Heart in Hiding (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 6)

by Sahara Kelly

  “No sir, I’m afraid not.” Letitia kept her expression calm and her words simple. She was masquerading as the author’s friend and intended Mr. Lesley to completely accept her role. “Given the nature of the manuscript, I’m sure you can understand her desire to remain anonymous.”

  “Indeed.” Lesley nodded. “Cytherean Tales has the potential to be a very popular volume, Miss Smith.”

  Letitia’s heart jumped. “It does?”

  “Yes.” He tapped his leather case which lay on the table next to him. “It is quite remarkable in its characterization and the heroines’ voices are strong and will easily attract and hold a reader’s attention.”

  “Well,” Letitia cleared her throat. “I can assure you she will be very happy to hear that. Very happy indeed.”

  “You realize however, that this is a very controversial volume?”

  “I do.”

  “You have read it yourself?” He raised an eyebrow. “I will admit to some surprise that a lady of your tender years has risked exposing herself to the material contained in this book.”

  Letitia’s chin rose. “I believe Lady Corinth wrote much of the book with women in mind, Mr. Lesley.” She caught herself up. “At least that’s what she told me, several times, during its creation.”

  “You astound me.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure that we will be able to market it as suitable for ladies.”

  Unwilling to argue at this point, Letitia let that issue lie. “Do I take it then, that you are considering accepting Lady Corinth’s work, sir?”

  “Indeed yes. I will be very happy to offer a publication contract to Lady Corinth. On most generous terms, I might add.”

  Since she couldn’t stand up, shout, dance, whoop or do any of the things she would like to have done, she just smiled.

  “There is one proviso…” He reached for his bag and withdrew the manuscript.

  Her heart dropped to her boots. Here it comes. Nothing is ever that simple.

  “I have made a copy and taken the liberty of marking up some areas that need greater clarification. I’ve also had a copy made of the document with the suggestions. It never hurts to have an extra manuscript for safety.”

  “Would not an editor be the one to make those suggestions, sir? I believe I’ve heard that that’s how these matters are handled?”

  “We do have editors with whom we consult; several are well-respected in their fields. However, given this particular volume and the nature of the content, I felt it better to retain it in our own offices. I’m sure you can appreciate my point of view.”

  She watched him. He was not embarrassed, just cautious.

  “Therefore I have done what might be called a preliminary read, and made some editing suggestions. If Lady Corinth would be good enough to look them over, and perhaps attend to them, then we would be delighted to offer one of our highest tier contracts.”

  He withdrew a document from his case and passed it to Letitia.

  Her vision blurred for a few moments as she read the terms. The advance alone would be enough to fix a lot of the rotting floors at Ridlington Chase. And the consequent profits from sales and second and third editions? Her mind scrambled to grasp the significance of the numbers.

  After a few minutes, she laid the document beside her on the couch. “You must be confident of success, Mr. Lesley, to offer such generous amounts. You’ve said yourself that this is controversial material. Are you that sure it will sell? Is there a market for works of such a nature?”

  “I can understand your questions, Miss Smith. And since they must emanate from Lady Corinth herself…” He glanced at her with a questioning look.

  “Yes, they do.”

  “Then you may reassure her that yes, there is indeed a very active interest in such books. I think it fair to describe this as erotic, if you’ll forgive my blunt words. And such volumes have achieved very healthy sales numbers, while not necessarily finding their way into the most popularly visited sections of bookshops or libraries.”

  “Ah,” exclaimed Letitia. “I see what you mean.” You’re going to make a fortune selling my book under the counter.

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  THE MISTRESS WAGER

  Book 4 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Series

  The evening was shaping up to be one of unalloyed boredom for one or two of the guests, Mr. Max Seton-Mowbray among them. The star pianist, a Señor Marcovicci Bonatello, was…uninspired. Max decided that was the word that best described his performance.

  Technically brilliant, every note perfect, but lacking anything lifting it beyond the ordinary. His sister’s abilities with this particular movement from one of Beethoven’s early sonatas left Señor Bonatello’s far behind. He sighed silently as his mind drifted to Grace.

  She possessed a rare gift for music, seeming to be able to anticipate the next measure and play the current one accordingly. She painted images with notes as far as he was concerned; her performances always conjured up visions of one kind or another.

  And yet few had ever heard her play.

  It was becoming clear Grace needed to liberate herself from her self-imposed confinement, but damned if Max knew the right words or the right circumstances to provide her with the key.

  A slight clearing of the throat to his right attracted his thoughts away from family matters and he turned his head slightly to see Miss Kitty Ridlington suppress a wince as she stretched her spine a little in a movement just short of a fidget.

  He sympathized. These chairs were bloody uncomfortable for a lengthy piece of music. He doubted that situation would change even if the great Johann Cramer himself were sitting at the piano playing the same piece.

