A Whisper of Treason
The Daring Dersinghams
Book Four
By
Lynne Connolly
Copyright © 2020 Lynne Connolly
Text by Lynne Connolly
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
[email protected]
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition August 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Lynne Connolly
The Daring Dersinghams Series
A Touch of Silver
A Hint of Starlight
A Trace of Roses
A Bunch of Mistletoe
A Whisper of Treason
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Lynne Connolly
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
Author’s Note
About the Author
Chapter One
Greenwich, London. Spring, 1755
Lady Delphi Dersingham sat up in bed and focused her gaze on the clock over the mantel. As if it knew her restlessness, it struck the hour. One chime. She would not sleep tonight, or at least not for a while.
Usually on her sleepless nights, she would light a candle and read for an hour, but she had none of her favorite reading matter here. In fact, she wore a borrowed night-rail, and the plain robe slung over the chair by the dressing table also belonged to somebody else. She had not asked who, but since the garments were simply made of modest materials, she guessed it would have belonged to a maid.
Her sister Dorcas’ illness had necessitated their stay. Dorcas had terrible headaches, and one had struck as they had climbed out of the elegant Thames barge provided by the Duke of Kilsyth. So here they were in the pretty house owned by Kilsyth’s friend the Duke of Blackridge.
With the intent of inquiring after her sister, Delphi got out of bed and put on the robe. An illicit thrill went through her because she was sharing a roof with the elegant, clever Kilsyth.
The bedroom stifled her. Going to the window, she pushed the drapery aside and reached for the latch so she could push up the sash, but it wouldn’t budge. Painted into place.
Her scrabbling panic only resulted in a broken nail. Delphi forced herself to suck in a breath and take a step back. Ask about Dorcas. Get something to read.
She made for the door, opening it and stumbling outside. Always clumsy, her sisters teased that she could trip on a piece of paper.
The moonless night gave only dim light, and this drove her to stop and take her bearings. She was none the wiser.
She opened the first door she came to. As far as she could recall, her sisters were close.
Someone sat bolt upright in bed, but it wasn’t Dorcas. A bulky shadow and a scent, unfamiliar until today, told her of her mistake. “I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, and went to close the door. The borrowed robe, too long for her, got in the way and her feet tangled in the heavy fabric. Halfway into her turn, she pitched forward, unable to do anything to break her fall.
She braced herself, waiting for pain to shoot through her, fighting shock and panic.
Instead, a pair of strong arms scooped her up. He tumbled with her onto the rug before the unlit fire, and they lay there, panting. Delphi lay beneath a strong, essentially male body. He had his shirt on, and it must have ridden up because their bare legs tangled together.
Her heart beat so fast that Delphi couldn’t catch her breath. Her panic increased and reason fled. Enclosed, pressed against a strong, male chest, she opened her mouth, ready to scream.
“No!” The soft command sounded loud in the quiet room. Delphi’s blood pounded in her ears. She couldn’t breathe.
Kilsyth stood in one smooth motion, carrying her to the long, padded bench at the end of the bed. He sat her down and put his hands on her shoulders, warm and firm. “Breathe.”
The meaning of the word sank in to her. Delphi stared at him, his eyes impossibly blue in the starlight. She did as he told her, and when he said it again, she did it again. He rewarded her with a thin smile. “Good. Now I’ll count to ten, slowly. Breathe with each number.”
To the meter of his slow count, she breathed. Her panic seeped away.
“There. Will you wait here a moment?”
She nodded and watched him get to his feet and pick up a robe from a chair against the wall. His shirt reached to mid-thigh, so she had a view of strong, naked calves. Hastily, she lifted her gaze up to his upper body.
He seemed bigger out of his clothes than in them, his powerful shoulders filling out the fine linen. He came back to her, barefoot, wrapping the belt around the banyan but leaving the top open. His naked throat seemed impossibly intimate.
Delphi couldn’t move.
Since she had an older brother, this wasn’t the first time Delphi had seen a man in undress. However, this one wasn’t a relative, wasn’t someone she’d known all her life.
Discomfort at their situation made her get to her f
eet. “I’m so sorry, your grace.”
