Accidentally His

Book 3: Designing Debutantes

by Sabrina Jeffries

Genres: Regency Romance

Synopsis

With a fresh new hook for readers of Regency romance by Julia Quinn, Lisa Kleypas, and Madeline Hunter, New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries returns to the Dazzling Debutantes series featuring a trio of ladies who defy social constraints by starting a business as party planners to the ton. The creative force behind London’s most dazzling events, these young women know plenty about fashion, food, and the perfect setting—but there is always more to learn about love…

As a viscount’s heir, Rafe Wolfford is obligated to take a wife someday. But she must be the right sort of wife—not too independent, and not inclined to delve into his escapades as a spy. The forthright, perceptive Lady Verity is altogether the wrong choice. But Rafe’s courtship is merely a ruse to discover whether Verity or anyone else associated with Elegant Occasions is leaking crucial information to the French. That mission is all that
matters—until fate, and desire, intervene.

After enduring one disastrous engagement, Verity won’t easily open her heart again, preferring to devote herself to Elegant Occasions. Rafe is charming, handsome, and kisses like the very devil, but she knows he’s harboring secrets. Still, when her ex-fiancé tries to ruin her reputation, Rafe offers his hand. For the sake of her family and business, Verity has little choice but to accept. Yet turning this arrangement into a true marriage will require daring and trust—which neither will embrace easily, making surrender all the sweeter . . .

Release date: January 23, 2024

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Colonel Raphael Wolfford nodded a greeting as Sir Lucius Fitzgerald settled into the carriage seat opposite him. While the carriage rumbled on, the spymaster surveyed Rafe with a keen eye.

Rafe arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should have worn my uniform.”

“Why start now? On the Peninsula, you were always some Spanish peasant or Irish mercenary or whoever you needed to be to unearth French secrets. You’re the only soldier I’ve ever known to dress as a Jack in the Green to gain intelligence. So tonight, you’re better off playing who you actually are for once: heir presumptive to a viscount.”

Rafe gave a rueful chuckle. “I’ve always heard that ladies prefer a man in uniform.”

“Not these ladies. If they see a uniform, they’ll assume you’re the spare, not the heir, and that wouldn’t suit the purposes of your plan, now, would it?”

“Probably not.”

“Besides, we don’t want anyone knowing you’re still a commissioned officer. Or that you’ve been in England over a year and a half.” Sir Lucius removed his pocket watch to check the time. “So, are you absolutely sure about attending this event as your true self?”

“Yes.” Even if he still wasn’t sure who his true self might be. “I see no other way to continue this investigation.”

“You understand that your proposed scheme is uncertain at best and dangerous at worst.”

Rafe shrugged. “Uncle Constantine risked his life to uncover the truth, so the least I can do is risk mine.” Instinctively, he smoothed a hand over the secret pocket in his breeches that held the blade he carried everywhere. “Though I don’t see the danger in it, honestly. My uncle was using an alias when he was shot, so it’s not as if the damned spy for the French knows who Uncle Constantine is, and thus who I am to him.”

“We can’t be certain of that. Constantine can’t tell us if he was recognized as General Wolfford . . . or even if he was forced to reveal his identity in order to make headway in his investigation. Hence, my worry about the danger.”

A pistol shot to the head of Rafe’s uncle a year and a half ago had put an end to Constantine’s inquiries, leaving the old general a bedridden prisoner to demented ravings. That would not be Rafe, damn it.

“Yes, well, after the most recent information we received, I have to do something more,” Rafe said. “Going about incognito hasn’t worked. I need to infiltrate that nest of vipers to find and unmask the culprit.”

Sir Lucius eyed him askance. “Is that what you consider the Harper sisters and Elegant Occasions to be—a nest of vipers?”

“Not them,” Rafe said irritably. “Their involvement in treasonous activity is tangential at best, although I still haven’t ruled out Lady Foxstead’s new husband. But their father, his servants, and possibly even their mother and her new husband undoubtedly have a hand in it.”

“That’s what your uncle believed, at any rate.”

