On the viscount.
Sophia forced a swallow. She couldn’t fail on this mission, couldn’t disappoint the memory of her brother, couldn’t go back to the Hawkins’ townhouse a disgrace. They were more than her employers; they were more family to her than her own.
Thoughts tumbled over themselves so strong she couldn’t stop them. Tears misted her eyes as an image of her brother popped into her mind’s eye. Sixteen years before, he had died in the Battle of Trafalgar in Spain with no answers as to how it had happened. There’d only been a letter sent home informing her father of the loss—signed by the damned Viscount Trewellain, yet another way her life was irrevocably intertwined with his—and that Stephen had been buried in a grave not far from the battlefield. Her life had changed after that, of course it had. She still felt her brother’s loss keenly, for out of all her siblings, she’d been closest to him. There had been no closure, no comfort from someone who’d been there for her brother’s last moments. Had he suffered? Was he alone? Did any of the men with him mourn his passing?
“Miss? Time is of the essence,” the porter reminded her. “The ship will depart soon.”
She nodded to the young man as she blinked the tears away. I will not cry. Not anymore. Tears accomplished nothing, and they certainly wouldn’t bring back the idyllic life she’d enjoyed before Stephen died and her father had drowned his sorrow in drink and gambling. “We may continue.” It was folly to stand out here on the dock and invite the viscount’s notice. She needed that element of surprise. A man caught unawares would be at his most honest. This time, she followed the porter and a sudden wave of exhaustion slammed into her.
For months, she’d hoped for such a chance, and when she’d stumbled into the viscount’s path during the Christmas holidays while in Kent with the Hawkins family, she’d ‘come the crab in his presence, and they’d both bared claws. Thinly veiled insults had ensued, and the air around them had been charged.
In short, he despised her, and she couldn’t stand him. Yet they hadn’t conversed about the very thing that bound them together—the crux of their troubles. The viscount couldn’t have it both ways. He could not continue to tie up her prospects and ignore her as if she didn’t exist though they were betrothed. She narrowed her eyes as she followed the porter up one of the ramps. The uncertainty would end today, and she would have her freedom from pig-headed men who thought erroneously to control her future, societal dictates be damned.
My destiny is my own. I decide where I will go and what I will do.
“Your cabin number, miss,” the porter asked in a voice tinged with boredom as he turned to her.
Anxiety again clawed at her stomach. “Uh…” What was that dratted number for the viscount’s quarters? One of her close friends worked as the Duke of Rathesborne’s secretary. She’d singled him out, for the duke and the earl were friends, and the viscount was often seen in their company, so it had been logical to assume that the duke would know about the men’s movements. It had taken very little flirting on her part to procure this information. She should be embarrassed or slightly scandalized to admit that she’d deliberately led the poor man on for the information, but she refused to feel bad. It was something she’d needed, and more desperately than he needed his integrity. The man could square with the duke if the knowledge came about. It was not her concern. Finally, the number popped in her brain. “Twenty-two.”
Surprise flashed in his expression. “That is one of the nicest cabins onboard.” Then he glanced up and down her person with speculation.
“Oh, is it? I had no idea.” At least that was the truth. Before the man could inquire further, she yanked her carpetbag his hand. As he gawked, she rushed to explain. “I’m certain you have many duties to perform at present. I can find my own way and no longer require your assistance. Thank you.” Quickly digging into her reticule, she handed over a few coins, dropping them into his gloved hand as he floundered. “Enjoy your day.”
Sophia bustled past him and soon melded with foot traffic in the narrow passageway beyond. The excited drone of conversation floated around her. At another time, perhaps she’d feel the same, but this mission was not one of pleasure. A twinge of alarm tingled at the base of her spine now that she was actually onboard. What if she were discovered? She ignored the warning. I am here to talk to the viscount. Nothing bad will happen. How could it? The plan she’d concocted was flawless. Plus, she’d be gone before the ship departed. Her stomach cramped anyway. And if things unraveled? She’d be forced to stow away and then return to England at Gibraltar, and hope to God she could secure passage in a timely manner. But she would have the viscount’s agreement. Nothing would mar that.
Stop worrying, Sophia. You are almost free.
With a firm nod and determined steps, she followed the passageway until she arrived at the correct cabin. Another tremor of unease assaulted her. What if the door required a key to unlock it? Then she took herself in hand. If there was a God in heaven, there wouldn’t be an obstacle. As passing people and military personnel jostled her elbows, she shifted her bag into one hand, and saying a quick prayer, she pressed on the brass latch.
Merciful heavens, it opened, and she released a sigh of relief. With a grin, Sophia slipped quickly inside and closed the panel behind her. Even though she’d enacted the first step of her plan, her heartbeat raced. Was it with exhilaration or fear? There was no way to tell.
The space, decorated in navy and maroon draperies, bedclothes and rug, was plunged in shadows. After setting her carpetbag in the corner behind the door, she strode over the cozy space and twitched the curtains open to reveal a round porthole. Sunlight flooded in and gave the cabin a more cheerful air.
