A Daring Deception (Spies and Lovers #6) - Laura Trentham Page 0,2

your name?”

He tilted his head as if surprised by her question, but he finally said, “Simon. My name is Simon.”

Simon took her small hand and bussed the back. “Well, Miss Jessica Tremaine from Pennsylvania, I wish you luck and good fortune here in England.”

“Thank you. I believe I’ll need all the luck I can get.” She held her fisted hand against her chest and flew up the stairs, stopping in the shadows at the top to watch him.

He was halfway out the door when he paused. Her stomach swooped, hoping he might seek her out once more. Instead, after a whispered conversation, he slipped the innkeeper a few coins. With one last glance over his shoulder, he left with his greatcoat swirling around his black boots in a flurry of snowflakes.

Jessica leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Simon, the Duke of Bellingham. She would never forget his name or what he’d done for her this day. Never.

Chapter 1

Summer 1820

Simon, the Duke of Bellingham, crouched behind a clump of young trees and scrubs as he battled a list of sundry emotions. At the forefront was chagrin at what his colleagues in Parliament, who respected his sober intellectualism arguing for the plight of beleaguered Londoners, would think of his current predicament.

A predicament he should extricate himself from immediately. The consequences of being caught ranged from life altering to embarrassing. Yet he was frozen. Utterly befuddled and absolutely flabbergasted.

A nearly naked woman was in the pond. His pond. Well, the pond at Wintermarsh, which was his sister and brother-in-law’s estate, but he considered it his home as well. Even though he owned landholdings and a large town house in London, Wintermarsh was his refuge. Usually.

This particular morning had been trying. He had escaped to rail privately against the autumn house party his sister, Minerva, was planning. Simon had a terrible feeling she was planning the party for him. As in, he was the bait. He could already feel the noose tightening.

The guest list included a gaggle of eligible ladies in possession of bloodlines worthy of being a duchess. Minerva had denied the machinations with poorly faked innocence in her blue eyes. His sister was incorrigible and determined. A dangerous combination.

The woman in the pond distracted him from the impending nightmare of the house party. The wet shift she wore was translucent and clung to her curves. Her face was tilted up to the sky to catch the summer sun’s heat, and the long dark strands of her hair danced above firmly rounded buttocks.

She held up sections of hair to hasten its drying, and he caught the tantalizing outline of the undercurve of her right breast. His imagination drew in the rest, including a rosy pebbled nipple pressing against the thin cotton shift.

His squatting position was becoming uncomfortable. So was the cockstand he was sporting. The thing had no sense of decorum. Where were the gentlemanly impulses he’d cultivated after a misspent youth? Apparently, they’d disintegrated at his feet like the leaf litter.

His gaze unerringly found its way back to the woman even as he was determined to scrape the remnants of his honor off the bottom of his boot and leave the lady in peace. Not taking his gaze off her, he rose, wincing at the protest from his cramped legs.

If only he could get a glimpse of her face. Turn your head, my little nymph, turn, he begged silently.

As if she heard him, she stilled and tilted her head like a wild creature sensing a predator.

And that’s all he’d be to the young woman caught unawares in a vulnerable state. Shame welled up. If she was of a lower class, his power over her would be absolute. He had seen the powerlessness of women forced to sell their bodies and worse, their children, in order to survive London’s slums. He refused to be the one to make life more difficult for this particular woman.

Resolute now, he took a step backward, smacking the crown of his head against a low limb. He let out a curse and dropped to his haunches to peer from between thick vines. The noise had spooked her.

The woman clamored to shore and pulled on a plain brown dress with buttons in the front. He watched her turn into an ordinary maid. No, not ordinary. No woman with her hair would ever be ordinary.

He caught a glimpse of her profile. A straight nose and high cheekbones were highlighted by a rosy complexion. Her mouth