“And no one could ever say he lacked for good instincts in intelligence work. He taught me everything I know.”

Just not enough. Rafe gazed out the window at the passing oil lamps, which shed about as much light as his spying on the Harper family from afar had done. Rafe hadn’t before encountered a wilier enemy than Osgood Harper, the Earl of Holtbury. The bastard never took a step wrong, as evidenced by his successful divorce from his first wife and marriage to another Society woman. Both spoke to Holtbury’s devious ability to use rules, power, and money to his advantage.

It grated on Rafe. “But I still don’t know for certain who the spy is. Or where Uncle Constantine hid his notes and most recent reports about it. Or who attacked him when he got too close.”

“These things require patience. And you’ve already succeeded in eliminating people in the Harper family’s outer circle as suspects: several of their close friends, the Elegant Occasions butler, a handful of other servants. . . .”

“Yes, but time grows short. Wellington has already suffered setbacks because of this spy. And with Napoleon invading Russia, Wellington must strike hard in the Peninsula while he can.”

Sir Lucius tensed. “What did that new Edinburgh physician you consulted say about Constantine’s memory?”

“He confirmed what I’d begun to suspect. The old general will never recover his mind. And he may not live much longer, either.” Uncle Constantine’s work had always consumed him, even after his retirement from the army, so before he died, Rafe wanted him to know his mission had been completed, even if Rafe had to say the words to a man only half-aware of their meaning.

The sudden ache in Rafe’s chest made him clench his teeth. As his uncle always said, Letting your heart rule your head / Is the surest way to end up dead. Uncle was fond of rhyming rules.

Rafe fought for calm. “That’s why I must get inside their inner circle.”

“Hence, my concern about the danger.”

“It will be worth it if I learn something of value. Taking increasingly greater risks with no result—like at that May Day affair—frustrates me.” Especially when his investigation into his late mother wasn’t progressing, either.

“You got closer to the earl than ever before at that event.”

“For all the good it did me.” Rafe huffed out a breath. “Masquerading as a Jack in the Green didn’t exactly make it easy to cozy up to the man. Besides which, I was nearly unmasked.” By the man’s daughter, Lady Verity Harper. The vixen was sometimes too inquisitive for her own good.

“Given your reputation, I find it highly unlikely they would have guessed who you were. Why, you even fooled Beaufort, and their chef knows you well.”

“Oh, I took care of the matter, never fear. But it was a near thing,” Rafe said. “You try slipping onto the grounds of a hunting lodge when the guests are all family and friends, and the only servants or performers are thoroughly inspected by the very people I wish to deceive. It’s nothing like entering a ball in the city where I can blend in and people don’t all know each other.”

Sir Lucius arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying the Chameleon is no longer capable of insinuating himself anywhere he chooses?”

The familiar nickname irked Rafe. Perhaps he’d deserved the moniker on the Peninsula. Or, more likely, that was what happened when bored soldiers amused themselves—their stories of his various exploits grew more legendary with every retelling. Especially since he’d managed to do his work without his true identity being known by anyone but a select few. Wellington. Sir Lucius. His uncle.

Rafe stiffened. “War requires different strategies. Abroad, I was gathering intelligence on the enemy and not on my own countrymen. Even you must admit that any further spying I do on that family will gain me naught until I can become a trusted friend to them.”

“By courting Lady Verity.”

“Why not? Someone needs to. The woman has been running amok for far too long.”

Sir Lucius smirked at him. “Do I detect a trace of irritability in your tone?”

“Not a bit.”

Liar. Of course Rafe was irritable. He had a mission, and Lady Verity Harper had been thwarting it. Every bloody time he’d veered close to uncovering some important bit of information, she’d shown up, forcing him to retreat before he could be caught or recognized. It was time he regained control of the situation.

“You think to turn her up sweet,” Sir Lucius said, “so she’ll tell you whatever you wish to know.”

He shrugged. “Every woman in Society wants a husband.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Although if you have to court a lady to unmask our quarry, it might as well be a pretty one.”