Temporarily forgetting her reason for being there, Sophia explored the restrictive area. Besides the bedchamber, there was an equally tiny adjoining sitting room that contained a settee in crushed navy velvet as well as a wooden straight-backed chair and a matching low table. No doubt the suite had been expensive, and she could almost picture the viscount lounging in the rooms during the voyage. How many days would he be at sea? Since she hadn’t traveled and had only dreamed of doing such, she had no answers.
A pang of longing shimmered through her. What would it be like to visit ports of call the world over, those places she’d only read about in books, the exotic locales she’d heard of when the countess was in a storytelling mood? Perhaps with the new freedom glimmering on her horizon, she could indulge… Except she would still have her post as governess. She brightened at the thought. Mayhap the Hawkins family would require that she accompany them on their adventures. Lady Jane would need instruction and education, after all.
With a smile, Sophia headed back into the sleeping chamber. She removed her cloak and dumped it with the rest of her luggage. How long would it be before the viscount arrived? A quick glance at the watch that hung suspended on a golden chain around her neck told her the ship would depart in under a half hour. Excitement wound up her spine. Soon her life would be her own once more. In an effort to calm her nerves, she perched on the edge of the bed and waited.
Dear God, how she loathed waiting.
As her eyelids began to droop, footsteps sounded outside the door. The echo of muffled, masculine voices drifted to her ears. One of them belonged to the viscount. With a gasp, Sophia hopped from the bed. Her stomach tightened with nerves. He is here! She wrung her hands together as the urge to retch climbed her throat. I’m not ready. What had she planned to say, to demand of him? Suddenly, she couldn’t remember. It mattered not that she’d interacted with him a handful of times. Those were under the watchful eyes of the Hawkins family and much different than being alone with him.
And then she lost her mind, for she rushed about the space in search of somewhere—anywhere—to hide. The bold and forthright attitude she’d prided herself on vanished in the face of frenzied panic. What had she been thinking with such an insane plan? Perhaps she should have sent a letter or courier as Lady Archewyne had suggested.
The latch on the door rattled and alarm shot through her being. This was what happened when she acted with planned impulse, making demands where she had no right. Ah, here. With trembling fingers, Sophia pulled open a slim door built into the wall. The narrow closet would be just the thing. Perhaps he would enter, look about and then decide to go above deck to watch the ship depart.
That reprieve would give her time to soothe her nerves and find her words—and her courage.
No sooner had she climbed into the closet, stuffed her lavender skirts about her and pulled the panel closed did the door to the cabin swing open. Heavy footfalls thumped over the hardwood. The carpet muted them as the men advanced into the room.
“You may leave the luggage on the bed.” The rumble of the viscount’s voice reached her through the closet door. It resonated in her chest and she bit her bottom lip to prevent making a sound. “No, I don’t require anything else. I am perfectly capable of putting my own things away. Thank you.”
A second man said something, but the low-pitched mumble was indiscernible. The opening and subsequent closing of the door rang in the silence.
Dear God, am I alone with the object of my dislike?
Sophia held her breath as she strained her ears. Had the viscount left with the porter? She laid her ear against the panel as best she could in the cramped space, but no other sound revealed itself. In the darkness, her heartbeat raced. Her breath came in tiny pants that she attempted to keep silent. Would that give her presence away?
Minutes passed with excruciating accuracy and still nothing stirred beyond her hiding place. There was no room for her to shift her weight or in any way move into a more comfortable posture. She gritted her teeth against the soft rasp of satin as her skirts slid around her. How long should she wait? Again, she strained to listen. Was that a rustle of fabric or was it her imagination? There was nothing in the closet to occupy her spinning mind or to provide distraction.
The complete darkness closed in almost as if the cupboard tried to squeeze her into the nothingness of itself.
Her pulse pounded hard in her ears. Sweat trickled down her back. She dearly wished to burst from this wretched place and take a deep breath. When a tickle teased her nose, panic chilled her skin. No, no, no, not now. Sophia willed herself not to sneeze. It had been a flaw and an embarrassment since childhood. Every time she found herself in a stressful situation or allowed fear to overtake her, she sneezed in response. When she went to lift a hand to her nose to prevent the looming disaster, the narrow walls of the closet prevented such movement.
And the tickle turned into itching that no amount of nose wriggling could alleviate.
Don’t do it, Sophia. Just this once, hold it in.
Her heartbeat tripped in a frantic tattoo as she wiggled her nose like a mad rabbit. Nothing helped and the urge to sneeze intensified.
She blew out a silent breath. Bit her lip. Nothing helped. No, no, no… And then she couldn’t hold back any longer. The sneeze squeaked out of her with the volume of cannon fire, at least to her ears.
Would it matter? Perhaps there was no one inside the cabin. She waited, her muscles tensed to the point of aching, but there wasn’t—
The unmistakable cock of a pistol rang in the stillness and the latch on the closet door ticked slightly as it was depressed.
Damn and blast.
ABOUT SANDRA SOOKOO
Sandra Sookoo is a USA Today bestselling author who firmly believes every person deserves acceptance and a happy ending. Most days you can find her creating scandal and mischief in the Regency-era, serendipity and happenstance in Victorian America or snarky, sweet humor in the contemporary world. Most recently she’s moved into infusing her books with mystery and intrigue. Reading is a lot like eating fine chocolates—you can’t just have one. Good thing books don’t have calories!
