A Dangerous Seduction

by Jillian Eaton

  “We – have – to – stop,” Scarlett gasped. “Ruth, this is madness.”

  Ruth’s lips peeled back in a crimson smile. “This is revenge.”

  She rolled on top of Scarlett and managed to get one hand around her throat. Scarlett gagged, black spots dancing across her line of vision as she struggled to breathe. Just as darkness was beginning to welcome her into its cold, lifeless embrace she used the last of her strength and bucked her hips, breaking Ruth’s grip and sending her toppling off to the side.

  Scarlett started crawling for the door when she smelled it.

  Smoke.

  Looking back over her shoulder she gasped in horror when she saw a line of brilliant orange flames licking across the aisle. Ruth stood behind the wall of fire, still cradling the oil lamp she’d used to start it.

  “Ruth, what did you do?” Scarlett cried.

  “You won’t get out this time. Neither of us will.” Completely oblivious to the fire as it swept up the wall, Ruth’s face turned dreamy. “I’ll see you soon Rodger.”

  Fear for her own life and for the lives of the horses trapped in their stalls helped Scarlett stagger to her feet. She rushed to the first stall and threw open the door. “Go!” she screamed, waving her arms. “Get out of here!”

  With a frantic whinny the horse leaped out of its stall and bolted down the aisle. Coughing, Scarlett managed to get two more horses freed before a pair of strong arms picked her up from behind. She struck out on instinct, flailing and kicking her legs.

  “Lettie, it’s me. It’s me.”

  Owen.

  A mewling cry escaped her lips as she collapsed back against his chest. Lifting her up, he ripped off his cravat and held it over her nose and mouth to shield her from the punishing wave of smoke as he ran out of the burning barn, passing grooms and footmen who were running in to save the remaining horses. Firelight reflected off the trembling flanks of those that had already been freed and were gathered together on the side lawn. When she saw Fancy was among them Scarlett breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  Owen carried her a safe distance away before pulling his cravat away from her face. “Are you injured?” he demanded. “Is anything broken? Do you need to see a doctor?”

  Scarlett’s coiffure was ripped askew, one sleeve of her dress torn completely off, and blood trickled down from a cut above her right eyebrow. But she was alive.

  “I – I am fine,” she managed to croak.

  “Good.” Owen’s grip tightened. “Because now I am going to have to kill you. Lettie, what were you thinking?” He glared down at her, his blue eyes as fierce as she’d ever seen them. “I told you to stay in the house! You could have been killed. If something had happened to you…” He turned his head to the side as his voice turned ragged. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “It was Ruth.” Even as she spoke the words out loud Scarlett still could not believe it. “All this time… it was Ruth.”

  “I know.” He gathered her close. “I know.”

  Felicity came sprinting across the lawn, her face a mixture of trepidation and hope. When she saw Scarlett safely cradled in Owen’s arms she stopped short, leaning forward to brace her hands on her knees before continuing towards them at a more dignified pace.

  “I was so worried!” Taking Scarlett’s hand, she gave it a hard squeeze which Scarlett did her best to return. The lingering effects of shock were keeping most of the pain at bay, but her entire body felt numb.

  “What – what happened?” she asked, looking at Felicity and then up at Owen. “Where were you?”

  “I followed Felicity down to the pond.” Owen’s expression was suffused with guilt. “I was going to confront her, but when I got there we both saw the smoke rising up through the trees. Felicity ran to the house to make sure her children were safe and I went to the stables.”

  “I was trying to catch fireflies for Henry and Anne,” Felicity explained at Scarlett’s questioning glance. “That’s why I went to the pond after I told one of the grooms to ready your horse. I had no idea you suspected I was the one behind everything!”

  “I’m sorry,” Scarlett said contritely. “I should have known better.”

  “No, you were doing what you thought was right. Although,” she added, arching a brow, “if in the future you ever again think I have killed someone please tell me first before you come up with some elaborate scheme to catch me. It will save us both time and worry.”

  Scarlett managed a wobbly smile. “I will.” Her smile faded as she happened to glance over Owen’s shoulder at the barn. Only half of it was still standing. The rest had been consumed by flames that a brigade of servants were putting out with buckets of water. “Ruth. Did she…”

  “No,” Owen said grimly. “She did not make it out.”

  Tears filled Scarlett’s eyes as she laid her head back against his chest. “I never suspected anything was wrong.”

  “None of us did,” Felicity said quickly. “She – she wasn’t well. That much is clear.”

  To think madness could conceal itself so cleverly… Scarlett gave a small, involuntary shudder and Owen’s grip tightened.

  “You need to rest.” Holding her in his arms, he stood up. “As soon as you feel well enough to travel we will leave for London.”

  “Is tonight too soon?” Scarlett tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a barking cough.

  “Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest,” Rodger said firmly as he carried her towards the house.

  She tilted her head back. “This morning you couldn’t get me out of here fast enough.”

