London's Best Kept Secret Read online

  Books by Anabelle Bryant

  London’s Best Kept Secret

  London’s Wicked Affair

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  LONDON’S

  BEST KEPT

  Secret

  ANABELLE BRYANT

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Anabelle Bryant

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4645-5

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4646-2 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4646-7 (eBook)

  For my Aunt Mary Ann,

  who has always encouraged me to reach higher,

  dream bigger and take a risk in order to enjoy the reward.

  And because she attempted every trick in the book

  to arrange for me to hold a koala bear

  without ever asking why.

  For dedicated teachers everywhere.

  In our changing world, your generous compassion

  and truthful knowledge are needed now more than ever.

  Most of all, for David and Nicholas.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My sincerest gratitude and heartfelt thanks to Esi Sogah, my lovely and quite remarkable editor. I’m so fortunate to work with someone I truly admire.

  Seeing my book reach readers evokes an abundance of feelings: excitement, pride, anticipation and, of course, extreme happiness. Thank you, Kensington Publishing and the many dedicated people who work their magic and enable me to share my stories with the world.

  A special thank-you to my dear friend, Laurie Benson, who never complains about my squirrely conversation skills and always answers my random texts.

  Lastly, if you’re holding this book and reading these words, thank you for choosing to spend your time with Charlotte and Dearing. Happy reading.

  Prologue

  It was a devil’s bargain to wager against a friend’s future, especially when the outcome would ruin the man’s life. Tonight, every dandy and windbag crowded White’s, the infamous club with its avid gambling, adverse politics and plentiful liquor, a bachelor’s paradise and a married man’s asylum. One particular gentleman, clad in the finest squared-cut tailcoat and matched black wool breeches, approached the betting book with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

  “Who entered this wager?” He indicated a scrawl of ink on the third line of the left page. “I know the name mentioned here and find the proposition in poor taste.”

  A few dashers nearby eyed another member across the room and, with hardly a pause in the stream of conversation, the crowd parted.

  “I did, and I stand by it.” A second gentleman, also in black, though his cravat was a less expensive linen, tapped the line of writing with the tip of his glove. Nightly wagers of dizzying amounts allowed no middle ground between success or failure, and at times, terms were met by nothing more than a halfpenny. “I fancy a fortune can be gained on the outcome. Are you bold enough to accept the odds?”

  “Still trying to stanch your bleeding pockets and recover a shred of respectability? That’s an interesting endeavor. The terms are rich. Ten thousand pounds is a staggering sum. But while I play at amusement, you wager your reputation. How will you possibly pay me when I win?”

  “I haven’t a doubt I’ll emerge the victor.” The second gentleman straightened the knot of his neckcloth, the bob of his Adam’s apple the only sign he experienced a moment of hesitation. “I’ve already spent the winnings. Hypothetically, that is.”

  “A dangerous sport, one might say.”

  “The wager?”

  “No.” The first gentleman set down his ivory-tipped cane and picked up the quill and inkpot. “To squander monies, no matter how hypothetical in nature.”

  A few nearby patrons turned with interest as the book was signed, the daring gamble accepted.

  “You’re not going to win.” A self-indulgent chuckle from the second gentleman followed this announcement. “And when you lose, you’ll be back here after the last celebration of the Season to deliver a draft for ten thousand pounds, if it doesn’t happen sooner.”

  A derisive cheer went up among the onlookers, and a few men reached for their purses, anxious to secure a bet of their own.

  “I doubt it. You should get your affairs in order and dibs in tune. You haven’t two farthings to spare.” The first gentleman collected his walking stick and sent his opponent an expression of cynical amusement. “I’ll be more than happy to take your money. Keep in mind, I’ll not forgive the sum. It’s all or nothing in our little transaction.”

  “As you say.” The second gentleman made a show of matching the stare of those who’d witnessed the challenge. “And I plan to have it all.”

  Chapter One

  “A kitten?” Charlotte Lockhart, Lady Dearing, withdrew until her shoulders brushed the embroidered tableau on the settee in her formal sitting room. “Whatever are you thinking, Amelia?” Her voice raised an octave and she forced out a calming breath as her friend reached into the basket on the rug and revealed a lively ball of black fur.

  “There we are.” Amelia Beckford, Duchess of Scarsdale, grinned with delight as she held the impatient feline. “Pandora produced a brilliant litter, and I’m determined to find each kitten a loving home. It’s only natural I chose the sweetest of the lot for my dearest friend.”

