London's Best Kept Secret

Book 2: Midnight Secrets

by Anabelle Bryant

Genres: Regency Romance; General Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

In Anabelle Bryant's latest novel of ardor and ambition, a lord will stop at nothing to possess the woman of his dreams . . .

In monetary matters, Jeremy Lockhart, Viscount Dearing, is used to being in control, but from his first sight of Lady Charlotte, his carefully cultivated world is rocked to its foundations. Determined to best her other, more eligible suitors, he goes to great lengths to ensure his betrothal to Charlotte. A locked black leather box holds the dark secret that has assured his success.

Innocent Lady Charlotte is baffled by her fiancé's behavior. Why does Lord Dearing seem so distant one day, and so attentive the next? Her family's dire financial straits did not allow her the luxury of an extended courtship. If only she could entice him into the marriage bed! When at last Charlotte's efforts are rewarded, she revels in Jeremy's unexpectedly bold possessiveness. But outside of their bedchambers, her groom's guardedness quickly returns. Passion is no longer enough for sweet Charlotte, who vows to unlock the mystery of this complicated man. The truth, however, might be more than her principled heart is prepared to handle . . .

Release date: March 26, 2019

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

“A kitten?” Charlotte Lockhart, Lady Dearing, withdrew until her shoulders brushed the embroidered tableau on the settee in her formal sitting room. “Whatever are you thinking, Amelia?” Her voice raised an octave and she forced out a calming breath as her friend reached into the basket on the rug and revealed a lively ball of black fur.

“There we are.” Amelia Beckford, Duchess of Scarsdale, grinned with delight as she held the impatient feline. “Pandora produced a brilliant litter, and I’m determined to find each kitten a loving home. It’s only natural I chose the sweetest of the lot for my dearest friend.”

With reluctance, Charlotte accepted the tiny animal and settled the soft bundle in her skirt. Her posture immediately relaxed. “Lord Dearing will never allow—”

“I don’t understand why not. Every woman wants for a little companionship when her husband is inaccessible.” Amelia’s eyes flared to punctuate her reply. “In your case, that matter can’t be understated.”

“But a kitten . . .” Charlotte found a secret smile, though she dashed it away just as quickly. “Lord Dearing and I have discussed this subject before and I—”

“I won’t accept no for an answer. Besides, I’ve chosen the most docile kit of the five.” As if aware of their critical inspection, the kitten emitted a perfectly timed mew and blinked its pale blue eyes. “If the discussion with your husband progressed in the same fashion you’ve previously described, I suspect it was confined to one syllable. No.”

Impatient and adventurous, the kitten attempted a daring leap and became tangled in the folds of Charlotte’s skirt, its claws snagging the fine woven muslin.

“She’s climbing already.”

“Well, of course she is. She’s a cat, not a bootjack.” Amelia tapped the toe of her slipper against the imported Aubusson carpet in dismissal of Charlotte’s concern. “Now let’s consider a proper name for her.”

“Please.” Charlotte gathered the kitten in her palms, although she stalled midway through the task when the feline licked her fingertips. The rough caress of the kitten’s tongue tickled in the nicest way. “Just because Dearing and I have yet to find our way to marital bliss doesn’t mean we won’t. I wouldn’t want to cause a disagreement. You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you realize, and that’s why I’ve decided upon this gift.”

“I can’t keep her.” Charlotte gave a woeful shake of her head.

“I didn’t travel all the way to London to have you refuse. Secret her away in your bedchambers. Dearing will never be the wiser.” A brief excruciating silence ensued. “You’re still retiring to separate rooms, aren’t you? Good heavens, I can’t imagine waking up anywhere than beside Lunden.” A grin of delight danced around her mouth before she continued. “But never mind about that. My recent marriage and wedding trip temporarily derailed my efforts to see you happily settled, but I’ve returned now with renewed effort.”

Accustomed to Amelia’s enthusiastic conversational skills, Charlotte sighed, and her exhalation whispered over the kitten’s fur to elicit a soft purr of pleasure. The kitten was a pretty little thing. And how divine it would be to have a confidant who listened rather than strove to contribute or, worse, correct all the ills of her relationship.

True to Amelia’s assessment, Charlotte had entered into marriage as a stranger to her husband and thereby encountered a unique set of circumstances. She’d returned home from a tea party one afternoon to be informed by her father she would be married within a fortnight. Lord Dearing had rescued her family from financial ruin and exemplified several times over he was the epitome of a respected gentleman. Still, ten months had proved too long to wait for a first kiss, a fond embrace or, dare she imagine, a passion-filled evening. Their expedient two-week courtship had overflowed with the planning and preparation most brides accomplished over months and therefore hadn’t spared adequate time to become comfortable with each other.