To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed softly. His laugh had a ring that reached to a place deep within her, filling a space she didn’t know was empty. “Your grace!” he repeated. “I think we’re a little further on than that. Please call me Kilsyth. Or better still, my given name is Adam.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She backed towards the door. While she did not believe that every man was dangerous, she had stumbled into his room in the middle of the night. Some men would take that as an invitation.
“No, please don’t go, not yet. You might have woken someone, and we don’t want to cause even more alarm.” He stayed where he was, but gestured to the daybed. “Please, sit. Would you like some brandy?”
“At this time of night?”
Again he laughed, but took care to keep it quiet. “It is not too late for London.”
“But we’re in Greenwich, and we’re not at a ball.”
“True enough.”
He crossed to a small sideboard and picked up a decanter. Without her consent, he poured healthy libations into two cut glass tumblers, and came to sit next to her. When he offered her one, she took it with a murmured word of thanks.
“Now,” he said after his first sip. “Did you see something, or did somebody upset you out there?”
“No.” She was calming now, and the burn of the smooth spirit warmed her right down to her toes. “I upset myself.” Better to tell him the truth, lest he thought her mad. “I tripped. I’m the clumsiest creature in nature. I intended to find out how Dorcas was feeling, but I lost my way.”
“I see. Are you feeling better now?”
She jerked an awkward nod. “Thank you.” She took another sip. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”
“No matter. I don’t sleep much. I inquired about your sister not long ago. She’s sleeping now. Miss Cathcart is caring for her.”
The brandy helped to calm her. She knew this man better than to assume he would fall on her. After all, she’d fallen on him and he had done nothing except break her fall. Even though she’d felt—more than she should. She turned her thoughts away from that recollection.
“An interesting woman,” he said.
“People are more independent in the City. Think for themselves, and we lived there so long we caught it, too. My sister-in-law runs her own business.”
“I am aware.” He held the glass in his hands, turning it around. His fingers were long, agile, but she’d experienced their strength when he’d held her shoulders. “Our women can also be formidable. They run great enterprises, you know.”
“Yes. The country houses. I’ve never been to one of those.” She stopped short of saying she hadn’t been to the country, but she hadn’t seen it for a long time. “We preferred to live in London.”
He leaned back, resting against the carved bedpost.
“You must think me a complete ninny,” she said.
“Not at all.” Getting to his feet, he went to the mantelpiece and found the tinderbox. He lit two candles, and brought the branched candlestick over to where she sat, settling it on a tall chest close to the bed. The light warmed them, and gave her a better view of his face.
From his handsome, serene features, few would imagine this man had inherited a disgraced estate from a traitorous father. Now, ten years after Culloden, he’d restored the family name and fortunes. He seemed all effortless luxury, as if he’d never lifted a finger to work in his life.
With a rustle of silk, he sat again and picked up his glass. “That’s better. Now I can see you properly. Lady Delphi, like Miss Cathcart, you’re an interesting woman, but I confess you fascinate me more than she does. You have an interest in the classics, do you not?”
“Yes. Roman history in particular. I don’t know why, but I learned Latin along with my brother, and we read Caesar’s account of his invasion of Gaul. It fascinated me.”
He grimaced. “I confess that part of the history of Rome is not my favorite. Having to parse the sentences killed the book for me.”
She laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Lowering her hand, she said, “Someone will hear us.”
“No, they won’t. Miss Cathcart and Blackridge are taking care of Lady Dorcas, and Lady Damaris is upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” Upstairs where? Why?
He flashed a grin. “My friend, Glenbreck, has an observatory up there and I spotted them heading that way an hour ago. I suspect he’s persuaded her to join him in some stargazing. Though we won’t mention that outside the house, will we?”
“No, no, of course not. Any more than…” She lowered her head and took another drink. She didn’t make a habit of drinking brandy but it helped calm her jangling nerves. And she liked it, although it was generally considered a man’s drink. When she finished it, she would go. “Damaris used to spend many sleepless nights observing the stars.”
“So does Glenbreck. Despite their shaky start, I suspect they will make a match of it.”
