by Mary Campisi
Innocent Betrayal
by
Mary Campisi
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Innocent Betrayal
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Mary Campisi
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, 2012
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-010-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-350-4
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Mary Campisi and her books...
A TASTE OF SEDUCTION
“With enough scandal and secret plots to rival a daytime TV special and a pair of leading characters that are among the best I've read in a while, this is definitely a story not to be missed!”
~Bridget, The Romance Reviews (Top Pick)
“This book was absolutely delicious!”
~ Karen Parker, You Gotta Read Reviews
“A TASTE OF SEDUCTION is filled with romance, lies, villains and most of all, passion.”
~Lena, Black Raven's Reviews
“What could be formulaic is instead a not-to-miss tale of passion and intrigue.”
~Maria Planansky, RT Book Reviews (4 Stars)
~*~
INNOCENT BETRAYAL
“The characters are engaging, the plot thrilling, and the passion sizzling. This is an author to watch!”
~Maria C. Ferrer, Romantic Times
“Watch for Ms. Campisi’s star to keep rising on the romance horizon.”
~Affaire de Coeur
Dedication
To my editor, Christine Kuczmynda—
Thank you for the critical eye and honest appraisal.
You’ve made a difference!
Chapter 1
England 1818
“Be damned! He’s done it again,” Noah Sandleton muttered under his breath. He’d been watching the boy for a full ten minutes. If his count was correct, the little ruffian had just pickpocketed his third victim. Not that lifting coin from this group would be a difficult task. Many of them, especially his own men, were plunging into various stages of drunkenness with the same gritty determination they employed while manning his ship. They deserved this night of reckless abandon after weeks at sea, and Noah planned to let them have it. But he was not about to sit by and watch some scrawny urchin steal from them.
He peered through the gray haze, trying to concentrate on the boy’s actions. The Fox’s Tail was crowded and smoky, making it difficult to see clearly, but Noah thought he had figured out the boy’s game. Each time the little tough edged up to an unsuspecting victim, he would lean in close, whisper in his ear and then depart, shaking hands as he faded away, taking his booty with him. Noah eased back in his chair and took a long draft of ale. He was a patient man. Odds were that soon enough the boy would approach one of his men, and then Noah would teach him a lesson.
He scanned the pub, taking in the scene around him. The Fox’s Tail attracted all breed of man, from sailor to nobleman, oddly bound together by the port and ale that flowed freely through the establishment, loosening their tongues and their purses. Its walls housed the latest whispers of scandal, whether they be social or political and it was no secret the rooms upstairs were frequented by customers wanting a quick tumble with one of the pub’s well-endowed barmaids.
It was all available for the right price. Rumors abounded regarding the illegal trade pushing up and down the coast. Silks, lace, spices. A half smile played about Noah’s lips as he thought of the crafty merchants who bought their wares straight off the boats only to sell them to unsuspecting noblemen for nearly three times their worth.
The boy hadn’t moved from his spot. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Was he a Bow Street Runner?
“Will ye’ ’ave another?” A blond barmaid leaned over, her huge breasts spilling out of the peasant’s top she wore. Noah spotted the hint of a pale nipple. She smiled at him, and he recognized the invitation in her brown eyes.
“Is there anything else ye’ be wantin’?” Her voice was low and husky.
Noah’s gaze swept the length of her full figure and settled on her breasts. “Later.”
“Me name’s Hazel,” she murmured, running her tongue slowly over parted lips.
He smiled at her.
“Later,” she repeated before picking up her tray and disappearing amidst a group of raucous seamen.
“I see the women are flocking to you, as always,” a voice boomed from behind.
Noah turned to see his first mate, John Judson, settling his bulky frame into a nearby chair. He grinned at the old man, then shrugged and closed his eyes. “I know John, but what’s a man to do?”
“Hah!” the older man bellowed in laughter. “You’ve a way with the women, that’s for sure.” He paused only long enough to take a healthy swallow of ale before he continued. “They all love you, from England to the Orient, princess to barmaid but not a one of ’em has ever been able to catch you.”
Noah’s smile stretched, his eyes still closed. “Oh, they catch me when I want them to, John, but keeping me, now that’s a different story.”
John chuckled and slapped Noah on the back. “One day, boy, one of them will. You’ll see or my name isn’t John Judson.”
Noah’s eyes snapped open as he remembered the pickpocket. The boy had edged closer to a group of scruffy seamen, two of which were Noah’s deck hands.
“John, look at that boy standing over by Amos and Jeremy.” He pointed toward the group of five.
John squinted. “The scrawny thing in the black cap?”
“That’s the one. He’s been fleecing unsuspecting victims all night, and I’m about to teach him a lesson.”
“You sure he’s stealing?” John’s bushy white eyebrows drew together as he studied the boy. “He looks like the same one that’s been asking around for Gerald Thackery.”
“The Matilda’s captain?”
