Her Scandalous Pursuit

by Candace Camp

  The long-awaited prequel to the Mad Morelands series—the story of Thisbe, the oldest Moreland daughter.

  Thisbe Moreland is used to men not taking her seriously. As a scientist, she’s accustomed to being the only woman at lectures and meetings, her presence met with scorn and derision. So it comes as a pleasant surprise when she sits next to a handsome young man who is actually interested in having a conversation about science.

  Desmond Harrison cannot believe his good fortune when he sits next to Thisbe—she’s intelligent and incredibly beautiful. He longs to see her again—but he’s ashamed of his low birth. Not to mention his employment with the infamous Professor Gordon, a formerly respected scientist who turned to spiritualism and is now deeply scorned.

  When Professor Gordon demands that Desmond recover an artifact for him—an ancient object reputed to have terrible power, known as the Eye of Annie Blue—Desmond realizes that only Thisbe holds the key. Desmond must choose between his love for Thisbe and his loyalty to his mentor...but humanity’s very future will depend on his choice.

  Praise for Candace Camp

  “Alex and Sabrina are a charming pair.”

  —BookPage on His Sinful Touch

  “Those who have not discovered Camp’s Mad Morelands are in for a treat... Camp is a consummate storyteller whose well-crafted prose and believable characterization ensure that this intriguing mystery...will utterly enchant readers.”

  —RT Book Reviews on His Sinful Touch

  “From its delicious beginning to its satisfying ending, Camp’s delectable [story] offers a double helping of romance.”

  —Booklist on Mesmerized

  “[Camp] is renowned as a storyteller who touches the hearts of her readers time and time again.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A smart, fun-filled romp.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Impetuous

  “A clever mystery adds intrigue to this lively and gently humorous tale, which simmers with well-handled sexual tension.”

  —Library Journal on A Dangerous Man

  “Delightful.”

  —Publishers Weekly on The Wedding Challenge

  “The talented Camp has deftly mixed romance and intrigue to create another highly enjoyable Regency romance.”

  —Booklist on An Independent Woman

  “A truly enjoyable read.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Mesmerized

  Also available from

  Candace Camp

  and HQN

  The Mad Morelands

  Mesmerized

  Beyond Compare

  Winterset

  An Unexpected Pleasure

  His Sinful Touch

  His Wicked Charm

  The Aincourts

  So Wild a Heart

  The Hidden Heart

  Secrets of the Heart

  The Matchmaker Series

  The Marriage Wager

  The Bridal Quest

  The Wedding Challenge

  The Courtship Dance

  An Independent Woman

  A Dangerous Man

  The Lost Heirs

  A Stolen Heart

  Promise Me Tomorrow

  No Other Love

  Suddenly

  Scandalous

  Impulse

  Indiscreet

  Impetuous

  Swept Away

  Candace Camp

  Her Scandalous Pursuit

  Contents

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  PROLOGUE

  London

  December 1556

  A WOMAN RAN down the narrow street, staying close to the wall beneath the overhang of the buildings. There was no time. She was ahead of them—thank God one of Jamie’s urchins had slipped her the message—but she knew they were not far behind. Now that he had the writ for her arrest, he would waste no time.

  Hatred burned in her heart for the man who sought to destroy her. Hal told her it was only her invention the man wanted, but Hal was a good man, too ready to assume that quality in others. He didn’t know, as she did, the heart of darkness.

  Ducking into the court, she pulled open their door and barred it behind her. “Hal! They’re coming.”

  She hurried through her workroom into the family’s living area. A fire burned low in the small fireplace, a pot hanging from the metal arm above it. They had thought to eat before they left, but it was too late now. She ran up the narrow stairs to the level above, where the sleeping quarters lay. Jutting out over the street, it was a larger area than below, with a wide, enclosed room for her and Will, and a smaller one for the children. It was a commodious house, a point of pride for her. She had done well, risen above her former station.

  And now they were reduced to fleeing the city like common thieves.

  Hal was in the children’s room, filling a sack, and he jumped to his feet, leaving the remainder of the belongings lying on the floor. Guy, the eldest, also turned from his task, his face pale in the dim flicker of the rushlight.

  “Are they here?” Hal asked, his voice tight.

  “Not yet. But they’ll not be far behind. We must hurry.”

  He nodded and snatched up Guy’s cloak to place around the boy’s shoulders. She went to the crib and lifted the little one. The baby didn’t wake, merely turned her head and snuggled into her mother’s warmth.

  “Alice,” she whispered, brushing her lips against the dark curls. “Beloved.” Swallowing back her tears, she wrapped the baby’s blanket more tightly around her, pulling down one corner to protect Alice’s head from the cold.