  With reluctance, Charlotte accepted the tiny animal and settled the soft bundle in her skirt. Her posture immediately relaxed. “Lord Dearing will never allow—”

  “I don’t understand why not. Every woman wants for a little companionship when her husband is inaccessible.” Amelia’s eyes flared to punctuate her reply. �
��In your case, that matter can’t be understated.”

  “But a kitten . . .” Charlotte found a secret smile, though she dashed it away just as quickly. “Lord Dearing and I have discussed this subject before and I—”

  “I won’t accept no for an answer. Besides, I’ve chosen the most docile kit of the five.” As if aware of their critical inspection, the kitten emitted a perfectly timed mew and blinked its pale blue eyes. “If the discussion with your husband progressed in the same fashion you’ve previously described, I suspect it was confined to one syllable. No.”

  Impatient and adventurous, the kitten attempted a daring leap and became tangled in the folds of Charlotte’s skirt, its claws snagging the fine woven muslin.

  “She’s climbing already.”

  “Well, of course she is. She’s a cat, not a bootjack.” Amelia tapped the toe of her slipper against the imported Aubusson carpet in dismissal of Charlotte’s concern. “Now let’s consider a proper name for her.”

  “Please.” Charlotte gathered the kitten in her palms, although she stalled midway through the task when the feline licked her fingertips. The rough caress of the kitten’s tongue tickled in the nicest way. “Just because Dearing and I have yet to find our way to marital bliss doesn’t mean we won’t. I wouldn’t want to cause a disagreement. You don’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you realize, and that’s why I’ve decided upon this gift.”

  “I can’t keep her.” Charlotte gave a woeful shake of her head.

  “I didn’t travel all the way to London to have you refuse. Secret her away in your bedchambers. Dearing will never be the wiser.” A brief excruciating silence ensued. “You’re still retiring to separate rooms, aren’t you? Good heavens, I can’t imagine waking up anywhere than beside Lunden.” A grin of delight danced around her mouth before she continued. “But never mind about that. My recent marriage and wedding trip temporarily derailed my efforts to see you happily settled, but I’ve returned now with renewed effort.”

  Accustomed to Amelia’s enthusiastic conversational skills, Charlotte sighed, and her exhalation whispered over the kitten’s fur to elicit a soft purr of pleasure. The kitten was a pretty little thing. And how divine it would be to have a confidant who listened rather than strove to contribute or, worse, correct all the ills of her relationship.

  True to Amelia’s assessment, Charlotte had entered into marriage as a stranger to her husband and thereby encountered a unique set of circumstances. She’d returned home from a tea party one afternoon to be informed by her father she would be married within a fortnight. Lord Dearing had rescued her family from financial ruin and exemplified several times over he was the epitome of a respected gentleman. Still, ten months had proved too long to wait for a first kiss, a fond embrace or, dare she imagine, a passion-filled evening. Their expedient two-week courtship had overflowed with the planning and preparation most brides accomplished over months and therefore hadn’t spared adequate time to become comfortable with each other.

  “Every time I see that look of longing on your face, it pains me.” Amelia reached across the oval occasional table and stroked the kitten between the ears. “Even if Dearing discovers your new companion, at least it will begin a discussion.”

  “Discussion?” Charlotte scoffed. “This rascal will cause an argument.”

  “All the better.” Amelia bit her bottom lip as if fighting to hold another grin at bay.

  “In what manner?” Charlotte knew her friend well.

  “An argument is exactly what the two of you need! All your polite etiquette has gotten you nowhere. But a confrontation, composed of heated words and reckless sentiment, will lead to unrivaled passion. I daresay all that emotion needs to be funneled out somehow. Dearing is a hot-blooded male. He doesn’t fool me for a moment. I see the way he looks at you when he believes no one is watching.”

  Charlotte narrowed her eyes skeptically. “It’s not as if we’ve never kissed.”

  The weak assertion garnered a snort of disbelief from her friend. “Those chaste pecks on the cheek? That’s no more a kiss than a caper is a banquet. I wonder if there’s something we haven’t noticed. Do you think he has an injury or other ailment preventing him from—”

  “Amelia.” It was Charlotte’s turn to interrupt.

  “I’m only considering the possibility.”

  “Yes, I know. I can hear you.”

  “It would explain quite a bit, wouldn’t it? Perhaps I should speak to the gardener at Beckford Hall. He could prepare a healing powder if Dearing—”

  “Amelia!” Charlotte all but shouted, and the kitten reacted, sinking her claws into Charlotte’s thigh. Thank heavens the multitude of layers beneath her day gown protected her from the pain.