  Finally, his patience was rewarded by the final bars of the sonata, and Max found himself rising and applauding along with the other fifty or so people in the room. Most of whom, like him, were probably welcoming the chance to stand and stretch, rather than expressing enthusiasm for the performance.

  The murmur of conversation grew as the audience began the tedious process of filing out of the ballroom and into the reception hall where food and beverages would be served. With his customary adroitness, Max easily found himself beside his prey.

  “Good evening, Miss Ridlington.” He glanced around. “And Miss Hecate? I believe I saw her earlier…”

  Kitty dropped a slight curtsey. “Good evening, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. Yes, my sister is speaking with friends, I believe.” She looked off to her right. “Just over there.”

  “Ah yes.” He noted the group was absent one Dancey Miller-James, and heaved a sigh of relief. “In that case, I declare my intention of seizing this opportunity to offer my arm as support and guidance through the starving throng.” He raised his bent arm, holding it out to her, his expression daring her to accept.

  “How eloquent, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. And yet a simple may I escort you would have worked just as well.” She shot him a somewhat scornful glance. “I’m hungry too.”

  “Good.” He merely grinned as she placed her gloved hand on his sleeve and allowed him to steer them to a couple of empty chairs. “Wait here, don’t let anyone take that seat, and I’ll fetch us a couple of plates.”

  “Don’t forget the lobster patties,” she said as he turned to leave. “I adore them. Miss those and I will never speak to you again.”

  “A terrible threat.” He chuckled. “Lobster patties it is.”

  Adroitly balancing two plates, he returned minutes later, pleased to observe that Miss Ridlington had indeed managed to defend their seats from other guests.

  “Your refreshments, Ma’am.” He bowed, gave her a plate and then took his own seat. “You will note the preponderance of lobster patties.”

  She was surveying the mountain of little pastries with approval. “You certainly took me at my word, sir.”

  He munched appreciatively for a moment. “The thought of being cut from your list of acquaintances struck terror into my soul. By the way,” he munched again. “You�
��re right about them. They are quite delicious.”

  Both ate appreciatively, the silence between them oddly comfortable as they watched the ebb and flow of people in the room.

  Then Kitty swallowed, and spoke. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” He turned his head and looked at her.

  “Being quite unlike yourself.”

  He blinked. “In what way?”

  She barely restrained a snort. “Mr. Seton-Mowbray. We have crossed paths now more times than I can recall, at a variety of events, over what has to be close to a year or so. In all that time, in all those encounters, you have never revealed any desire to be charming or attentive. In fact, you have mostly appeared to be uninterested, often intimidating, and seldom conversational.” She considered the contents of her plate and carefully selected another treat. “And yet this evening, here you are, waiting on me, fetching me lobster patties, and generally acting in a most unexpected way.” She popped the confection into her mouth and murmured in delight for a moment. “I should add that I am not complaining.” She licked her lips. “But it is quite out of the ordinary.”

  Max had a difficult time pushing aside the results of watching her tongue leave a sheen on those full lips. “Really.”

  “Yes. Really.” She set her plate aside with a sigh. “So I shall repeat myself. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because it gives me pleasure?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sure there are many things that give you pleasure. But you had ample chance to explore this particular behaviour before now, and you didn’t. So no, I won’t accept that reason.”

  He shrugged. “You have found me out, Miss Ridlington.” He too set his plate on the small table behind them. “I have something of import to discuss with you.”

  “Better,” she nodded.

  He narrowed his eyes. “That is the truth, you know. It is important. And I’m not sure how to begin the conversation.”

  “Well, when you decide, do let me know?” She sighed. “I can’t say I’m averse to missing the second part of the evening’s entertainment. Señor Bonatello must be having an off night.”

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  Blackmail and the Bride

  Book 5 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Series

  The Earl of Perrenporth looked exactly as one might imagine; perfectly groomed silver hair, an elegant air, and creases on his face that spoke of many happy years.

  Beneath his august and charming exterior was a mind sharper than any sword, and a determination that would have made a bulldog look like a newborn lamb.

  Richard had learned rapidly never to underestimate the Earl, no matter how casual their conversations. So he entered the Earl’s study with the usual amount of trepidation.

  “Ah, good. Ridlington. Just the man I wanted to see.” The Earl rose with a smile.

  Richard bowed. “I have a delivery for you, my Lord.” He withdrew the envelope he’d received earlier and passed it across the desk.

  “Excellent, excellent.” The Earl sat returned to his seat, reached for a small sharp dagger, and neatly slit his way past the seal. Opening the letter, he read for a few moments, nodded, and refolded the paper. “Just the news I’d hoped for. Thank you, Mr. Ridlington. You have done a great service this afternoon.”

