Jenna Petersen
Seduction Is Forever
This book is for my family. My father, Jerry, for
reading all kinds of true historical adventures to us
(I will never forget the terrifying tales of leopards
in the trees and Capstick). My brother, Bill, for
understanding that art of all kinds is a roller coaster
adventure. Your many talents awe me. And especially
for my mother, Millie, who became a huge romance
fan simply because she believed that one day she’d be reading my books. Look, Ma, another book to display
on the piano!
And, of course, this book is for Michael. The best
friend I’ve ever had and ever will have. Thanks for
being my everything.
Contents
Prologue
Charles Isley scratched a few notes onto the piece of…
Chapter 1
The night air was cold and crisp, but Emily Redgrave…
Chapter 2
Grant was just keeping himself from yawning. It was only…
Chapter 3
Three days after their first encounter at his mother’s ball,…
Chapter 4
“I need more information about Lord Westfield’s whereabouts recently. I…
Chapter 5
Emily stepped inside the stifling club and wrinkled her nose…
Chapter 6
Emily watched in stunned horror as Grant lifted the heavy…
Chapter 7
Long after Emily was sure Grant was deep in sleep,…
Chapter 8
“And then she left you locked in her bedroom?” Laughter…
Chapter 9
Emily crouched behind a line of bushes beside the gazebo…
Chapter 10
Grant’s arms came around Emily as an explosion of powerful…
Chapter 11
Grant’s mind spun. There was so much unexpected information bombarding…
Chapter 12
Grant lay on his side, half covered in Emily’s sheets.
Chapter 13
Emily twisted in her chair to face Grant at his…
Chapter 14
The afternoon sun had long ago faded into evening. Only…
Chapter 15
Grant lunged for the window, forgetting Leary as he watched…
Chapter 16
Emily straightened the skirt of the gown that had been…
Chapter 17
Emily stared at the canopy above her bed, but she…
Chapter 18
“My God,” Grant breathed as Emily entered her parlor the…
Chapter 19
This fight was only going to end when one of…
Chapter 20
“Have you ever loved a woman?”
Chapter 21
Grant surged to his feet as Emily stormed into her…
Chapter 22
Grant faced his mother with what he hoped was a…
Epilogue
Charles Isley moved to the door and his hand hovered…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Romances
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
London 1808
Charles Isley scratched a few notes onto the piece of paper balanced in his lap. The rocking of the carriage made it difficult to decipher the scribbled words, but he had faith he would remember their meaning later.
“Both Meredith Sinclair and Anastasia Whittig have been approached, my lady,” he said, tilting his head to better see the woman in the shadows across from him. She was gazing out the window, so all he could make out were the fine features of her profile.
“Very good, Charles,” she said quietly. “We are almost ready to begin their training.”
He drew back in surprise. Charlie had been under the impression that everything was finally in place. “What else do you require?”
“I think one more young lady will complete our circle quite nicely.” He observed the hint of a smile on her ladyship’s lips, even in the dim light. “Yes, one more will make our little group complete.”
He shuffled, digging for the list of potential spies that he and the woman across from him had compiled through months of meticulous research. It was a good thing he had brought it along, despite his belief that she would not want it again.
“Pardon my inquiry, but why three, my lady?” he asked.
She laughed. “Have you ever known two women to be of the same mind?”
He stifled a smile. “Well…”
“Don’t answer that, Charles, it will only help you find trouble,” she said and amusement hung in her voice. “If there are three ladies in the group, there will always be a tie-breaking vote if two of them disagree.”
He nodded. As always, her ladyship’s analysis was flawless. “I see. So you wish to add a voice of calm. Of reason.”
She shook her head. “No. I think Meredith and Anastasia are both voices of reason in their own fashion. Actually, I want to add a voice of fire. Of independent spark.”
Even before she said anything more, his eyes went to the first name on their list. One of the few remaining that had not been crossed off for one reason or another. It was a name that had been troubling him since the inception of their plan.
“I see where you are looking and you are correct in the guess you have not yet voiced.” Her ladyship folded her hands. “I want you to approach Lady Allington.”
Charles dipped his head, searching for the right way to phrase his concerns. “My lady, I do not wish to argue, but Emily Redgrave hasn’t always been known for possessing a level head. Is there some reason why you desire to add her to your group of female spies?”
Again, his associate smiled. This time a smile filled with secret knowledge and a certainty he could not deny.
“Absolutely, Charles. I want you to approach Emily because I like her.”
He stared at the woman in the shadows, taken aback by her statement. But he didn’t argue. He had long ago learned never to argue with her. Inevitably, she was correct. It was why he had agreed to help her with this outrageous scheme to form a covert group of female spies. Her instincts were impeccable.
The carriage began to slow and Charles gathered his things. “Very well. I shall approach her as soon as possible.”
His companion nodded as he pushed the door open and stepped out onto the street. “Very good, Charles.”
