Life as a duchess...
Or something much more dangerous?
Part of The King’s Elite: constantly told her beauty and charm are all she has to offer, Lady Clarissa is intent on marrying a duke. And intriguing spy Sebastian Leatham will help her! Only, first she’ll assist him with his new assignment—playing the part of confident aristocrat Lord Millcroft. Sebastian awakens a burning desire within Clarissa that leaves her questioning whether becoming a duchess is what she truly longs for...
The King’s Elite miniseries
Book 1—The Mysterious Lord Millcroft
Look out for the next book, coming soon!
“The Wild Warriners steal hearts, but none more than youngest brother Jake, whose secrets and sensuality draw readers into Heath’s lively, stylish romance filled with adventure and unforeseen passion.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Warriner to Seduce Her
“The third of the Wild Warriners series shines with compassion and intense emotions as Heath tackles some thought provoking themes... A Warriner to Tempt Her is tender and loving, powerful and poignant.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Warriner to Tempt Her
The King’s Elite
Scandals, secrets, spies...
Members of the ton’s most illustrious undercover organization are charged with protecting king and country at all cost! And while danger lurks around every corner, they are willing to lay their lives on the line for the crown.
When four young women become entangled with them—and their assignments—suddenly being the king’s man pales in comparison to the new risks these daring ladies pose...
Discover Seb and Clarissa’s story in
The Mysterious Lord Millcroft
Available now
And look out for Flint’s story
Coming soon!
Author Note
Those of you who have read my Wild Warriners series will recognize Seb Leatham from A Warriner to Seduce Her. If ever a side character deserved his own story, it was my tough, selfless and phenomenally brave spy. We saw hints of his character in that first story, and one of them was his crass incompetence around women. I’d never written a shy hero before, so getting inside his head was fascinating. What could I do to take him out of his comfort zone in the shadows?
Well, you’ll have to read this book to learn the answer, as I don’t want to spoil it. Suffice to say that I also brought in another former side character for my heroine. Lady Clarissa Beaumont is the spoiled sister of Bella in A Warriner to Tempt Her. Who better to flummox the socially awkward Seb than a feted society incomparable?
In A Warriner to Tempt Her, Clarissa is not all bad, and we do see glimmers of a better person underneath. Even as I first wrote her, I knew that there was something interesting yet tragic lurking in Clarissa’s past. I’m a rescuer at heart, so I figured she deserved a proper happily-ever-after with a man who understood her.
It turned out that there was so much more to Clarissa than met the eye and that she was capable of so much more than she ever believed. But to show that, I had to turn her safe, cossetted world upside down and plunge her into the dangerous world of smuggling and espionage. Seb’s world...
VIRGINIA HEATH
The Mysterious
Lord Millcroft
When Virginia Heath was a little girl, it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older, the stories became more complicated—sometimes taking weeks to get to their happy ending. One day she decided to embrace her insomnia and start writing them down. Virginia lives in Essex with her wonderful husband and two teenagers. It still takes her forever to fall asleep...
Books by Virginia Heath
Harlequin Historical
That Despicable Rogue
Her Enemy at the Altar
The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide
Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal
His Mistletoe Wager
The King’s Elite
The Mysterious Lord Millcroft
The Wild Warriners
A Warriner to Protect Her
A Warriner to Rescue Her
A Warriner to Tempt Her
A Warriner to Seduce Her
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For Ruby Graham-Lovett.
Because special little girls deserve to have the whole world know they are lovely.
Contents
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
Excerpt from An Outlaw to Protect Her by Harper St. George
Chapter One
Deepest, darkest, dankest Nottinghamshire
—March 1820
The bullet hole still hurt like the devil, but to add to Seb’s current misery, this morning it had started itching, as well. So badly that he was sorely tempted to poke a buttonhook down the tightly bound, pristine bandages encasing his abdomen and vigorously flay the blasted irritation away. Instead he subtly scratched at the area with his fingers, only to have them slapped away by his diligent hostess who was listening to his chest with something which resembled a miniature wooden trumpet.
‘You have to leave the wound alone, Seb. The stitches have only just come out and the area is still delicate.’
As was he. With a huff he flung his head back on the pillow and, to his shame, pouted like a petulant child. ‘I’m going mad, Bella. Slowly around the twist at the sight of these four walls.’ He’d been in bed almost three weeks. Granted he hadn’t remembered the first ten days of that, he’d been too busy fighting for his life, but he had been improving steadily for the last ten and was desperate to get back to work. He had smugglers to catch and one in particular. The Boss. The elusive nameless, faceless mastermind behind a highly organised, extremely dangerous smuggling ring linked to Napoleon himself, which not only threatened the English economy, but had also been indirectly responsible for killing two of Seb’s best men as well as aerating his chest.
