The Pretender
“Totally entertaining.”
—New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn
“An engaging, lusty tale, full of adventure and loaded with charm.”
—Gaelen Foley, USA Today
bestselling author of Lord of Ice
“Bursting with adventure and sizzling, Bradley certainly knows how to combine engaging characters with excitement, sensuality, and a strong plot.”
—Booklist (starred)
“Bursting with adventure and sizzling passion to satisfy the most daring reader.”
—Romantic Times
“A charming heroine and a dashing spy hero make The Pretender a riveting read … entertained me thoroughly from beginning to end.”
—Sabrina Jeffries, USA Today
bestselling author of After the Abduction
The Impostor
“Bradley carefully layers deception upon deception, keeping the intrigue level high and the tone bright… Readers will race through this delightful comedy of errors and eagerly anticipate the next installment.”
—Publishers Weekly
“With delicious characters and a delectable plot, Bradley delivers another enticing read brimming with the mayhem and madness that come with falling in love when you least expect it. The devilishly funny double identities, witty dialogue and clever twists will captivate.”
—Romantic Times (Top Pick)
“Don’t miss this second book of the Liar’s Club series. With humor, passion and mystery, it’s absolutely delightful in every way! I can’t wait for the next one.”
—Old Book Barn and Gazette
The Spy
“Only a clever wordsmith can make this complex, suspenseful tale work so perfectly. Bradley pulls us into the wonderful world of the Liar’s Club and gives us a nonstop read brimming with puzzle after puzzle … delicious characters and a delectable plot, Bradley delivers another enticing read.”
—Romantic Times
“With its wonderfully witty writing, superbly matched protagonists, and intrigue-steeped plot, the third of Bradley’s Liars Club historicals is every bit as much fun as The Pretender and The Impostor.”
—Booklist
“A must for readers of the Liar’s Club series and a good bet for those who haven’t yet started … I unhesitatingly recommend.”
—All About Romance
“Ms. Bradley has an effortless style to her prose.”
—The Romance Reader
“A Top Pick … the best of [the Liar’s Club] so far. Bless Celeste Bradley … She just seems to get better at it as she goes along.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles
by Celeste Bradley
The Spy
The Impostor
The Pretender
The Charmer
To Wed a
Scandalous
Spy
Book One in the Royal Four series
Celeste Bradley
St. Martin’s Paperbacks
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
TO WED A SCANDALOUS SPY
Copyright © 2005 by Celeste Bradley.
Excerpt from The Rogue copyright © 2005 by Celeste Bradley.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-93116-6
EAN: 80312-93116-2
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2005
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my darling Grace,
who always looks closely at life.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all the usual suspects!
How can I ever make it up to you?
Every ruler needs a few men he can count on to
tell him the truth
—whether he wants to hear it or not.
Created in the time of the Normans, when King William the Conqueror found himself overrun with “advisors” more concerned with their own agendas than with the good of the whole, the Quatre Royale were selected from the King’s own boyhood friends. Lords all, and bound by loyalty rather than selfish motives, these four men took on the names of ruthless predators while acting as the Quatre, keeping their lives and identities separate from their true roles …
… to act as the shield of deceit and the sword of truth in the name of the King.
Courageous as the Lion
Deadly as the Cobra
Vigilant as the Falcon
Clever as the Fox
The appointment is for life—the commitment absolute. Bonds of family, friends and even love become as insubstantial as a dream when each hand-selected apprentice takes the seat of the master. All else is merely pretense, kept for the sake of secrecy and anonymity. For it is true that the iron bars of duty cage the hearts and souls of …
… THE ROYAL FOUR.
1
ENGLAND 1813
Another day, another suitor carried off in pieces.
Willa Trent sighed as she bent to pluck a stone from the country lane. Poor Timothy, so young to be scarred for life. He’d been so brave about it all.
“Don’t fret, Miss Willa,” he’d said. “I’m sure to be up and walking in no time.” And he’d smiled at her even while his leg was being splinted and his bleeding head was wrapped.
Well, no more. From now on, the affliction would be hers to bear alone. Not that it had ever harmed her directly, but then, if a future of lonely spinsterhood wasn’t harm, what was?
She drew a deep breath. That was the past—this morning counted as past, didn’t it?—and she had never been one to waste today on yesterday. Just as her dream of seeing something of the world had never come true, so her dream of belonging in a family of her own seemed as though it would never come true. She was sure that in time she would adjust.