When she’s not wearing out computer keyboards, Sandra spends time with her real life Prince Charming in central Indiana where she’s been known to goof off and make moments count because the key to life is laughter. A Disney fan since the age of ten, when her soul gets bogged down and her imagination flags, a trip to Walt Disney World is in order. Nothing fuels her dreams more than the land of eternal happy endings, hope and love stories.
ALSO BY SANDRA SOOKOO
REGENCY-ERA STORIES BY SANDRA SOOKOO
Scandal in Surrey series
Lady Parker’s Grand Affair
The Bride’s Gambit
Misfortune’s Lady
Miss Bennett’s Naughty Secret
Darrington family series
Marriage Minded Lord
To Bed or To Wed
The Bridal Contract
Thieves of the Ton series
Captivated by an Adventurous Lady
Engaged to a Scandalous Earl
Married on a Wicked Morning
Intrigued by an Ancient Pedigree
Beguiled on a Christmas Morning
Caught with a Stolen Diamond
Tortured by a Horrible Secret (coming August 2018)
Delighted on a Summer’s Evening (coming October 2018)
Lords of Happenstance
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires
What a Wayward Lord Needs (coming November 2018)
Lords of the Night
Devil Take the Duke (coming 2019)
Bitten by the Earl (coming 2019)
VICTORIAN-ERA STORIES BY SANDRA SOOKOO
Cairo Nights
Unraveled Souls
The Lady’s Chocolatier
Miss Spencer and the Con Man
A Wolfish Scandal
A Wolfish Tangle
The Widow’s Maestro
The Apothecary’s Assistant (coming September 2018)
The Magic of Gingerbread (coming December 2018)
LURING A LORD’S LOVE
TAMMY ANDRESEN
CHAPTER 1
ARIANNA PULLED her green cloak tighter about her head, tendrils of her auburn hair threatening to catch the breeze and escape from its heavy cover. She couldn’t allow that to happen as her bright locks might give her away. Today, she was particularly glad to have finally retired the red riding hood she’d worn for much of her youth. The green helped her to hide amongst the trees and brush of the forest.
She desperately needed that cover now. Strange occurrences had been happening in their tiny Scottish village. Reports of wolves attaching people had begun to circulate. There were no wolves in Scotland, hadn’t been for centuries. But something was frightening people. Then robberies started occurring, and lately, disappearances among the villagers. Many of them, young maidens like herself.
She shouldn’t be out and about in the woods alone at a time like this. She had enough sense to know that. Her father, a huntsman, was gone on an extended hunt with the local lord. A great many of the men joined them. The timing had been most unfortunate and she desperately wished they would return.
To make matters worse, her grandmother was old and feeble requiring regular care. Arianna’s mother would have moved the woman to their own cottage but Angus, her youngest brother, was ill and the doctor had warned them to keep Granny away from Shamus. The elder might catch her death.
Her brother’s ailment was also the reason Arianna, rather than her mother, had made this journey. Granny needed her care, she knew that, but her limbs shook with fear as she picked her way down the wooded path toward Granny’s home. Just last night, she and her mother had discussed Arianna moving to the cottage to care for the woman until her father returned. It frightened Arianna a little to think of being separated from her mother but at least her Granny would have the care she needed and neither she nor her mother would have to make the now-treacherous journey.
Neither of them should be venturing out with the rash of crimes that were occurring. As she was leaving, her mother had pulled the cloak tight about her head. “You keep this over your hair. You stay in the shadows and you come home before dark. If you can’t make it, stay a
t your Granny’s. Be safe.”
“Yes, Mama,” Arianna had replied and set off with the basket in her hand.
The woods had been quiet and peaceful. She’d done as her mother had asked and stayed in the shadows. After what seemed like hours, her grandmother’s cottage came into view and she breathed a sigh of relief. Stepping out of the forest, she began to cross the sunny glen that surrounded the house.
It sat upon a cliff, and the sound of the ocean waves that crashed below filtered in even through her hood. It was a short walk to the path that led down the cliff to the water’s edge and, in happier days, her family had passed whole afternoons on the beaches below. She’d explored every nook and cranny along that beach and all the waters that fed into it.
Reaching the house, Arianna tried the handle of the door but found it locked. She was glad that Granny was taking precautions, but she’d begun to feel uneasy again. And so, setting the basket down, she scurried to the back side of the cottage to fetch the hidden skeleton key that would turn the lock.
The waves were louder on the back side of the cottage as she pulled the key out from under a pot in the garden. Between the water and the hood, she nearly missed the rustle of sound that came from her right. A tingling of nerves raced along her skin as she wondered for a moment if it was her imagination that was making her frightened. In times like these, one might imagine every scratching branch was a monster.
But as she lifted her head, she caught sight of legs coming toward her. Her hood blocked most of the figure but she distinctly made out two furry legs.
Romantically Enchanted: A Twisted Fairytale Collection Page 49