John nodded and rubbed his white beard. “The lad’s been quizzing everybody in the place, looking for the captain. Said he wanted to sign on as a cabin boy.” John’s faded blue eyes twinkled. “We pretended we didn’t know where he was.” He leaned his big bulk toward Noah and whispered, “We didn’t have the heart to tell him the good captain was taking his pleasure upstairs.”
Noah frowned. “I don’t believe it. It’s just a ruse to cover what he’s really been doing, and that’s stealing.”
“Why would a body bent on stealing strike up a conversation with the person he’s about to rob? Especially an urchin like that one. From what I heard and what I can see, he’s no more than fifteen or so and so scared, he can’t even give a straight look in the eye to ask a question.”
Noah said nothing as he watched the boy sneak up to one of his men.
“I know you find it hard to believe a person would want to go to America,” John continued. “But there’s many a man who believes it’s the ‘land of opportunity.’”
Noah ignored the comment. “Did you see that? Did you see him brush up against Amos?” He stood, towering over John. “Tha
t’s the last coin he’ll steal tonight,” he muttered, pushing away from the table as he moved with steady purpose through the crowd.
A glass broke behind him, crashing to the floor, followed by yelling and the sound of fists connecting. Noah turned just in time to avoid the blunt edge of a bottle hurled in the air by some drunken sod. It landed squarely on the head of the man next to him, toppling him to the ground. Within seconds, an all-out brawl exploded. Noah pushed his way toward the boy, grabbing and hauling him up and over his shoulder toward the stairs that were a few feet away. He ignored the kicking legs and squirming body on his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time. Flinging the first door open, he thrust the boy inside and almost laughed when the boy scurried to the furthest corner of the room.
“Unless you’re planning on jumping out that window, you have no other means of escape.” Noah leaned against the door, blocking the only other exit.
The would-be thief scanned the entire room quickly, then scanned it once more. “What ye’ be wantin’ from me?” His voice sounded gruff and forced.
“Now there’s a question.” Noah laughed and pushed away from the door. “What I be wantin’ from ye’,” he drawled, “is to see how much coin you stole downstairs.” He advanced on the boy, pinning him against the wall with one hand. “We’ll see how much booty you collected tonight,” he said, working his free hand inside the boy’s oversized pockets. Empty. He opened the front of the jacket and looked for hidden pockets. “Did you steal this jacket too?” he asked, fingering the fine silk lining. He received no answer, not that he expected one, though he had expected to find pockets filled with money.
“Where’s the money?” he demanded. “I know it’s here somewhere.” Ignoring the panic in the boy’s eyes, Noah ran his hands slowly along the oversized shirtfront and encountered two soft mounds. “What the devil—!” he growled, grabbing the shirt and jerking the buttons open to reveal full, lush breasts straining against the confines of their heavy cotton binding. A woman! She tried to cover herself, but Noah caught her small hands and forced them to her side. The shirt fell open to reveal the creamy swell of her bosom, and for a second he wished he could have a peek beneath the layers of cotton binding.
He looked away and gazed up into a pair of gray eyes. They were soft and shimmering, surrounded by a thick fringe of lash. How had he missed those eyes?
“So,” he said in a soft voice. “The he is a she.”
She tried to bolt but he clamped down on her arm and closed in until they were a nose apart. They stared at one another—the predator and the prey. Before she could protest, he jerked the stocking cap from her head and a mass of golden locks tumbled about her shoulders.
She was beautiful, of that he was certain. Her full lips trembled with what seemed like fear. What would she taste like? Sweet and fresh would be his guess. Of course, there was one way to find out, but that wasn’t why he’d brought her up here. Until a moment ago, he’d thought her a thieving “he,” and whether female or male, beautiful or not, she remained a thief.
“I saw you stealing.”
“I did no such thing!” she protested, all trace of the cockney accent she’d used a moment before gone.
He frowned. “Who are you?”
She didn’t answer for the longest time, and when she did it wasn’t really an answer at all. “I’m looking for Captain Gerald Thackery. He’s sailing his ship to America.”
“What do you want with that scoundrel?” Noah held little respect for a man who cheated his men out of honest wages and spent the better part of his life in drunken excess.
“I...” She hesitated a moment. “I’m trying to secure passage to America and thought I might travel as a cabin boy.”
“Oh,” Noah scoffed. “More deceit. Exactly how did you plan to carry it off?” His gaze lingered on her breasts, taking perverse pleasure in the crimson color spreading across her cheeks.
She yanked her jacket closed. “I’d planned to disguise myself as a cabin boy.”
Noah laughed outright. “With Thackery as captain? He’d sniff you out a mile away.” He leaned in close, the scent of lilac filling his nostrils. “Listen,” he whispered. Grunting moans and soft sighs traveled through the walls. A man’s voice, deep and commanding, rasped out words of pleasure that made her flush ten shades deeper than a moment before. “Sail with him and that’s how you’ll be passing your time.”