As the vehicle pulled away, she leaned back against the plush leather seat with a sigh. “I want Emily Redgrave,” she whispered. “Because she is most like me.”
Chapter 1
London 1814
The night air was cold and crisp, but Emily Redgrave hardly felt it as she pushed the door open and stepped silently onto the icy parapet. Tonight she didn’t care about the chill of one of the worst winters on record. She was escaping her prison. Finally, months of planning, weeks of work, were about to come to fruition. In a few short moments, she would be free.
Her heart pounded as she adjusted the heavy cloak around her shoulders and insured that the dark hood covered her hair so the fair color wouldn’t be obvious in the darkness. She hadn’t had time to perform her usual preparations of costume and disguise. It was this moment or never if she wanted to get out.
Carefully, she pushed herself up onto the slick ledge. Balancing there, she glanced down at the garden far below. A long drop, so she hoped her makeshift rope, bound together from bed sheets she had been secreting away, would hold.
She squatted to secure one end of the rope to the stone slats on the
terrace wall, then swung down off the ledge. She cupped her feet together around the knot where she’d tied the first and second sheet and let out a sigh of relief when she dangled safely.
Well, she hadn’t come crashing to the ground yet. That was a positive sign. Now she just had to shimmy down fifteen feet or so and she would be on her way to blessed freedom.
Inch by inch, she scooted down the sheet, always keeping her hands or feet gripped around a knot in her homemade ladder. From time to time, she glanced down, her breath steaming up around her cheeks as the ground moved ever closer and closer.
A gust of wind stirred and the sheets swung. She clung to the soft fabric as she swayed, still far enough from the ground that a fall would hurt like a bugger if she landed improperly. She had only just recovered from injuries, the last thing she needed was more bed rest. She would surely go mad.
Finally, the biting wind died down and she continued her trek. When her boots hit the ground beneath her, it took all her willpower not to crow with triumph. One more daring escape concluded, her first in many months. She gathered her cloak closer and spun on her heel toward the garden gate and the busy street outside.
Only to find herself facing a man. Charles Isley lifted the lantern in his gloved hand and gave her a look that could not be misinterpreted, even in the dim light.
“Emily,” he growled, dragging her name out in frustration.
She stomped her foot, despite how childish the reaction was. Shoving her hood away to reveal her face, she glared at him. “Good evening, Charlie.”
“Come inside.” He motioned to the French doors that led from the garden into the parlor. It was a command, not a request, and since he was her superior she had no choice but to follow that order.
She sighed as she entered the bright, warm room. She’d been so damn close. Charlie shut and latched the doors behind him as she flopped into the nearest wing-back chair and folded her arms in a final act of defiance.
“Emily, Emily…” he began with a shake of his head as he poured two tumblers of sherry. Handing her one, he took the chair across from hers and simply stared at her.
She pursed her lips as she tried to suppress the swell of emotion in her chest. Damn him. He could always make her feel so guilty when she broke protocol or became overzealous about a case. Now he was doing that in spades. She ground her teeth. She would not apologize.
“How did you know?” she asked instead, setting the untouched liquor aside.
Charlie didn’t get a chance to answer before the door to the parlor opened. Emily looked up as her two best friends, Meredith Archer and Anastasia Tyler entered the room.
Meredith folded her arms and speared Emily with another glance meant to fill her with guilt. And damn if it didn’t succeed.
“We told him,” her friend admitted without a hint of remorse in her tone.
Emily gripped her hands into fists in her lap. Her nails bit into her palms. “And just how did you two figure out my plan, eh?”
Anastasia laughed as she and Meredith took positions on the nearest settee. “As if we would tell you!”
Meredith nodded. “Yes. The more details we provide, the more you’ll use them to your advantage the next time you decide to sneak out of the house into the night.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. This all seemed very rehearsed. Clearly, the three of them had known of her plans for escape for some time and had readied themselves for the showdown once she made her move. It was infuriating! Six months ago, she wouldn’t have been caught by anyone.
Six months ago, everything was different.
She shook away those thoughts, along with the overwhelming swell of anxiety that accompanied them. They couldn’t sense her fear or she would be worse off than she already was.
“Very well, let me see if I can deduce it. It was the bedsheets that gave me away, wasn’t it?”
Ana laughed and Emily knew she’d struck onto her failure. For weeks, she had been playing a cat and mouse game with the maids. Clearly, someone had talked about the missing sheets and word had gotten back to her sister spies. Before Ana’s recent marriage, she had lived with Emily for several years. No doubt the maids would report any strange behavior to her friend if asked.
And instead of confronting Emily herself, as Ana would have done in the past, her friend had gone to Meredith and Charlie. To protect her.
Protection was the last thing Emily wanted. Or needed. She was smothered by their mothering and worrying. And their doubts only made her own fears that much louder in her head.