Not that she was disheartened or anything of the sort, but she had decided to spend the rest of the day on her own, away from both the sympathy and the smirks of the villagers. With a sigh, Willa left the lane and returned to the field beyond the hedge. As usual, she was cheered by the hues of the evening sky and the green of the rolling Northamptonshire fields.
Which hid the despicable small secrets she was determined to uncover today. It was not yet hunting and trapping season, and she had just found another nasty saw-toothed trap near a clear-running beck. All she needed to do was trigger it before doing her best to smash it with a rock.
Willa closed one eye, just as she had been instructed to by the young boy who had lent her the slingshot. Unfortunately, little Seth wasn’t here now, so she couldn’t ask him which eye. She shrugged. One eye was no doubt as good as another. Aiming for the precise center of the round, flat trigger of the rusted poacher’s trap, she pulled back the strap of the slingshot as far as possible and let go.
Grim anticipation rose from deep within Nathaniel Stonewell, Earl of Reardon, as he urged his gelding to an ever-increasing pace down the Northamptonshire road. He was close behind his quarry now. Blunt took one stride for every two of Sir Foster’s lesser mount, ruthlessly eating up the distance between them.
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This afternoon Nathaniel had paused in his pursuit to water Blunt at a coaching inn, only to learn that a man matching Foster’s description had passed through mere hours before. Since then, Nathaniel had kept Blunt to a punishing pace that only the greathearted thoroughbred could match. Night would fall soon, and Nathaniel had great hopes of catching up to Foster when the traitor took his rest in the village that Nathaniel had been informed lay shortly ahead.
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed against the wind created by Blunt’s gallop and he rose in the stirrups, riding as lightly as a jockey, or at least as lightly as a man of his size could ride. So close …
Foster was a greedy coward but a cunning one nonetheless. If the last free member of the traitorous Knights of Fleur made it to the teeming streets of London, it would take an army to ferret him out. Nathaniel didn’t want an army’s help.
He wanted Foster for his very own. For the betrayal of England, Foster must pay. For the loss of everything Nathaniel had ever held dear?
For that, Foster would pay at Nathaniel’s hands.
A political cartoon had unintentionally revealed Nathaniel’s involvement with the French sympathizers, the Knights of the Lily. Of course, Nathaniel had infiltrated the group on behalf of the Crown, but the public could hardly be informed of that. In the end, this misconception had been useful in keeping the leader’s son, the apparently innocent Louis Wadsworth, free of public taint or scandal. This was not normally a concern of the Royal Four, but the Wadsworth munitions factory had been considered vital to the production of arms for the war with Napoleon.
So the elder, and now conveniently dead, Edward Wadsworth had been declared a hero for exposing the traitors, Nathaniel among them. Being a scandalous traitor was the perfect cover for Nathaniel’s true position as a secret power in the government.
Nevertheless, it was bloody painful to watch his treasured reputation shatter like crockery on the cobbles. Nathaniel’s personal honor was the armature of his nature, the very framework about which he lived his life. Now, the people of his acquaintance—some of them good, honest folk whose opinion he valued—would sooner seat a card-cheat at their table than the infamous Lord Reardon.
Your reputation is little enough sacrifice for your country, he reminded himself.
Another voice from the past, Lord Liverpool’s voice, echoed the thought: How can you claim willingness to sacrifice your very life if you aren’t willing to give up something less tangible as well?
The Prime Minister had been quite correct of course. Nathaniel had been utterly willing to take the title of traitor to protect the interests of England. Willing and most able.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
It was the Prime Minister’s opinion that not only was Nathaniel’s disgrace royally convenient, but it also provided a marvelously devious cover for the Cobra.
After all, who would suspect that the man known far and wide as Lord Treason in fact was a member of the elite and untouchable secret order known as the Royal Four?
Yes, it was all very convenient and desirable—and the least he could do for his country. It was marvelous how his “exposure” and subsequent shunning by Society at large had left him with so much time to attend to those little matters deemed of interest by the Four.
Like Sir Lucian Foster—an active, if somewhat cowardly, member of the Knights of the Lily during the latest contretemps who had fled the country before he could be apprehended. Now he was back on British soil.
The Knights of the Lily were dead and it was unlikely that they would ever rise again, but Foster was a loose end that Nathaniel, for one, wanted tied neatly away. Preferably with a noose.
Nathaniel’s family had denounced him. His countrymen hated him. He was known far and wide as Lord Treason. He had paid his price. Now it was Foster’s turn.
A grim, predatory smile crossed Nathaniel’s lips as he bent his head farther into Blunt’s whipping mane and urged the gelding to even higher speed.