“I think so, too.” The visit to Greenwich had been to visit the Royal Observatory. They had planned to return to town after the visit, but Dorcas’ sudden illness had prevented that. “What if they learn of this night in town?”
“Glenbreck, Blackridge and I are prepared to swear that we spent the night at the inn by the river. Miss Cathcart persuaded us to stay.”
“‘Don’t be so foolish,’ I think Matilda said. She doesn’t mince her words.”
He gave that near-soundless chuckle again. It warmed her in places she was better not thinking about right now. “She does not. I like her for it.”
“Others do not.”
He nodded. “You are talking of Lady Elizabeth Askew, are you not? She is making your existence as difficult as she can.” His face hardened, but Delphi knew it wasn’t her he was thinking about. “I fail to understand how that helps her, but perhaps Blackridge can speak to her. They used to be friends. Never anything more,” he added when he saw the surprised expression on her face. “I am sorry for it, for her and for you, but I do not think her campaign will continue for much longer. Once she has her duke, she’ll calm down.”
Her silence said more than she dared to articulate in words.
“No,” he continued smoothly, “I am not that duke. I will not be marrying her, although she is beginning to look in my direction in a way I cannot like. You will not repeat that.”
“Of course I won’t.” How could he even think that? But of course, he didn’t know them properly. She was Delphi, the awkward one who talked about the classics. “I have to thank you for your kindness.” She drained her glass. “But I must go.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
He was kind to put it like that. “I’m not proud of the way I behave sometimes. These days, I can usually control my stupid clumsiness, but this is so unusual…”
“Hmm. Perhaps you should wait for a while. Another drink?”
She shook her head, but he got himself another one and returned her empty tumbler to the sideboard. He strolled over to the window, which he’d left uncovered, and gazed out at the quiet vista below. “You’re a fascinating quartet, you Dersinghams. Your brother is a great improvement on his predecessor to the earldom. He takes an interest in his estate, other than using the income for his own purposes, for one thing.”
“You’d know about that.”
“Yes, I would.” He turned to face her, but she couldn’t see him properly in the dim light. With his back to the window and the candles on the other side of the room, his features were set in shadow. “Thank you for not avoiding the subject, as so many people do. My father left the estate in a poor way. He’d given more than we thought to the Jacobite cause. He was a romantic, my father, imagined he could set the country back in time and restore the Stuarts. He was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Britain has become a different country since King James ruled, and I am part of that.”
�
��But they still conspire.”
“Yes, they do.” Slowly, he paced back to the sofa and she could see him again. His eyes glinted an impossible blue. “They plot and plan, ridiculous schemes for the most part, but I get to hear of them. They think they can bring me back. Well, they cannot. Will never do so.”
Such frank speaking encouraged her to answer in the same way. But before she could work out how they’d gotten there, they were in a passionate discussion about the new ways the country was run, and how moving from an absolute monarchy to a democracy had benefited the country.
From there, they moved to discussing the Roman Republic, then Augustus Caesar and the dangers of nepotism. The conversation flowed as easily as if they’d known each other for years.
Dawn was sending tentative fingers across the sky outside before they noticed the clock striking the half-hour.
“Half past four?” Delphi exclaimed. “How can that be?”
He held out his hand and she instantly put her own in it. All this time they’d sat apart, but comfortably, in the best conversation she could ever remember having since the Dersinghams had moved from Bunhill Row, Smithfield, to Mayfair.
Gallantly, he drew her to her feet, and not so gallantly, closer, so she rested against his chest. “I think I deserve this,” he murmured. His eyes grew slumberous and his voice lowered, as he pulled her in.
Some people kissed as a form of greeting, something Delphi had never been comfortable with. But this was not that kind of kiss, and she was shockingly comfortable with it. He settled his lips on hers, pressed in and touched his tongue to her mouth.
Long, sweet and deep they kissed. Delphi lost her mind all over again, but he drew away.
“There,” he said, his tones thicker. “That is on account.”
“On account of what?”
“Wait and see.”
Chapter Two
Rome, Italy. September 1756
Delphi closed her weary eyes and tipped her face back to enjoy the warmth of the newly risen sun.
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