  “That was before you decided to go toe to toe with a madwoman armed only with your sarcastic wit.”

  Another barking cough rattled Scarlett’s lungs. It was probably in poor taste to laugh in the face of such tragedy, but having just survived nearly being stabbed to death and burned alive, she really did not care. “Do you know this is the third time you’ve saved my life?”

  “The third and the last, I hope.”

  She poked him with her elbow. “Are you saying you’re done being my knight in shining armor?”

  Now it was Owen’s turn to laugh. “Is that how you see me? A knight in shining armor?”

  “Yes.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “It is how I have always seen you.”

  “In that case I will be there to save your life as many times as it takes.” He stopped walking to gaze down at her. Stars glittered behind him as a full moon rose high in the sky, but its glowing white light was nothing compared to the light shining in Owen’s eyes. “I am never going to let you go, Lettie. Our life together begins now. Everything that happened before… it helped lead us here, but it does not define us. From this second onward I am going to be there for you every single day. I know it will not always be easy, but as long as we compromise–”

  “I do not think I like that word,” Scarlett interrupted.

  Owen scowled. “Do you have any idea how bloody difficult you are?”

  “Yes, I do. Just as I know you would not have me any other way.”

  “You are certainly right about that.” He kissed her gently, a soft brush of his lips that left her entire body tingling from the tip of her chin to the tip of her toes. “I love you, Lettie.”

  Would she ever tire of hearing those words? Their road had not been an easy one. It had been filled with ruts and bumps. They had both stumbled along the way. But every mile they’d struggled through had been worth all of the pain and the heartache and the uncertainty for it had brought them here, to this moment. And there was no other place on earth she would rather be, nor any other man she would rather be with.

  “I love you, Owen. I always have. Not matter what comes, I promise I always will.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Even when you make me very, very angry.”

  “I think that is a compromise we can both agree on.”

  And so they did.

  Epilogue

  Several months later

/>   London

  It was not considered the wedding of the season. In fact, hardly anyone knew Scarlett and Owen were engaged, let alone that they had gotten married in a small church outside of London on a rainy, nondescript autumn day.

  Scarlett’s walk down the aisle had not been heralded by trumpets. Rose petals had not fallen from the eaves. A long hand sewn veil trimmed with lace and pearls had not covered her face. In fact, she hadn’t worn a veil at all.

  Just a plain blue muslin dress to match Owen’s eyes.

  When the ceremony was over all of the guests gathered at Bow Street to celebrate over warm cups of tea and blueberry scones. Scarlett had made Bow Street her home while she and Owen searched for more suitable living quarters. While she wanted a townhouse near Grosvenor Square, Owen was determined to find a single home within walking distance of Bow Street.

  They were both still learning how to compromise.

  One thing they did not need to compromise on, however, was their love. It poured out of them with every glance, every smile, and every wayward touch of their hands as they circled the room accepting well wishes from their closest friends and family.

  From the far corner Felicity watched as Owen absently turned his head and kissed Scarlett’s brow. With a wistful sigh she sipped her tea. Would another man ever look at her like Owen looked at Scarlett? She liked to think it was possible, but her future seemed much bleaker than it once had. After all, who would want a mother of two children with no dowry and a reputation destroyed by divorce?

  No one.

  The answer, she feared, was no one.

  Of its own accord her gaze wandered to where one Mr. Felix Spencer stood talking to a well-dressed man whom she assumed to be another Runner. Try as she might, she had been unable to stop thinking about Felix – or their kiss – since he jumped out the window and disappeared seemingly into thin air. This was the first time she had seen him since that fateful day and he looked every bit as roguishly handsome as she remembered.

  He was dressed formally for the occasion in a black tailcoat that was a bit tight around the shoulders, indicating he’d borrowed it from someone else. Beneath it he wore a crisp white linen shirt and tan breeches that were tucked inside black leather riding boots. His cravat, which had been neatly folded and pinned during the wedding, was now dangling down on either side of his neck, exposing a V of golden skin.

  When Felicity felt a faint tingling at the nape of her neck her gaze flew up to his face… and her cheeks bloomed with color when she realized Felix was looking straight at her. She glanced swiftly away, but it was too late. He had caught her staring and they both knew it.

  There is nothing to do now, she decided reasonably, except to fall into a deep dark hole and disappear forever.

  But of course she couldn’t do that. Not with Henry and Anne depending on her. So instead of cowering – something she’d found herself doing much too often as of late – she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and forced herself to walk over to where Felix and his companion were standing.

  “Miss Atwood.” Felix’s eyes danced with amusement as a knowing grin lifted one side of his mouth. “I wondered if I would see you here. Grant, might I introduce you to Miss Felicity Atwood. A close friend of the bride, if I am not mistaken.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Grant murmured politely as he bowed over Felicity’s hand, his manners as flawless as Felix’s were crude. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone over there I must speak with.” And then, quite suddenly, Felicity and Felix were alone.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she demanded, her entire face turning a deep, dull red when his amber-colored gaze slowly traveled the length of her body from the top of her bonnet to the tips of her boots.

