by Sue Barr
Catherine
By Sue Barr
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations being used in reviews or article about the book.
This is a work of fiction. The situations, characters, names and places are products of the author’s imagination, or are used factiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Published by: Susan L Barr
Digital ISBN: 978-0-9947718-7-2
Cover Design by Midnight Muse
Text copyright ©2018 Susan L. Barr
All Rights Reserved
Some secrets are not meant to be shared.
Catherine Bennet, known as Kitty to close friends and family, knows this better than anyone. She also knows she will never marry, and that fact never bothered her before she met Lord George Kerr at Elizabeth and Darcy’s wedding. He’s determined to breach the walls of defense she’d carefully constructed around her heart, and she’s just as determined to stay the course.
Some secrets cannot be shared
Lord George Kerr knows this better than anyone. For five years, as a spy for His Majesty the King, he played the part of a Rake, concealing his espionage activities beneath a blanket of brothels, drink and loose women. Even though he’s forced to resume his regular life within London’s finest society, he still must keep some things hidden.
One thing he does not hide is his attraction to Miss Catherine Bennet of Longbourn. Enraptured by her beauty and warmth of character, he plunges headlong into winning her heart, only to find it carefully guarded and she’s unwilling to give him the smallest pinch of hope.
Some things are beyond your control
When circumstances bring Kitty’s secret into the open, she fears the tenuous bonds of friendship she’s forged with Lord George will be lost forever along with whatever love he proclaimed to have. With the very lives of England’s vast network of spies working undercover in Bonaparte’s France hanging in the balance, she’s forced to face her worst nightmare.
Her secret is laid bare, can he love her enough to overcome what he learns?
To Jane Austen
Without her wonderful book, Pride & Prejudice.
this work of fiction would never have been created
To Rob
You are my Mr. Darcy
I love you more than black jellybeans
Chapter One
London
The drawing room was quiet, save for the shuffling of papers and every now and then a soft, yet impatient sigh.
“Darling, as much as I love my own company, I am feeling a trifle neglected.”
Lord George Kerr turned his attention from the documents spread out before him toward the beautiful woman seated across the room. He appreciated the way the crimson brocade couch acted as a perfect foil for her exotic features and raven hair.
“Evangeline, you know our agreement. I attend your exquisite establishment and you whisk me away to your sumptuous parlor, whereupon I gather information for King and Country.” He grinned at her sultry pout. “Now be a pet and make some noise. Otherwise your servants will gossip I am not here for a lover’s tryst and that would be disastrous for our partnership.”
“If you only knew how envious my maids are. Miss Bledsoe told me they remain convinced you ae Casanova reincarnated. Imagine their surprise if they knew we only drink tea and talk.” She arose from the couch and glided behind his chair, combing long fingers through his hair. “Could I not entice you, just this once?”
He stilled her hand and brought her palm to his lips. Pressing a kiss against the soft skin, he turned slightly to face her. “While I admire your tenacity, I cannot give what you ask. The only woman I will share a bed with will be my future wife.”
“I did not say we had to be in a bed.”
“Evangeline,” George warned in a low voice.
“Very well, for you I shall behave.” She turned aside with an elegant shrug of her slim shoulders and moved toward the picture hung over the fireplace. For a brief moment she stared at the portrait of her husband. “I miss that man more than words can say.” She tensed and looked toward the door. “Someone is coming.”
She moved swiftly to the couch. Without questioning her instinct, which had proven itself time and again, George laid his coat on top of the papers and joined her, positioning his body so that his head rested in her lap. He placed his left foot on the cushioned seat, knee slightly bent and stretched the right leg to the floor. She glanced down at him, her delicate features tight with concern.
“Prepare yourself, Lord George. In order to facilitate our ruse as lovers, I must expose more than you would like.”
“I believe I shall somehow survive,” he replied in a dry tone.
She slipped the filmy gown down one arm and it puddled gracefully against his cheek. The door to salon burst open and her lady’s companion, Miss Bledsoe, the only one who knew of their true connection, trembled within the door frame. Behind her stood two men with hardened faces and what George presumed were loaded pistols. A quick glance past the two men revealed Evangeline’s aged butler crumpled on the floor in the front vestibule.
“What is the meaning of this?” Evangeline demanded. She tugged the gown back onto her shoulder while George remained where he lay, a deceptive picture of languor and satisfied coitus.
“I’m sorry, Lady Anstruther…” Miss Bledsoe began.
“Quiet, slut.” The larger man growled and backhanded her.
With a cry, Miss Bledsoe stumbled against the smaller man, who grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. When he saw her face, his eyes lit up.
“Look who we have here,” he crowed, a vicious grin twisting his mouth.
Miss Bledsoe ducked her head and tried to pull away, only to cry out again when the man tightened his grip. If Evangeline noticed Smithson laying on the vestibule floor, she gave no indication.
“Not this time. You made him very angry by running away and he’ll pay a nice tidy sum for your return.”