“Her looks have naught to do with it.” Granted, he was attracted to the woman. Who wouldn’t be? The green-eyed, gamine beauty with golden skin and hair of dark honey kept every fellow guessing . . . and wanting to know more.

Still, her substantial charms notwithstanding, she was his best way in. Particularly since the other two sisters were already married, and happily, from what he’d seen.

Sir Lucius cleared his throat. “Once you enter Society as yourself, it will become considerably more difficult to return to being incognito. You’ll lose any advantage you gained from subterfuge, and you’ll have to see this to the end, even if it means ruining your reputation as the future Lord Wolfford.”

“I don’t care.” Besides, he’d never really wanted that role. When he’d left for the army as an ensign, he’d merely been a general’s heir, since Uncle Constantine hadn’t yet been given the viscountcy he’d later gained in service to his country. Few of Rafe’s fellow soldiers had known him as anyone but an officer with military connections. “I’ll have to reveal myself once Uncle Constantine dies, anyway. At least I can get some use out of the revelation.”

A sigh escaped Sir Lucius. “I’ll admit your timing is impeccable. That upcoming Elegant Occasions event at the seaside gives you the perfect opportunity to examine the family up close.”

“I was told even Holtbury’s former wife will be there.”

“Lady Rumridge.”

“Yes,” Rafe said. “Talking to her will be my first priority, given her new husband’s army rank. She could even be the one passing on information. I couldn’t ask for a better situation in which to question her than a two-week-long house party spent with her and the other subjects of my investigation.”

“Assuming you succeed at getting invited.”

Rafe crossed his arms over his chest. “Elegant Occasions wants to introduce some female clients to marriageable gentlemen, and I am eminently marriageable. I’ll do what I must to wrangle that invitation. Better still, Exmouth is within a day’s journey of Lord Holtbury’s estate, so if the courtship progresses well, I can travel there as a friend of the family, possibly even as Lady Verity’s fiancé.”

Sir Lucius’s face darkened. “You don’t actually intend to make an offer to Lady Verity, knowing you don’t mean to honor it. That would be a level of deception even your uncle would disapprove of.”

“True.” Although if it came to that . . . No, he knew better than to admit to his superior that he would go so far. Sir Lucius was a gentleman at heart, after all.

But Rafe was a soldier who couldn’t bear the thought of his compatriots dying because some aristocrat had decided to sell information about troop movements to England’s enemies. “I should hope I know how to flirt with a woman without ending up leg-shackled.”

“Do you, now?” Sir Lucius snorted. “If I have any doubts about your plan, it centers around your ability to court a woman of rank. You’ve rarely encountered them in your profession, and you’ve never had a mother or sisters to learn from, so where is all this vast knowledge of flirtation coming from?”

Rafe drew himself up stiffly. “I’ve been around women enough to realize they’re no different from men. Show some interest in them and their affairs, and they will tell you whatever you need to know.”

His superior laughed outright. “That statement makes my point. Women can be vastly different from men. Most men underestimate them. This isn’t some poorly educated servant girl in rural Devonshire or even a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old in the throes of her first Season. This is an earl’s daughter with experience running a business. Wooing a clever, sophisticated woman like Lady Verity might take skills you’ve never needed to develop.”

“Perhaps. But she hasn’t had a suitor since Lord Minton scandalously rejected her years ago. She’ll be happy to be courted at all.”

“Or his behavior has made her suspicious of men. You may find her more immune to male attention than you assume.”

Rafe scoffed at that. How hard could it be to charm a woman whose only experience of the world was in the rarefied atmosphere of Society? “Even so, her family will be interested in me for her. Surely, they will welcome any respectable suitor and attempt to influence her choice. That alone might gain me an invitation to their house party.” He narrowed his gaze on Sir Lucius. “Unless you’re concerned they might recognize me from my previous forays.”

Sir Lucius waved that off. “There’s no chance they even know you exist. I realize playing ‘the Chameleon’ in polite society has been difficult, but you’ve managed it successfully thus far, or I would have heard otherwise.”