Charlie pulled out his pipe and pressed it between his lips. “Does it really matter how we uncovered your plan to escape this house?”
Emily shrugged. Aside from the utter humiliation of being discovered, it probably didn’t. What mattered was what was going to come of this situation.
“So what is to be my punishment?” she asked, leaning back in her chair as she grasped the tumbler of sherry from the table beside her and swirled the drink gently. “The gallows? The rack? Will I be transported to Australia?” Charlie smiled at her dry questions, but Emily didn’t allow him to interrupt. “Or will you condemn me to the worst fate of all? Keep me locked in this house, unable to do my duties. Will you continue to keep me from taking assignments?”
At that, Charlie’s smile fell, Meredith winced and Anastasia let out a low groan. The muscles in Emily’s shoulders bunched with tension. She hated having this argument as much as they all did.
“No one is trying to hurt you, dearest,” Ana said, rising to her feet and pacing around the room.
Emily watched her restless movements. The waves of worry and fear came off of her friend with every step. Ana had always been protective of Emily, but it had gotten worse since Emily was shot and since her marriage. Ana had been off with her husband, Lucas Tyler, who was a spy, too. He was her partner now. Just as Meredith’s husband, Tristan, was a spy. Both her best friends had new lives.
And Emily had been left behind.
She surged to her feet at that painful thought. “You aren’t trying to hurt me, but you are. Damn it, I’m a spy! I was born to do this job, even if I didn’t know it until you approached me all those years ago, Charlie.”
He looked at her, a small smile tilting his lips, but she could see from his expression that he was only humoring her.
“How long must I be relegated to this house and kept from the field?”
She had a powerful urge to throw her tumbler against the wall, just to get their attention. But they would probably take such an outburst as further evidence of her instability.
“You weren’t injured that long ago,” Charlie said softly. “I worry about putting you back into the field so soon when I’m not certain that you’ve recovered fully.”
Emily paced away with a snort of disgust. She had been shot during a case over six months ago. Yes, the wounds had been painful—and were sometimes still painful, though she refused to admit that, even when her friends saw the evidence.
But there were deeper reasons for sequestering her from the field. She had overheard Charlie talking to Ana one night. He’d told her friend that he feared Emily had been damaged beyond mere physical injury. That she wasn’t the same girl she had been before that bullet ripped through her body.
Emily flinched at the memory, because she knew the comment was true. Some nights she woke screaming. Sometimes she found herself flashing to the terrifying moment of impact. And that was why she wanted to return to the field so desperately. She had to prove to herself, as well as to the others, that she could still do her duty.
It was all she had left. She couldn’t lose it.
She turned back to him, blinking away the tears that suddenly, frustratingly, filled her eyes.
“Charlie,” she whispered, clenching her fingers in and out of tight fists as she fought to manage her emotions. “Please. Being a spy is what Meredith loves. It is what Ana became when circumstances forced it. But a spy is what I am. It is my soul and I shall go mad wit
hout it. I need to work again. I’m begging you.”
Charlie looked at her for a long, heavy moment, then his gaze flitted to the other two women. Tears streamed down Ana’s cheeks and Meredith was quiet, her head dipped and face lined with worry.
He sighed. “You are determined to do this.”
She nodded, too thrilled to keep from revealing her eagerness. This was the first time Charlie hadn’t refused her outright. “I am.”
He shook his head slowly. “I do have a case I planned to give to Meredith, but the War Department recently asked Tristan to do some work in the North Country and she will be accompanying him in a few weeks. The case I had in mind may require more time than that.”
Emily nearly went to her knees with relief. “Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. What is the case?”
Charlie motioned to the chair she had vacated and she sat down on the edge, leaning forward with anticipation tightening her chest. There was also potent fear, but she ignored that. She could mask it. She had to.
“Are you familiar with Lord Westfield?” he asked.
“Grant Ashbury? Yes.” She nodded as she thought of the man in question. She’d met him a few times in passing, though they had never talked for more than a brief, polite moment.
“We’ve intercepted some very threatening communications regarding him.” Charlie frowned. “We need an agent to follow him, watch out for him, perhaps even intervene if he’s attacked.”
Her eyes went wide. “Grant Ashbury needs protection?” she repeated in disbelief.
It wasn’t the idea that the man was being threatened that she doubted. Westfield was both powerful and well known. No doubt the man had enemies. But it was the idea that he needed a guard that didn’t ring true.
For one thing, he was enormous. At well over six feet in height, Westfield generally towered over most crowds. He was muscular, too. Anyone with eyes could see that he was no ninnified dandy who padded his clothing.
“I concede it sounds ridiculous, given his physical and mental condition,” Charlie said. “But it is true. The problem is that Westfield isn’t aware he’s being threatened. He’s not on the lookout for an attack, so despite his strength and intelligence, he might not be able to prevent injury to himself or those around him.”
Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] Page 1