  When she turned back to Hal, she saw he had already donned his own cloak. As she held out the baby to him, he grasped her arm. “Come with us, love.”

  “I cannot. Thou knowest I cannot.” Her voice shook. “I must destroy it.”

  His usually pleasant face darkened. “That wicked thing. I wish—”

  “I know. I wish it, as well. But you must get the children to safety. And I must undo the evil I’ve created.” She handed Alice to him and leaned in to kiss each cheek, then his mouth. His free arm lashed around her and he squeezed her to him.

  “Follow me. Promise me you will follow.”

  “I will.”

  He kissed her then, hard and fast, and went down the stairs.

  She kneeled before Guy, straightening the tie on his clo
ak and drinking in her son’s face. “Be strong. Help your father.”

  He nodded sharply. “I will. I’ll keep them safe.”

  “I know.” This one was like her, perhaps too much so; he wasn’t the sort to look back or give in. He’d charge ahead. Tears sparkled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and kissed him in the same ritual, a peck on each cheek and one on his mouth, then hugged him to her in a last embrace. “Take care.”

  She stood up. He looked at her solemnly. “I shan’t see thee again, shall I?”

  “I’ll be with thee always.”

  He ran down the stairs, and she followed. The baby lay in the chair, still asleep, Hal’s bundle on the floor. Hal had shoved aside the small chest and now he lifted the hatch in the floor. Cold, dank air rushed in from below.

  Hal picked up the sack and pulled the strap over his head, adjusting the sack on his back. She went to the cupboard and grabbed her journal, as well as the athame in its scabbard that sat atop it. Going to him, she shoved them into the sack.

  “That!” He pulled away. “No. Take it out. I want no part of it.”

  “Thou must. Else he will have it. Guard it. Keep it. Promise me.”

  His eyes flickered with heat and for an instant she thought he would refuse, but then he jerked his hand, as if throwing aside his thoughts. “I promise.” He bent down to pick up the baby. She lit the wick of the fat tallow candle inside the pierced tin lamp and handed it to him. He held the lamp above the dark hole. “Come, son.”

  Guy looked back at her, and for an instant the scared little boy showed in his face, but then he started down the ladder. Hal bent to hand the boy the lamp. Straightening, he looked at her. He did not speak; his gaze said everything.

  She felt as if she might drown in the sorrow rising in her chest. But she nodded, summoning up a smile. “Godspeed, my love.”

  Then her family was gone, leaving only the gaping black hole. For an instant she could not move, everything in her screaming to follow them. But she pushed down that craven impulse and rushed to lower the door. She dragged the small chest back in place.

  Whatever she had promised, she knew she would not be following them. She was not about to lead her enemies straight to her family. No one would bother to hunt them down; it was her they wanted. Her and her creation.

  She swung the pot out from the fire, then hurried to her workroom. She pulled out bottles of herbs and a small cellar of precious salt. It would be better if she could light her brazier and work at the table, but there wasn’t time. She must trust that the rough fire in her fireplace would do. After pulling over a stool, she climbed up and inserted a key in the highest cabinet and opened it.

  Reaching in, she pulled out a small object wrapped in velvet. Even through the cloth, she could feel the warmth of it in her hand. The pulse of power. This was hers. The culmination of her life’s work, the fruit of her knowledge and skill. And she must destroy it.

  Returning to the fire, she kneeled and unwrapped the instrument. It gleamed in the firelight, but she would not let herself look at it. She tossed in a handful of herbs, one after the other. She was not even sure this would work, but she had to try.

  She had sought knowledge, but somehow the path she had created to take her to wisdom had changed, leading her into power. It had been heady, seductive, but at the core of that power lay evil. It must be destroyed; she could only hope it was not too late. With one hand she clasped the pendant that hung around her neck, drawing on its strength. With the other hand, she picked up the infernal device.

  She turned to the fire and stretched out her arm. She tried to call up the Latin words, but they would not come out. Her hand shook. Outside, thunder rumbled. She realized her own creation was fighting her now. Outside there was the sound of booted feet and a low barked command. His voice.

  A knock thudded on the door. She gripped the instrument more tightly; it cut into her skin, but she scarcely noticed it. The familiar tingling began to creep up her arm. A siren call whispered in her ear: she could stop them. If she turned this instrument against her attackers, she’d be safe. She could be with her family.

  But no. She must not give in to the temptation. Using it only strengthened it, made it more difficult to give up. She had sworn to stop using it. Sworn to prevent anyone—especially him—from ever using it.

  Something far harder than a knock thudded against the door. Again. And again. The door crashed open. She jumped to her feet and whirled to face the intruders. The bishop’s men charged in, drawing their swords. Behind them, she saw him. The man who had once been her mentor. The man she had trusted. The man who had given her up to the authorities.