‘How much longer is your husband going to keep me chained to this bed?’ Not that he wasn’t grateful. Doctor Joe Warriner had saved his life. The musket ball had gone deep and the blood loss had been so significant that most physicians would have sent for a parson to administer the last rites. But Joe wasn’t most physicians and had battled to dig the thing out, and had worked tirelessly to snatch Seb from the snapping jaws of death in the week afterwards. Who wouldn’t be grateful? But one could still be indebted for ever and frustrated at being gaoled by the same man simultaneously. Doctor Joe was both a genius and a tyrant...and now
Seb was thinking petulantly, as well. Being indoors for long periods of time clearly brought out the worst in him.
‘Actually, after your astounding show of ill-tempered belligerence yesterday, he has agreed you can come downstairs today. But only to sit in a chair. And only for a few hours. Once you’ve taken your medicine, I shall send someone in to help you get cleaned up while I sort out something appropriate for you to wear. I’m sure Joe must have something that will fit you.’
Whilst sitting in a chair didn’t sound the least bit exciting, it was better than lying in a bed like an invalid and, once he was downstairs, they really would have to chain him up to stop him moving around. For a man used to being out in the elements, being cooped up was anathema. Mind you, Seb couldn’t complain about the luxury. A soft mattress, warm blankets, clean sheets and three excellent meals a day were a rarity in his line of work. Ten days’ worth was unheard of. He might be in purgatory, but it was a sweet-smelling, comfortable cocoon-like ordeal and it could be much worse. He could be worm food.
A male servant came in as soon as Bella left, clutching a steaming bowl of water, soap, towels and razor, clearly intent on bathing him like a baby. Seb sent him packing and groomed himself as best as he could, something which proved to be more challenging than he had first thought. Being left-handed, and because the bullet which lodged itself in his ribcage had sailed inches shy of his heart, every movement of his arm sent pain shooting through his body. The repetitive action required to scrape the cutthroat over his unruly new beard was impossible. He briefly attempted it with his right hand and almost sliced his nose off, so Seb settled for clipping it as best as he could with scissors while trying to ignore the worrying image of his pale, gaunt face in the mirror and the dark-ringed sunken eyes that stared back.
He looked ill.
Seeing it for himself certainly gave him pause for thought for a moment, until his legendary stubbornness kicked in and he tossed the mirror on the bed. What difference did it make if he was pale and unkempt? In his job, he had to blend in to the shadows and mix with the flotsam and jetsam. His new complexion only served to camouflage him better, made him appear more fearsome, and the thick beard very nearly covered up the ugly jagged scar than ran down his right cheek. The one Seb hated far more than he loathed these four walls. His permanent reminder of his allotted place in the world. Perhaps he’d keep the beard? Even though that, too, itched.
Gingerly he tugged the clean linen shirt over his head and was relieved to see it just about fitted. He might well have lost weight, but the burly muscles he had inherited from his mother’s family were still there. Farming stock and not the gentlemanly type. The sweat of his people had fertilised the land they had worked. Like his grandfather and his grandfather before him, Seb was still fundamentally as strong as an ox underneath the temporary sickly pallor. He had always been more farm labourer than gentleman and he’d be fighting fit again in no time. Not much ever laid down a Leatham, aside from extreme old age, and neither would one stray bullet. That thought cheered him as he flung his equally sturdy legs over the mattress and planted his big farmer’s feet firmly on the floor.
When he tried to stand to dress himself, however, his legs almost gave way and he had to grab the bedpost quickly as his head spun. Then, for the first time in his adult life, Seb had to suffer the indignity of someone else supporting him as he dressed, and then made his way laboriously down the stairs, collapsing in the nearest chair like a wobbly newborn foal. Exhausted. Humbled. And frankly, a little bit scared at the extent of his deterioration.
There was no two ways about it, his recovery was going to take much longer than a week. Suddenly the safe cocoon of his bed didn’t seem half as bad as it had half an hour ago, especially as the chair was now his new nemesis and one he could barely hold himself upright in. Perhaps he wouldn’t attempt to venture outside today. Being scraped up from the ground would be the ultimate humiliation and one his stubborn pride would never allow. Unconsciously he rubbed the scar beneath his new beard. Seb loathed being beholden to others. He looked after himself and those dear to him. Always had. Always would. Another trait from his proud farming heritage and the harsh realities of life.
A maid came in with a tea tray. ‘Good morning, Mr Leatham. How do you take your tea?’
‘Milk. No sugar.’ He looked down at his hands and cringed at how rude he sounded. ‘Thank you.’ He also loathed his crass ineptitude around women, especially the young and pretty ones. The ability to smile in their presence and be charming was not one he possessed. Seb wished he did, and it was not for want of trying, but each time he steeled himself to be more erudite than the average granite boulder, the awkward shyness tied his tongue in knots and the ability to string more than two words together evaporated. At best he barked at them so fiercely he scared them, and at worst he was simply mute.