I have you, you bastard.
That is, he did until all hell broke loose.
The curious thing about slingshots, Willa discovered, was that they rarely shot straight. Or perhaps that had been the wrong eye, after all.
The pebble in the sling took off in quite a different direction from the gaping-jawed trap at which she had aimed. Willa took some pride in its speed until she realized she had missed.
The stone shot straight toward the road, piercing the thick hedge in its way with a mere whisper and a snap.
Thunk. The stone hit something hollow. Crack. That sounded like the snapping of a branch. Thud. Something hollow hit the road, she was sure of it. Buzz. Buzz? Insects? Angry insects, from the ferocity of the hum.
No one was on the lane, she told herself. Likely nothing would—
The thunder of racing hooves cut the evening air even as she had the thought.
Neigh!
Oh no. Not neigh!
There came another high equine scream and a startled curse. Next were thudding hoofbeats and the sound of something much more solid hitting the ground.
Then ominous quiet.
Willa ran after her missile, following its beeline path. Torn from a stem, a single leaf drifted from the bushes between her and the road.
Willa squirmed through the hedgerow with no regard for her gown or her hair. Not that her pins were still in place after her evening’s romp in the fields. She’d been gone from home since Timothy had been carried off to the doctor in the next village, and her hair was some the worse for it.
She popped through the hedge to see a heap of something lying in the lane. Tiptoeing closer, she strained to see what it was. Oh dear. The something heavy that had fallen was a man. A very large man.
“Ouch,” she murmured. She knelt and pushed back the overlong fair hair that covered his face.
The view was only half-reassuring. He was a youngish man, so she needn’t feel as though she had thrown someone’s grandpapa off his horse. He was also a good deal more delicious than any grandpapa she had ever seen.
If Adonis had owned perfectly chiseled cheekbones and sculpted sensuous lips, he might have been nearly as handsome as the man in the lane. He looked like a fallen archangel with a bump on his temple. Willa reached for some more images of perfection to compare the man to, but frankly, her imagination fell short. He was, quite simply, devastating. She felt something twist just a little below her belly at the fellow’s masculine perfection.
Still, he was quite pale and definitely unconscious. That was no doubt due to the large rock embedded in the dust of the lane whereupon his head lay.
Only a few feet away lay the shattered remains of the hornets’ nest. Several furious insects still clambered over their ruined home, but the majority of them must have taken off after the poor horse.
Willa bit her lip. It was a huge nest. She stood and peered apprehensively down the lane toward the village. The hornets wouldn’t leave the nest undefended for long. Willa snapped her skirts to shoo the remnants of the nest from circling her hem. Already they were showing interest in the two humans in their vicinity. The man must be removed before the majority of the insects returned.
Squatting next to the man once more, Willa gave him a gentle poke on his upper arm.
“Please wake up, sir.” It was much like poking a rock. She poked a bit harder, but there was no response. Willa took hold of the man’s coat with two hands and tugged.
“Oh … my.” Gasping, she let loose. He hadn’t moved an inch. “You are rather well grown.”
Willa was already quite tired from her eventful day, and her back ached at the thought of moving such a big parcel. Then, taking a deep breath, she drew upon her natural optimism. Perhaps she simply needed a better grip.
Gingerly, she picked up his arm and slid her hands down to grasp his wrist. It was a large wrist and an even larger hand. Willa could scarcely wrap her own fingers around it. Backing up until his arm was outstretched, she gave a mighty heave.
The man flipped neatly over and Willa landed on her bottom in the dust. Well. That had done very little good, but it had given her an idea. She would roll him from harm’s way.
A bit gingerly, since she was quite unused to touching another person’s … person, Willa stretched the gentleman’s limbs straight up and down, like a child about to roll down a grassy hill. Then, crouching behind him, she put her shoulder into it and flipped him onto his face.
“Oh dear. I am sorry.” Well, it couldn’t be helped. Best to get it done quickly, before he suffocated.
Again she flipped him, and again. With a great deal of unladylike grunting and perspiration, not to mention all the fascinating things that she learned about male physiology in the process, Willa maneuvered the man to lie in the grassy channel beneath the hedge.
Flopping him onto his back for the last time, with a groan, Willa found herself half-lying across his chest, breathing heavily. What a great fellow he was.
How very tiring.
Willa blew back an errant strand of hair. It had come entirely undone during her exertions. As she pulled it back to retie the ribbon, she examined her victim by the last dim trace of sunlight.
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