Although piqued by the smaller man’s comment, George focused on the fact his voice and manners were too cultured. A hint of familiarity tugged at the recesses of his mind. Evangeline pushed his head off her lap and arose in an apparent state of agitation. George, still semi-reclined, slid the hand hidden from sight down toward his boot.
“Please do not harm my companion,” she begged and stumbled, steadying herself by gripping the back of the divan. “Why are you here?”
She intended to retrieve the weapon strapped to the back of divan. George was familiar with this ruse because she’d done it to him in France. Distracted by her nervous display, neither man observed George unsheathe his knife and palm the deadly weapon.
“If they so much as twitch, kill them.” The smaller man called over his shoulder, tugging Miss Bledsoe behind him. “Shoot the prancing dandy first.”
“With pleasure, Reggie,” the larger man growled and bared his yellow teeth in a sickening grin.
Reggie continued on toward the table and it was only through years of conditioning that George didn’t betray concern he would discover the smuggled documents. If these men escaped with the knowledge of his and Evangeline’s clandestine operation, then many courageous people died for nothing. It was time for him to act.
He arose from the couch like a sleepy giant.
“You hafta wait your turn,” he slurred out, weaving on his feet as though drunk. “I pay a lot of money for her exclusive favors. You can have her when I’m done.”
/> “You dare to pass me off to these… these ruffians?” Evangeline raged and stomped her foot, the pistol hidden against her side.
Her tantrum had the desired effect. The larger man momentarily shifted his attention from George to Evangeline. Without hesitation, George whipped the blade toward him. Surprised, the thug stared at his chest. At first there was nothing to see except the hilt of the dagger, then like the incoming tide, a dark red stain began to spread across his dingy shirt. In a matter of seconds, he sank to his knees, dropped the gun and crumpled to the ground.
At the sound of his accomplice hitting the floor, Reggie turned and pulled Miss Bledsoe tight against his side, but before he could even point his weapon, Evangeline had raised her arm. With deadly aim she made sure he never breathed again. When Reggie fell to the floor, Miss Bledsoe ran to her friend’s side.
George assessed the bullet hole dead square in Reggie’s forehead, marveling at Evangeline’s accuracy. As good as he was with any weapon of any kind, even he wouldn’t attempt a shot like that with someone standing so close.
“Remind me to never challenge you to a duel, Countess.”
Evangeline lowered her arm and cut him a sideways glance. “You are most fortunate I adore you, Lord George. Otherwise that may have been you on the floor after offering to share my favors.”
“It was a means to an end.” He took hold of her free hand and brought it to his lips, murmuring against her skin. “I am forever grateful you did not shoot me in France.”
“Bah, Cavendish was right, you are a terrible flirt.” She tugged her hand from his light grasp and hurried to the vestibule. By the time she reached his side, Smithson had begun to groan and move about. “Miss Bledsoe. Please have a footman fetch my physician.” Once she and George had settled Smithson in another room, she turned to him. “Come, let us find out who those two Cretans were.”
***
“I am afraid your cover has been compromised.” Lord Patrick Grayson, Marquis of Chadwick, clasped his hands on his desk and peered at George over his reading glasses. “You are quite useless to us now.”
“I should like to know who sent those men.”
George sat in the chair placed directly in front of Lord Grayson’s desk. His one elbow rested on the arm of the chair and he rhythmically rubbed his lower lip with his index finger. A childhood habit indicating deep thought.
He and Evangeline had searched both men thoroughly, finding no form of identification or written instructions on either of them. The larger man definitely had been a thug for hire, but the cultured tones and soft hands of ‘Reggie’ hinted at a decent education and no hard labor. Had he been the leader or following someone else’s orders? The same sense of familiarity washed over George.
His attempts to speak with Miss Bledsoe resulted in her bursting into tears. Evangeline indicated she would speak with her when they were alone, and with great reluctance, he’d backed off.
“I would like to know who they were as well.” Lord Grayson removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At times, I think there are more people working for Boney in England than in France. Money and a skewered devotion to ancient family ties can turn even the most patriotic away from their King. Look at what has happened in our very own country. The Prime Minister, assassinated.”
“Nasty business, that. I am still not convinced there was no conspiracy.” George rose to his feet and paced to the large Palladian window, clasping his hands behind his back. “So, what am I to do? Become another useless younger brother to a Peer of the realm?”
“You do yourself a disservice, Lord George. Your family name has a proud history and the ton have no idea you worked for the Crown. For all they care you are still their golden boy who sowed more than his share of wild oats. Continue on with your life. Find a pretty girl and get married. It would make the Duke a happy man if you settled down.”
“Maxwell would be ecstatic if I entered into marital bliss.” George turned to face Lord Grayson. “Unfortunately, I have played the part of a Rake so convincingly, all good mothers will hide their daughters as soon as I enter a ballroom.”