Even the safe, married women had a similar effect. It had taken the best part of the last ten days to be able to converse with Bella properly and only because she had made a concerted effort to put him at his ease. He probably had all those gruff farmers in his lineage to thank for that unfortunate trait as well, because his father had certainly never suffered from the affliction. He could charm the birds from the trees to such an extent he sincerely doubted the man’s sheets had ever been cold. Unlike Seb’s, which rarely met any skin which wasn’t his. Yet another depressing thought in a day seemingly filled with them.
He heard the brittle rattle of china and risked looking at the maid out of the corner of his eye. He saw her sunny open smile had vanished because he’d been curt and monosyllabic yet again and all the poor girl had done to deserve it was bring him some tea. The gruff tone was a defence mechanism which hid his shyness from the world, although the maid wouldn’t know that. Only his closest friends knew of his affliction. Seb attempted a smile as she placed it on the side table next to him and muttered another thank you into his lap, then groaned as soon as she left the room. If being fearsome was wholly inappropriate, usually he would be the first person to leave a potentially awkward situation, which was probably why hiding in the shadows came so naturally to him. Normally, when not sporting a debilitating bullet hole, he would have darted out of the room as soon as he heard the click of female heels on the floorboards and returned when the coast was clear—but of course, he could barely stand, let alone dart.
Bella came in next, smiling in that concerned way she and her husband did as a matter of course. ‘I’ve brought you some books. They’re a bit of a mixture, as I didn’t know what you’d like to read, but I thought they might help pass the time.’ She placed them on the side table next to the tea and then poured herself a cup. ‘If it’s any consolation, I know what it feels like to be bored. Joe is insisting that I stay at home and rest for three hours every day despite the fact I feel as right as rain.’ She daintily sat on the sofa opposite him, her hand automatically resting on the increasing baby bump beneath her skirts. ‘At least I now have you to keep me company.’
‘Lucky you. I’m famous for my scintillating conversation.’
She grinned and took a sip of her tea. ‘I’ve arranged for luncheon to be brought in here. I thought we’d both be more comfortable than sat rigid at the dining table. Would you mind if we ate it a little early? Only I find myself constantly starving nowadays.’
‘I could eat.’ Now that she mentioned it, Seb was hungry. Another good sign, he supposed. Evidence of the tiny steps of improvement he was making.
‘Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that.’ Bella grabbed the bell and rang it. ‘I will tell them to bring it immediately and use you as the excuse.’
Five minutes later and the same maid who had brought him tea came in with another tray. This one contained some delicate sandwiches and cakes and, to his abject horror, the dreaded invalid cup he had come to despise. He eyed it with distaste. ‘Please tell me that’s not more of your insipid broth!’
‘It most certainly is and
if you refuse to drink it again I shall tell Joe that I don’t think you are quite ready to be out of bed. That broth is a carefully balanced recipe designed to restore your strength and vitality. You do want to get better, don’t you?’
‘Can you at least stop serving it to me through a spout like an infant? I am sat upright in a chair. I could take it just as easily in a teacup as in that monstrosity.’
‘A fair point and one I shall certainly take on board at dinnertime—if you drink that one without...’ The rattling of carriage wheels on the gravel outside made her pause and frown. ‘I’m not expecting anyone... I wonder who that can be?’ She placed her forgotten tea on the table and disappeared to investigate, leaving Seb alone with his dented masculinity, the foul restorative broth and the invalid’s sipping cup. When she failed to materialise after five minutes, he snatched it up and searched for something close by to pour it into. He soon realised that was a forlorn hope and began to pour the tasteless, lukewarm contents quickly down his throat to get it over with.
‘I shall order more tea.’ At the sudden sound of Bella’s voice so close he nearly choked and spilled the last drops over his chin, just in time for the most beautiful woman he had ever seen to appear at her elbow. Bella grimaced apologetically as he swiped the mess away with the back of one hand while trying to hide the awful cup with the other. ‘We have a surprise visitor, Seb. My sister has abandoned the excitement of society to come to stay for a few days... Mr Sebastian Leatham—Lady Clarissa Beaumont.’
The vision, because there was no other word to describe the angelic perfection which had just walked in the room, momentarily appeared as surprised to see him as he was her. Her step faltered and he swore he saw a note of panic in her widened blue eyes before she caught herself. In fascination he watched her transform from startled and almost afraid to supremely confident. She tilted her golden head in acknowledgement, those beautiful eyes now amused at either his clumsiness or the freshly glowing red tips of his ears.
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