He paused a moment. “If you wanted to get to America, there are legitimate ways to go about it. You wouldn’t need to come to a dockside pub dressed as a boy looking for a man you know nothing about.”
“I had no choice,” she spat out.
“There’s always a choice.” Noah turned from the woman and tried to sort out her deceit. From the corner of his eye, he saw her reach two fingers inside the heavy binding that covered her breasts. What the devil was she up to? He swung around and hauled her to the narrow bed in the corner.
She kicked him with her booted foot, just missing his groin.
“Damn you!” Noah stilled her squirming body with one arm as he thrust his free hand inside the binding and pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper.
He stared at it a long time, barely noticing Gerald Thackery’s name scrawled on the fine linen stationery. It was the name on the letterhead that gave him pause.
Ian St. Simon.
How in the devil had she gotten hold of his best friend’s stationery? Before he could question her, a sharp blow struck his temple. “Aghh,” he moaned, clutching his head as the pain roared through his brain. He doubled over, crouching onto the wooden floor among shards of glass as a fine stream of blood oozed from his right temple. He lifted his aching head just in time to see the woman flee.
Moments later, Noah hurdled the steps two at a time, racing out the door in pursuit of his quarry. He ignored the dull throbbing in his head as his trained eyes scanned the darkness. She was out there somewhere; the docks of London could hide a person for days.
There were no signs of life, save a lone elegant carriage travelling several yards ahead of him. She was gone. Damn, her. Noah turned back toward the pub and swiped at the wetness on his cheek. Blood smeared his fingers as he cursed all women, but one in particular, to everlasting hell.
****
The carriage rolled away from The Fox’s Tail and toward the comfortable familiarity of the Gregory’s drawing room as Emily St. Simon squeezed her eyes shut and lay back against the burgundy velvet squabs. If she kept her eyes firmly shut, perhaps the last hour would fade away into the vagueness of a bad dream.
“Emily?” Isabelle Fleming’s concern for her good friend was evident in the slight trembling of her voice. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? It’s finally gone too far.”
“Let me rest a moment, Belle. Just a moment and I’ll be fine.”
“Then we’ll talk.”
Emily tried to make the vision disappear but the events of the evening were too powerful to whisk away with the brush of a hand or blink of an eye. He kept coming for her, a bronzed warrior, towering over her, blocking all thoughts of escape. What would he do when he caught her? A stray lock of dark hair fell over his forehead while the rest trailed to his shoulders in wavy disarray. His nose was slightly crooked, his jaw too square. Eyes, deeply set, were a rich brown, like fine French chocolate, smooth and decadent. Those eyes bore into her as he closed the distance between them.
The man backed her against a wall. She inhaled his male scent, felt his warm breath on her hair, watched his firm mouth moving closer. She pressed her palms against the wall, bracing for the onslaught of his kiss. There was no escape. His mouth descended, stopped mere inches from hers. Fear warred with anticipation as she waited. Could he hear the wild beating of her heart? He spoke in a whisper soft voice. “Liar.” His voice grew louder. “Thief.”
Emily’s eyes flew open. She blinked twice and rubbed her temples. What if the man knew Ian? She’d seen the way he stared at the paper. Had he recognized the name? She thru
st the possibility aside. Highly unlikely. The monster wasn’t even an Englishman.
“I had a bit of trouble tonight, Belle.” Emily avoided her friend’s watchful gaze and grabbed one of the boxes that held a carefully wrapped rose gown and various layers of undergarments.
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t careful enough. I couldn’t think of anything but meeting Captain Thackery, and I let my guard down.” Emily shook her head and reached for her camisole. “There was a man—”
“And?”
“He accused me of stealing. And he found the piece of paper with Captain Thackery’s name on it.” Shimmying out of the gray breeches, she pointed her toe into a rose colored stocking.
“Well, that would tell him nothing.”
Emily busied herself with the stocking. “It was on Ian’s letterhead.”
“Oh.” And then, “Let’s remain calm. Ian doesn’t frequent such places and our families only travel to London a few times a year. This man couldn’t possibly know your brother.” She shook out a frilly petticoat and laid it across her lap.
Emily sighed. “I’m sure you’re right. If Ian ever knew we were masquerading as boys in taverns, he’d have our heads.”
A twinkle of mischief lit Belle’s eyes. “We did it all last Season, and he never found out.”
“But this is the first time at The Fox’s Tail. It’s nothing like the quaint taverns we’re used to frequenting.” A vision of a fierce warrior intruded on her thoughts. “It’s seedy and wild, with all sorts of untamed characters milling about. You wouldn’t have liked it at all.”
“I’d choose that any day over dance cards and demure smiles with silly introductions and the latest on dit.” She sighed. “Why can’t our families accept the fact that we don’t want to marry?”
“Duty.” Emily gathered the rose gown and worked it over her head. “We’ve been born to it, Belle. My brother’s an earl, your father’s a duke. It’s expected.”