  “You really shouldn’t doubt me.” Amelia stood with a firm shake of her skirts and prepared to leave.

  “Perhaps he won’t notice.” Charlotte gathered the kitten closer to her heart. “Except for meals and the rare cordial exchange, Dearing is usually locked away in his study.”

  “Locked away? Find the key. Open the door.” Each well-meant directive brought Amelia closer to the hall, her heels tapping out the words to underscore their intent. “And one last instruction—”

  “Yes?” Charlotte carefully removed the wriggling bundle from her gown and hurried to follow.

  “You must adore your new kitten as I do you.” Amelia flashed a wide smile before she hurried across the threshold and into the foyer.

  “Oh, no worry of that.” Charlotte smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the kitten’s nose. “I already do.”

  * * *

  “Faxman.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  On alert, the wiry secretary rose from his chair, and Jeremy Lockhart, Viscount Dearing, silently commended the servant’s attentiveness.

  Faxman had served in the position for five years and proved a cheerful fellow who knew when to speak and when not. He also possessed a sharp mind and never complained when Dearing’s rigorous schedule kept them both into late hours. Thus, Faxman was trusted with all financial transactions, shrewd fiscal contracts, investment maneuvers and monetary exchanges.

  All except one.

  Dearing settled his eyes on the corner of his desk, where a black leather box rested beside his silver letter opener. The locked box was a constant reminder of unfinished business. Some secrets were best hidden in full view. He returned his attention to his secretary. “Have you completed the documents for the Harrison stock and securities purchase?”

  “I’ve just sanded the page, milord.” Faxman angled his head to indicate the foolscap atop his work station. “Shall we continue our conversation from yesterday concerning the Tasinger and Oliver merger? Or would you prefer to examine the Benson proposal?”

  The first notes of the pianoforte, faint and ephemeral, chased Faxman’s inquiries, and Dearing looked at the elegant regulator clock above the hearth.

  He’d worked straight through luncheon and beyond, the hour later than he’d realized. At the very least, Faxman deserved time to eat and rest. Otherwise, Dearing risked running the secretary into the ground and he couldn’t have that.

  “Never mind. Look at the time. You may go for now. Thank you.” Dearing waited for Faxman to leave, but instead of gathering his belongings with haste as the servant was apt to do daily, the younger man stalled, his brows drawn low over inquisitive eyes.

  “Mozart, isn’t it?”

  “Haydn’s Sonata No. 59 in E-flat major.” Dearing drummed his fingertips against his thigh, all at once impatient for Faxman to be gone. This particular piece was his favorite and he didn’t wish to spoil it with conversation.

  “Lady Dearing’s accomplished skill draws attention. My father preferred the instrument and oft said music has a way of expressing what otherwise can’t be stated with words. At the risk of speaking beyond my position, when I hear Lady Dearing play, I recall my father’s memory with fondness.”

  Dearing remained quiet for
another beat. “That will be all, then, Faxman.” The secretary’s uncanny ability to voice provoking observations unnerved him.

  “I’ll return at half eight tomorrow morning.” Faxman collected his satchel and coat from the hook near the door. “Good day, milord.”

  Dearing watched as Faxman exited, though his ears remained attuned to Charlotte’s clever skill. How would she react were he to enter the music room and become her audience? Was she aware how deeply he favored her masterful ability?

  With a deep sigh, he lamented that his wife remained a mystery. Ten months past, ten months wasted. They spoke little more than niceties and cordial conversation, and he accepted the blame for the stagnant, awkward tension that grew more pervasive each day. Meanwhile his body, in tune to his complicated emotions, yearned to breach the chasm between them.

  He stepped backward in a feeble attempt to detach from the enchanting summons of her music, each note and chord a beckoning. His legs met the edge of the desk and his hand caught the corner of the leather box. With care, he laid his palm flat atop the surface and closed his eyes to the truth within.

  How much easier it would be if he could pack away his emotions and keep them in a secure container. He shook his head. He’d adored Charlotte from the moment he saw her. And yet, he’d doubted he possessed the wherewithal to capture the beautiful and talented lady’s attention. He was a reserved, quiet man, and while confident in his ability to master finances, his diffidence in matters of the heart left him the victim of lost opportunity. And so, he’d calculated the risk, measured the potential for success and chosen an alternate route to gain what he wanted. Yet despite the fact he’d executed the most ingenious business maneuver of a lifetime and acquired an ideal wife, the marriage left him desolate of satisfaction.