Rafe threw himself back against the squabs. “Well then, unless you have a better plan, this seems my best opportunity for worming my way into their circle.”

The spymaster gave him a long, assessing look. “One more thing—rumor has it that Minton has been talking of pursuing Lady Verity again. I gather he’s changed his tune now that her sisters have married so well, so you may find yourself competing for her attention.”

“Rumors abound in Society—that doesn’t make them true. And even if they are, I can handle Minton.” In preparing for this, Rafe had made a point of observing the baron, only to find him unworthy of Lady Verity or any other respectable female. “The man’s an arse.”

“You’ll get no argument on that from me.” Sir Lucius looked thoughtful. “But she still might have feelings for him. If you run him off, what happens to Lady Verity after you find the spy and end your courtship of her?”

“Whatever happens, she’ll be better off than with Minton. Besides, by then, her family will have far more to be concerned about than my failed courtship of her. She might not even want to marry me once she learns why I was wooing her.”

“We’ll see.” The man rubbed his chin. “And you still intend to retire from the army once you find your uncle’s attacker?”

“Someone has to look after Uncle Constantine and the Castle Wolfford estate. I’m the only one who can.”

Sir Lucius glanced away. “If he lasts until then.”

Rafe bit back an oath. The man who’d been the only father Rafe had ever known deserved better. So, Rafe meant to make sure that the villain who’d shot Uncle Constantine paid for it with his—or her—life.

The carriage shuddered to a halt in front of an imposing manor house he’d visited before, although never as himself. Situated across from Hyde Park, it lay upon land belonging to the Duke of Grenwood. Who just happened to be the new husband of the former Lady Diana Harper.

“Are all the Harper sisters attending this charity auction?” Rafe asked.

“I would hope so, given the Grenwoods’ hosting of it. Have you come prepared to bid? You must make your attendance appear believable.”

“Don’t worry,” Rafe murmured as his footman opened the door. “I can play the bored, rich lord in search of amusement well enough.”

Sir Lucius chuckled. “Not too bored or Lady Verity will find you dull. No doubt she and her sisters spend half their days dealing with such fellows.”

“I’ll see what works and go from there.”

After that, there was no more discussion—neither of them dared risk being overheard. But Rafe had his plan laid out. He would use Lady Verity’s native curiosity to draw her in, and then would charm her into giving up her family’s secrets . . . or at least showing him where to look for them.

What could be easier?

Lady Verity Harper surveyed the tables for any items that marred her perfect setup: a tartlet abandoned on the white linen, a spill of sauce staining the shine of a silver epergne, a plate of biscuits placed with the savories and not the sweets. This was the best time to do it, since most of the guests were in the ballroom examining goods to be auctioned off to benefit the Foundling Hospital.

As the second—and last—event Elegant Occasions was hosting for the charity this year, they needed to impress Society and raise a great deal of money. Because in October, when she and her sisters held an auction to benefit their other big charity—The Fallen Females of Filmore Farm—they wanted people to be so excited about the possible offerings that they would bid higher for items than they might otherwise.

It was always harder to raise money for charities that helped women of ill repute than ones that helped babies. Much as that annoyed her, she had to acknowledge the difficulty and act accordingly. Hence, her determination to make this auction go extremely well.

“Where do I put the little soufflés, my lady?” one of her brother-in-law’s footmen asked.

“One tray should go over by the turkey skewers, and the other by the marzipan. People are beginning to enter from the auction room.”

Once the dining room filled with people, the staff would be in charge of replenishing the tables, and she could get some fresh air. It was rather warm in here.

“All is in readiness, madam. These are the last of the food.” The footman set the one tray down where she’d ordered, then paused with the other in his hand. “And there’s a Sir Lucius Fitzgerald looking for you. Shall I send him over?”

“Sir Lucius . . . Sir Lucius . . .” She tapped her chin. “Oh! I met him last week.” The engaging fellow was a bit older than her other brother-in-law, Lord Foxstead, and an eligible bachelor besides, which would normally put her on her guard.