  “I am honoured, sir.” Richard took a small relieved breath. “There were no problems or observers as near as I could tell. It’s getting rather chaotic out there now, so I doubt I was remarked in any way.” He glanced from the window, noting that even here, tucked away from the main thoroughfares, there was a muted rumble making its way through the air.

  “Evacuees?” The Earl glanced at him.

  “I’m not sure. Mostly military at the moment. Mounted, on foot, in wagons…you can barely cross the street for them.”

  “The forces are indeed gathering, I’m afraid.”

  Richard nodded. “It’s going to be a big one, isn’t it?”

  The Earl looked out his window, silent for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “That’s up to others to decide, lad.”

  “Of course, sir. If that’s all…?” Richard prepared to take his leave.

  “No, as a matter of fact it’s not. I’d like to speak with you on another matter, if you have the time to spare?”

  “Of course,” answered Richard with alacrity. “I’m at your disposal, my Lord.”

  “Funny you should say that.” The Earl chuckled, rose and crossed the room to the small table in the corner. “Join me in a brandy? I’ve worked hard and you’ve been out in the chaos. I think we both deserve a few moments respite.”

  “Thank you, sir. Indeed, that would be most welcome.”

  The Earl poured the liquor generously into two glasses and motioned at the chairs arranged comfortably on this side of his study. “Sit.”

  Richard sat, wondering what the Earl wanted to talk to him about.

  The other man also took a seat, crossed his legs, and regarded Richard over the glass as he sipped. “I hear you’re having a spot of bother with Angleford.”

  Richard, caught mid-swallow, coughed as the brandy caught in his throat. “Er, yes, you might say that,” he rasped.

  “To the tune of five thousand guineas, if I heard correctly?”

  Growing increasingly unsettled, Richard nodded. “You are well informed, sir. Yes. The gentleman with whom I had expected to complete some business was killed and all our money vanished. I find myself unable to meet Angleford’s terms at the present time.”

  There was no point in prevaricating, since it was most likely that Perrenporth already knew every single detail and sum of money, down to the last sixpence.

  “Was it a foolish endeavour?”

  Richard straightened. “No, sir, it was not. We purchased a boat, found a reliable crew, and have managed to assist more than a few families in their attempts to leave Europe and return home. As you are well aware, transportation is a challenge right now, what with the military requisitioning most everything that moves, and prices for passage anywhere out of Brussels soaring to absurd heights. We kept our prices to no more than what was required to cover our costs, and thus we were able to carry more passengers than we’d anticipated, and all was accomplished with the utmost discretion. We did make a profit, in the neighbourhood of ten percent for our investors and ten percent for us. It was not a scheme designed to gauge the desperate…”

  “Easy, lad. I never implied that it was.”

  Richard subsided. “Good,” he muttered.

  “However, Farley was a poor choice of partner,” observed the Earl in a moderate tone.

  “I know that now,” growled Richard.

  There was silence for a few moments as both men took another drink.

  “Why not go to the family? You have more than enough money there, I should think, between direct family and new in-laws.”

  Richard shot the Earl a look. “Would you?”

  The Earl met that look with one of his own. “No. No, I wouldn’t. Forgive the question, but I needed to see if you were the man of honour I believe you to be.”

  “Well then.” Richard drained his glass. “If there’s nothing else, my Lord, I should be on my way…”

  “A moment, if you please.” Perrenporth stayed him with a slight gesture of his hand. “Suppose there is a way for you to settle with Angleford, that doesn’t involve you asking for help from your family.”

  Richard’s eyes widened. “If it doesn’t involve anything illegal, then I’d be glad to entertain any suggestions, my Lord.”

  “Good.” The Earl’s grin was innocence personified. “I have a proposition for you.”

  About the Author

  British born and bred, Sahara Kelly has enjoyed reading Regency romances for many decades, beginning in her childhood with books by Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland.

  Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels, all the original James Bonds, an
d a passion for Monty Python, Sahara’s new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings.

  She never quite managed to attain a level of comfort with the American way of spelling, however, and creating a Regency novel offers challenges in that regard. So you’ll see words that British readers will recognize, but American readers might perhaps find unusual. It’s a choice… should one write an English romance using English spelling? Sahara has come around to that belief. She can now enjoy the extra “u” which has always seemed so colourful…

  After more than two decades of writing, Sahara is now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding self-publishing scene, and looking forward to many more such experiences.

  Being freed of external controlling restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first storyteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words “Once upon a time...” (or however it sounded several million years ago.)

  To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by her website and visit her at:

  Sahara Kelly’s website

  This is where Sahara shares none of the intimate details of her life, but will present you with a list of books she'd like you to buy so that she can go do research on a beach in Aruba and be pampered with massages accompanied by drinks with umbrellas in them. She’ll send you a postcard. Thank you.

  When not dreaming of lazing on tropical beaches, Sahara has a modestly active social presence on the Internet. Take a look:

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