  Hatred pulsed in her, and without thought, she flung her arm out toward them, holding the instrument she had created. “Halt!”

  Wind rushed in through the open door, swirling through the room, sending the papers in her workroom flying. Lightning illuminated the scene, and she felt the hair at the nape of her neck rise. The air between her and the men crackled with energy, lights sparkling and popping.

  The soldiers stopped as suddenly as if they’d run into a wall, their hands frozen on the hilts of their swords. Fear flooded their faces as they realized that they could not move and were held powerless by the sizzling, stinging energy.

  She knew their fear would turn to terror if they knew the full extent of the power she could wield with her creation. People whispered that she could speak to the dead. They said she could raise the dead. Pull death from a dying man. What they didn’t realize was that she could send death to a living man just as readily.

  Her smile was lethal, and she began to chant under her breath. She should not have done it, should not continue to use it, but she couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Pleasure filled her as she felt the power pour out of her toward them. She saw the horror in their faces as their hearts jolted and the shocks began to sizzle through their limbs. She increased the energy, watching them pale as the life began to leach from them.

  She looked at the man who had once been her mentor and was now her sworn enemy. It wasn’t fear she saw in his face; it was greed and envy. He coveted her power, yearned to hold the device. He would do anything to seize it, including accusing her of heresy and sending her to her death. His soul had been blackened by his lust for power.

  As hers would be if she continued. She must stop. She must rid the world of this evil. But the darkness inside herself called seductively: use it and she would be free. Use it and she could do as she wished.

  With a cry, she pulled out of its thrall and whirled. She heard him bellow, “No!” and saw him throw himself forward, but it was too late. She flung her creation into the fire.

  CHAPTER ONE

  London

  December 1868

  THISBE THOUGHT THE lecture at Covington Institute would be informative. She didn’t expect it to change her life.

  A few minutes after the talk began, there was an odd tingle at the nape of her neck, and she turned her head to look back. A young man stood in the doorway of the crowded lecture hall, his eyes on her. He quickly looked away, and Thisbe swiveled back to face the lecturer. All week, she had looked forward to this lecture, but now she had trouble focusing on the speaker’s words. Her mind was preoccupied with the man in the doorway.

  Being a woman working in a man’s world, she was accustomed to being the object of others’ gazes—from leers to astonished looks to baleful glares at her audacity—and she usually ignored them. But this man... She wasn’t sure why he was so different from everyone else, but he intrigued her.

  There was an odd burst of awareness in her chest that she had never felt before. It wasn’t recognition; she was positive she’d never seen the man before in her life. Nor was it like the vague, pervasive sense she felt for her twin, Theo. It was more a rush of excitement and discovery, similar to the quiver of anticipation when an experiment was unfolding. Bu
t this time, a sense of certainty mingled with the anticipation, though she had no idea what she was certain of.

  She started to glance back again, but just then he slid into the seat beside her. He had his head bowed and didn’t look at her, just sat down, took out a small pad and stubby pencil and began to scribble. Amazingly, the peculiar feeling in her grew and warmed as she watched him. What was it about this man that made her feel this way?

  She could see only his profile, and even that not well, given the way he was hunched over his notes, but what she could see appealed to her. He was young, maybe a bit older than she. His hair was thick and dark brown, a little too long and shaggy; it looked as if he’d hacked it off himself. What color were his eyes? She wished she could get a better look at him. He was tall and slender, his long legs taking up all the space between the rows. His fingers, too, were long and mobile, moving swiftly across the paper. The sight of them tugged at her midsection.

  She faced the lecturer again, not wanting her neighbor to catch her studying him. She had apparently missed a good deal, for the man was now talking about atomic numbers. She returned to taking notes, though not with the speed or volume of the man next to her. No doubt that swiftness contributed to the fact that his handwriting was largely illegible. How did he ever read what he’d written down?

  He neither turned to her nor spoke, but from the corner of her eye, she caught him looking at her time and again, his glances brief and almost furtive. Was he shy? That seemed possible, though shyness was a quality she was somewhat unfamiliar with, given the nature of her family. Or perhaps he was appalled by the presence of a woman at a scientific society’s meeting.

  Thisbe turned her head, watching him, so that the next time he glanced at her, he met her gaze. His eyes widened a little, and pink blossomed along his cheekbones before he jerked his eyes back to his note taking. Yes, that was it; he was shy. And his eyes were a warm, chocolate brown. A lovely color.

  She was acutely aware of the man beside her. She could feel the heat of his body and smell his scent, a faint blend of man and cologne. That, too, caused a little pull deep inside her.