  Felix lifted one eyebrow. “Like what, love?”

  “Like we are – like we are intimately acquainted,” she hissed after a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance.

  A second brow rose to join the first. “Here I thought that was exactly what we were.”

  “We had one kiss” – but oh, what a kiss it had been… although she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that! – “and nothing more.”

  “You know what I say, love. Quality over quantity,” he drawled.

  “Oh!” By sheer force of will she managed not to stomp her foot. “Mr. Spencer please behave yourself.”

  “Now that’s one thing I try to avoid at all costs.” He stepped closer, crowding her back against a table filled with platters upon platters of blueberry scones. “Have ye been thinking about me, Miss Atwood?”

  Every night.

  “Certainly not.”

  “Liar,” he said softly.

  “Mr. Spencer–”

  “I desire ye, Miss Atwood.” His eyes narrowed on her face, his voice dropping to a husky purr that felt like velvet against her skin. “Do you know what I do with things I desire?”

  “N-no,” she managed to gasp as a spark of heat ignited between her thighs.

  “I take them.”

  About the Author

  Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying up late finishing a good book.

  She isn't very fond of doing laundry.

  www.jillianeaton.com

  Exclusive Excerpts

  Read on for an exclusive excerpt from A DUCHESS BY MIDNIGHT, a standalone historical romance with a new twist on an old fairytale. Available now wherever e-books are sold!

  Look for the second book in the Bow Street Bride series (Felicity + Felix’s story) this summer.

  A Duchess by Midnight

  No one liked to clean chamber pots. But it was something that had to be done, and with everyone else in the household up to their elbows in lye soap Clara had had no choice but to volunteer for the task.

  She hummed a silly tune as she dragged a rickety old wooden wagon piled high with chamber pots behind her. It bumped and jostled over the rough ground, groaning in complaint as the axles threatened to buckle beneath their heavy burden.

  “Hush,” Clara muttered with a backwards glance at the wagon. “You have the easy part, don’t you? I am the one who has to wash them.” Keeping a firm grip on the metal handle she dragged the cart down a narrow, tree-lined path that ran alongside a shallow stream. Tiny song birds chirped at her as she walked past them, their inquisitive black eyes following her slow, steady progress with keen interest. Knowing precisely what they wanted Clara took a brief respite in the cool shade of an elm tree and dug deep into the pockets of her apron.

  “Here you are,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a handful of breadcrumbs. Birds flew down in bright colorful flocks of blue and white and tan as she threw the bread across the path. One bold fellow, his wings dotted with dark spots, hopped right up to her feet and tilted his head back. Clara bit back a smile. “Greedy, aren’t you? Well here you go.” Kneeling down, she slowly extended her hand. To her surprise – and delight – the bird hopped right into her palm, his little nails tickling the calloused skin as he dipped his head and pecked at the stale crumbs.

  When her pockets were empty Clara stood up and watched as one by one the birds dispersed, fluttering back into the bushes and up into the trees. Absently rubbing a knot of tension out of her shoulder – the chamber pots, though small, were deceptively heavy when piled all together – she continued down the path which was really no path at all, but rather an old overgrown trail forged by the hooves of cattle who used the stream to quench their thirst.

  While it would have been far easier and quicker to clean out the chamber pots behind the house, Clara vastly preferred the privacy of the woods. There was something almost magical about the silence and the shade and the way the sun filtered down through the trees. She could be herself when she was out here, if only for a little while. And she could breathe. Not the s
hort, stinted, wary breaths she took whenever her stepmother or stepsisters were near, but deep, all the way down into her gut breaths that she felt in the very depths of her soul.

  Pushing a low-hanging branch out of the way she carefully dragged the cart down a short incline and kept it in place with tiny rocks wedged beneath the wheels. Gathering her long hair into a knot on top of her head, she tied her dress off above her knees, slid out of her shoes and stockings, and waded barefoot into the cool stream.

  The water tickled her toes, making her giggle as she splashed around like a child. The chamber pots temporarily forgotten, she skimmed her fingers through the water, entranced by the tiny minnows that swam to the surface and chased after her hands. The stream was so clear she could see straight down to the bottom where dozens of pebbles gleamed like forgotten treasure.

  Distracted by the beauty of the nature around her, Clara didn’t hear the pounding of approaching hoof steps. It was not until the birds fell uncharacteristically silent that she realized something was amiss. Her toes slipped on the smooth rocks as she whirled around and she fell sideways with a tiny shriek, arms wind milling madly as she tried to save herself from a dip in the stream. Water splashed up into her face and caught the front of her bodice, quickly soaking through to her skin. Blushing furiously when she glanced down and saw just how revealing her thin dress had become, Clara crossed her arms tightly over her chest before she turned – much more slowly this time – to face the horse and rider who had stolen into her quiet oasis.