“As the brother of a Duke, you and I both know your reputation will not stop them from wanting an association with your family.”
“All they see is my connections and fortune. I desire to meet someone fresh and new. Someone who is not skilled with the arts and allurements used to ensnare a husband.”
“Look at this as a blessing. Now that you no longer have to look over your shoulder and peer into every dark corner for the enemy, you can enjoy the full social whirl. With your charm and exceedingly handsome visage, you will have no problem securing a nice young lady.”
George doubted that very much but didn’t have the heart to contradict his friend and mentor. All this talk of meeting eligible wives gave him a roaring headache. He’d take a rough and tumble spy any day to a cunning mother on the hunt for a son-in-law.
“What of my contact here in London? Do you have anyone who can continue on with our work?” He deftly moved the conversation away from the delicate subject of marriage onto something more pressing, and in his mind, not as dangerous.
“Sadly, no. Not many men, or women are willing to live a secret life. As you are the only person who knew their identity, I shall leave you to inform them of our decision to retire you.” Lord Grayson rose from his chair and extended a hand toward George, who returned from the window and shook it firmly. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Lord George. I wish you a long and healthy life.”
“Thank you, Lord Grayson. Might I add, it was an honor to serve my country and if you ever require my services, you need only send word and I will be there.”
“I know you would, lad. I know you would. Since Percival’s assassination, we live in perilous times and we need all those who are loyal to the Monarchy.”
Within minutes, George exited the offices where Lord Grayson conducted his business and approached a nondescript carriage manned by his trusted driver, Henry.
“Where to, my Lord?”
“Kerr house.”
“Yes, sir.”
George entered the carriage, settling onto the comfortable bench. Henry closed the carriage door and climbed up to his seat at the front. He flicked the reins and the horses took off at a brisk pace toward Mayfair. George used the time to reflect on the past few days. He’d hired some private investigators, ones he trusted and had used before, to scour the area for any leads. With a touch of luck, he hoped they’d ascertain the identity of Reggie and who his connections were.
He’d instructed the men to be discreet with their inquiries as spies had a tendency to hide. He should know – he’d been hiding in plain sight for almost five years.
***
“My Lord, I had not expected to see you again.”
Evangeline greeted George with a kiss on the cheek before inviting him to follow her to the main parlor. He handed his hat, gloves and top coat to Evangeline’s new butler, MacDougal, a burly Scot who never broke a smile. He’d moved up from under-butler when Smithson had become injured. One would have to be a fool if they didn’t realize he was more of a bodyguard than a butler.
Without a sound she opened the door to the front parlor and made for the tray where clean glasses and expensive, smuggled brandy waited. Other than a new rug in the middle of the room, there was no visible sign that two men had died a violent death here. She didn’t ask if he wanted a drink, she just poured some amber liquid into two tumblers and handed him one.
“Have you found out who the thief was?” She moved toward the couch and sat down while George took the chair opposite.
“Not a single clue, although I began some discreet inquiries through secure channels. I hate waiting about but Mother is pleased with my enforced company. Since my wings have been clipped, so to speak, she has encouraged me to escort her to a few teas and afternoon soirees. I shudder to think of what she has in store when the Season gets into full swing. ‘Tis only a matter of tim
e before she begins to pester me about taking over Keswick Manor and managing the property.”
“I am sure she will pester you about more than managing your future estate. Your mother is hungry for grandchildren and wishes to bounce a few babies on her knee while still young enough to enjoy them. Poor George, such a hard life you lead.” she chuckled at his grimace and sipped her drink, closing her eyes as the alcohol made its way down her throat. “Mmmm…. As much as I abhor the French, they do have excellent port brandy.”
“Has Miss Bledsoe recovered from the incident?”
“Although extremely nervous for a few days, she has since settled. One does not like the sound of a bullet whizzing by their ear. It reminds us of our own mortality.”
“None of us live forever.” He assessed his friend, perched so politely on the divan, the embodiment of alluring femininity. “I still do not know how you did it. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, no one would convince me you were that good of a shot.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me Lord George and until that imposter is removed from France and my Cavendish is returned to me, I dare not share my story.”
“Has Miss Bledsoe mentioned anything which might help us discover Reggie’s identity?”
“That is a dead-end street. Women have many reasons for entering into a life of servitude and sometimes their motive is personal and fraught with danger. I will never divulge her secret. I am sure you understand.”
Yes, he did. Keeping secrets was something he understood only too well. He placed his untouched drink on the side table and leaned forward until his forearms rested on his thighs.
“I do not know if our operation was compromised.” He held Evangeline’s gaze. “And there are too many loose ends here. It is not safe to continue.”
“I thought as much.” She didn’t show surprise at his statement and he wondered what, exactly, Miss Bledsoe shared with her.
“Let us begin to circulate among our friends that we were never lovers, only good friends. When Cavendish returns, it will be much easier on you if the ton believe you have been a virtuous wife, which is the truth.”