But as undersecretary to the war minister, Sir Lucius was mainly an important connection she dared not ignore. “Yes, I can speak to him now for a few minutes.”

As best she could recall, Sir Lucius was rather good-looking—with black hair cut severely, a firm chin, and incongruously warm blue eyes. Still, she resisted the urge to pat her hair and make sure her curls weren’t drooping. A man in government like him would expect a perfect wife. She could never be that. She never wanted to be that. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to marry anyone, for pity’s sake.

So, she kept her hands down and pivoted toward the door, only to find two gentlemen approaching. One was Sir Lucius, of course, but it was the other who captured her attention. Something in his gait or the shape of his face seemed familiar. His olive skin and hair of darkest ebony didn’t remind her of anyone, but his hooded eyes and longish nose made her think of a certain Jack in the Green—

Her pulse faltered. For a moment, she was almost certain . . .

But no, how could it be? His skin and hair were too dark. The few glimpses she’d had previously of the man she’d dubbed the Phantom were of a white-skinned, blond fellow. Then again, when Eliza had seen him once, she’d said his blond hair looked odd, “like a wig.” And he could have lightened his skin, she supposed, although that seemed unlikely.

Besides, surely even the Phantom wouldn’t be so bold as to approach her in Society. Not after all the Elegant Occasions events he had sneaked into wearing various disguises. And in the past few months he seemed to have disappeared, anyway. Either that or he’d been too well-disguised for her to notice him of late.

Nonsense. She would always notice him, the devious devil, even if the rest of her sisters thought she was mad to be spotting him everywhere. She never forgot a face. So, this could not be him. It made no sense.

“Lady Verity,” Sir Lucius said as he approached. “How good to see you.”

“My sisters and I are honored you came,” she told the undersecretary as she offered him her hand to press. “When we invited you, we weren’t certain if you could fit it into your schedule. I know you’re very busy running the war.”

He laughed. “I’m not exactly running it, but I do handle matters the war minister cannot.” When she raised a brow, he added, “Like introducing a friend of ours to you and your family. This is Mr. Raphael Wolfford, nephew to Viscount Wolfford of Wiltshire. Rafe, this is my new acquaintance—and dare I say ‘friend’?—Lady Verity Harper. Lady Verity and her sisters run Elegant Occasions, which is hosting this affair, I believe.”

“We’re doing our best.” Verity turned to Mr. Wolfford. “How nice to meet you, sir.” She tried to examine his features furtively, but she’d never been this close to anyone she thought might be the Phantom, so she wasn’t sure what she was looking for.

What she saw was a well-dressed man about thirtyish, with eyes as icy-gray as a winter sky beneath thick eyebrows the color of strong coffee. Unlike that of every other man in the room, his straight hair looked as if he’d done no more than run a brush through it. No wax, no fancy curls . . . no nonsense.

He was taller than she was, too, which was a nice change since she towered over many men. His Mazarine blue tail coat with gold buttons and his cream-colored breeches also showed a form as well-shaped as any discerning woman could ask for. And he had a very simply tied cravat.

It might be another Phantom costume, but it appealed to her even so. She tried to hide her reaction. “I suppose Sir Lucius tempted you here with tales of our exotic auction offerings.”

His sudden smile caught her off guard with its blazing beauty, which sent a delicious shiver along her skin. “Actually,” he said, “I came because of the charity being supported. I have a soft spot for orphans.”

“Rafe’s parents died when he was a babe,” Sir Lucius added, “so his uncle raised him. He’s the viscount’s only heir.”

Mr. Wolfford cocked his head in a way that caught her attention. She would swear she’d seen the Phantom do the same. But it made no sense. If this was him, what had he been looking for at so many of their events? Why would he reveal—or rather appear, yet not reveal—himself now? What had changed?

Lord, this uncertainty was vexing. She gazed steadily at the man. “Well, we all know what being an heir means. You are also now in search of a wife.”

Sir Lucius seemed taken aback by her forthright remark, but Mr. Wolfford merely tipped his head. “A very astute observation, madam.”

