her to believe, not with the scandal attached to her name.

  It was said that shortly after Harriet’s birth, her mother, Georgiana Burke, ran off with another man and left her infant daughter and husband. Her father called out the suspected scoundrel who whisked his wife away from her family. The ensuing duel resulted in the death of the Lord Meriwether Carlisle, brother to the Duke of Torridge. Rumors of the subsequent scandal haunted Harriet to this day.

  Shortly after the incident, her father had been recalled to His Majesty’s Army. He never returned. Harriet was only eight when her father was killed, serving under General Cornwallis in the Irish Rebellion.

  Harriet had never known either of her parents. Her mother…the woman she had never known…abandoned her…

  “Harriet! Harriet! Did you hear…?”

  Harriet pivoted around to see Bessie, her cousin, burst through the door. She stopped abruptly in front of Harriet and raised her eyebrow. “Why you look…quite…quite lovely this morning!”

  Harriet walked away from the window. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she smiled. She thought she looked quite elegant and ladylike in a sky-blue muslin dress. At least it was what she hoped. Much care had been given to her appearance this morn. Even her long honey-colored hair had been neatly braided in a coronet with a few tresses falling to frame her face.

  “I have taken a great deal of time to prepare for this day,” Harriet said, straightening out her skirt. “Do you like the blue? I have the green…”

  “No, no. I would not change a thing. Although I imagine that Mother will not be happy. Do not let her see you if you want to get a glimpse of the lieutenant…Arthur Hammett is coming here with his grandfather. Lord Daneford is coming!” Bessie exclaimed, quite out of breath. “Mother is all a dither. Father received a note early this morning, requesting an audience. It can mean only one thing. It has to be Clarissa. Mother has her up and readying. He was talking to her at length at the dance last week. You were there beside Clarissa…”

  “I was. He seemed quite pleasant,” Harriet said smugly, holding her secret for a moment longer. Bessie hadn’t a clue, but Harriet knew well Clarissa would have no doubt of whom Arthur came to call upon. Clarissa had helped cover for Harriet when she snuck out to see Arthur since Clarissa’s return from London a month ago.

  “Whenever Mother heard that Lord Daneford had recalled Lieutenant Hammett back to Ayercombe, Mother could not depart London quickly enough. It was always thought that he would be attached to His Grace’s, the Duke of Torridge, daughter, Lady Sophia. I thought Mother had overplayed her hand. Father said so. Father said that Lord Daneford called the young Arthur back only to reprimand him.” Bessie leaned toward Harriet. “It was said he had a fondness for indiscretions. Always getting into one scrape or another. Father said he would not be here for long, but Father was wrong. Why, Arthur never returned to London! Oh! The catch of the Season and he wasn’t even in London!”

  “Bessie, you do not know what Lord Daneford is calling about this morning,” Harriet cautioned her impetuous cousin. “Neither should Aunt Constance…”

  “It has to be,” Bessie interrupted once more. “The young lord is rumored to be set to leave for his ship assignment in Portsmouth. There is no other reason to call upon us this day unless he wants everything set before he goes into war. He must be so in love. Like King Arthur and Genevieve!”

  “Oh, Heavens, Bessie!” Harriet giggled. “I know you so love carrying around your books, but p
erhaps you might try reading them. I would not compare lovers to Arthur and Genevieve. Genevieve betrayed Arthur, you realize, with Sir Lancelot. It was Genevieve and Lancelot’s love affair which inspires you, but ended so tragically.”

  Bessie shrugged and paid Harriet no mind. Instead, she pointed to the window. “Oh, look! I see the carriage! He has come!” Bessie cried and turned to Harriet. “Laugh at me now, but wait and see that I am right.”

  Harriet glanced out the window. In the brilliance of the morn, a dark coach bearing the crest of the Daneford family rode up the winding path. Her heart sang! He had come!

  Harriet stared at the carriage until it turned out of sight, having continued on to the front entrance.

  “You are a strange one, Harriet. Why, you haven’t even asked…”

  Harriet wasn’t listening. She had long learned that Bessie had no need for interaction in a conversation. Doing little to suppress her elation at the carriage’s appearance, Harriet disappeared out of her room and into the corridor.

  A ripple of excitement flowed through Harriet as she joined Clarissa at the top of the stairs. A quick glance told Harriet that Clarissa had dressed in accordance with her mother’s wishes. Clarissa wore a close-fitting taffeta with a low neckline gown with a short petticoat of white linen underneath. The height of fashion, Harriet was certain, except the pale yellow of the taffeta seemed to swallow Clarissa’s features. The poor thing would have been better suited in a rose shade.

  Clarissa gave no thought to her appearance. She hurriedly gestured for Harriet to come closer.