“Not as astute as you’d think. That’s part of what my sisters and I do: arrange the meeting of eligible parties in congenial surroundings that encourage courtship.”

“Ah.” Mr. Wolfford’s eyes gleamed at her, making them appear more silver than gray. “Then I have come to the right place.”

“You have, indeed.” She narrowed her gaze on him and decided to be bolder. “Have we met before, sir?”

Did his strong chin tighten a fraction in response or was she just reading things into his every gesture? “I daresay I would remember meeting a lady as lovely as you.”

The husky words seemed genuine and not those of a practiced seducer. Then again, she sometimes had trouble picking out falseness in a man, which was evidenced by how easily Lord Minton had snared her attention years ago.

Either way, Mr. Wolfford had a beautifully resonant baritone voice that warmed her blood, which was a trifle annoying under the circumstances, to say the least.

“My friend is also a newly retired colonel just returned from the Peninsula,” Sir Lucius offered, “so unless you were there, Lady Verity . . .”

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “I could hardly have helped to run Elegant Occasions from Spain or Portugal.” She returned her attention to the colonel. “How long ago did you return, sir?”

“It’s been a month. But I’ve spent the past three weeks at my uncle’s estate, seeing to matters there. He’s getting too old to manage things alone, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” Should she believe him? If he’d only been in England a month—and in town a week—he couldn’t possibly be the Phantom. And surely Sir Lucius wouldn’t lie to her about Mr. Wolfford’s identity. Sir Lucius was with the government, after all.

Unless he was unaware of his friend’s other life? But that would be unlikely, wouldn’t it?

She forced a smile. “Well then, Mr. Wolfford, we’re pleased you took the time to join us. Forgive my impertinence, but I do hope you’ve come prepared to bid on an item or two.”

“Of course. In fact, I hope you can take a few moments to show me the items in person . . . and perhaps guide me toward ones I should bid on?”

Another sign he might not be the Phantom. Surely he wouldn’t risk being alone with her if he thought she might have recognized him from previous affairs.

She tipped her head toward him. “I’d be delighted. Although I warn you—I will be trying to sway you toward the costliest ones at every turn.”

He chuckled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Half turning toward Sir Lucius, she said, “Do you wish to join us, too, sir? I’m sure I can find you a jeweled watch fob or silk hat to tickle your fancy.”

“I’m sure you could,” Sir Lucius said. “Which is precisely why I shall let you use your charms on Mr. Wolfford. He has more of a fortune than I do.”

“And I know exactly where he should spend it,” she said lightly, then led Mr. Wolfford toward the room where the auction items were laid out. As soon as they were alone and strolling about, she said, “So, should I call you ‘colonel’? Is that what you would prefer?”

“I’ve sold my commission, so no. ‘Mr. Wolfford’ is fine. Or . . . Rafe, if you prefer.”

That took her by surprise. “We just met.”

He shrugged. “Everyone calls me Rafe, including my uncle. I see no reason you shouldn’t.”

“How very unusual.” And a bit suspicious, although she wasn’t sure why. Had Lord Minton corrupted her opinions of men so much that she couldn’t trust anyone the least bit friendly?

Then again, in this case, suspicion might be warranted.

As they wound through the tables, she pondered how and what to ask to confirm whether he was the Phantom. But he kept drawing her attention to the various objects for sale, wanting more information about each one.

He started to walk past a sewing kit, then looked at it again. “Is that made of seashells?”

“Almost entirely, yes, of shell and mother-of-pearl. It’s also gilded with the purest gold.”

“And someone donated such an item?”

“A very rich someone.”

He surveyed the rest of the table. “I see you have many shell items. Did this rich person donate all of them?”

“Actually, no. Mary Parminter, a spinster not quite as rich, donated about half the shell art. The pieces belonged to her cousin Jane, who lived with her until she died last year. The cousins had traveled together all over the world and gathered shells wherever they visited, then created objects from them. They even built a house decorated liberally with shells of all sorts.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Briefly. My sister and brother-in-law purc. . .