“Every time I see that look of longing on your face, it pains me.” Amelia reached across the oval occasional table and stroked the kitten between the ears. “Even if Dearing discovers your new companion, at least it will begin a discussion.”

“Discussion?” Charlotte scoffed. “This rascal will cause an argument.”

“All the better.” Amelia bit her bottom lip as if fighting to hold another grin at bay.

“In what manner?” Charlotte knew her friend well.

“An argument is exactly what the two of you need! All your polite etiquette has gotten you nowhere. But a confrontation, composed of heated words and reckless sentiment, will lead to unrivaled passion. I daresay all that emotion needs to be funneled out somehow. Dearing is a hot-blooded male. He doesn’t fool me for a moment. I see the way he looks at you when he believes no one is watching.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes skeptically. “It’s not as if we’ve never kissed.”

The weak assertion garnered a snort of disbelief from her friend. “Those chaste pecks on the cheek? That’s no more a kiss than a caper is a banquet. I wonder if there’s something we haven’t noticed. Do you think he has an injury or other ailment preventing him from—”

“Amelia.” It was Charlotte’s turn to interrupt.

“I’m only considering the possibility.”

“Yes, I know. I can hear you.”

“It would explain quite a bit, wouldn’t it? Perhaps I should speak to the gardener at Beckford Hall. He could prepare a healing powder if Dearing—”

“Amelia!” Charlotte all but shouted, and the kitten reacted, sinking her claws into Charlotte’s thigh. Thank heavens the multitude of layers beneath her day gown protected her from the pain.

“You really shouldn’t doubt me.” Amelia stood with a firm shake of her skirts and prepared to leave.

“Perhaps he won’t notice.” Charlotte gathered the kitten closer to her heart. “Except for meals and the rare cordial exchange, Dearing is usually locked away in his study.”

“Locked away? Find the key. Open the door.” Each well-meant directive brought Amelia closer to the hall, her heels tapping out the words to underscore their intent. “And one last instruction—”

“Yes?” Charlotte carefully removed the wriggling bundle from her gown and hurried to follow.

“You must adore your new kitten as I do you.” Amelia flashed a wide smile before she hurried across the threshold and into the foyer.

“Oh, no worry of that.” Charlotte smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the kitten’s nose. “I already do.”

“Faxman.”

“Yes, milord.”

On alert, the wiry secretary rose from his chair, and Jeremy Lockhart, Viscount Dearing, silently commended the servant’s attentiveness.

Faxman had served in the position for five years and proved a cheerful fellow who knew when to speak and when not. He also possessed a sharp mind and never complained when Dearing’s rigorous schedule kept them both into late hours. Thus, Faxman was trusted with all financial transactions, shrewd fiscal contracts, investment maneuvers and monetary exchanges.

All except one.

Dearing settled his eyes on the corner of his desk, where a black leather box rested beside his silver letter opener. The locked box was a constant reminder of unfinished business. Some secrets were best hidden in full view. He returned his attention to his secretary. “Have you completed the documents for the Harrison stock and securities purchase?”

“I’ve just sanded the page, milord.” Faxman angled his head to indicate the foolscap atop his work station. “Shall we continue our conversation from yesterday concerning the Tasinger and Oliver merger? Or would you prefer to examine the Benson proposal?”

The first notes of the pianoforte, faint and ephemeral, chased Faxman’s inquiries, and Dearing looked at the elegant regulator clock above the hearth.

He’d worked straight through luncheon and beyond, the hour later than he’d realized. At the very least, Faxman deserved time to eat and rest. Otherwise, Dearing risked running the secretary into the ground and he couldn’t have that.

“Never mind. Look at the time. You may go for now. Thank you.” Dearing waited for Faxman to leave, but instead of gathering his belongings with haste as the servant was apt to do daily, the younger man stalled, his brows drawn low over inquisitive eyes.

“Mozart, isn’t it?”

“Haydn’s Sonata No. 59 in E-flat major.” Dearing drummed his fingertips against his thigh, all at once impatient for Faxman to be gone. This particular piece was his favorite and he didn’t wish to spoil it with conversation.

“Lady Dearing’s accomplished skill draws attention. My father preferred the instrument and oft said music has a way of expressing what otherwise can’t be stated with words. At the risk of speaking beyond my position, when I hear Lady Dearing play, I recall my father’s memory with fondness.”

Dearing remained quiet for another beat. “That will be all, then, Faxman.” The secretary’s uncanny ability to voice provoking observations unnerved him.

“I’ll return at half eight tomorrow morning.” Faxman collected his satchel and coat from the hook near the door. “Good day, milord.”

Dearing watched as Faxman exited, though his ears remained attuned to Charlotte’s clever skill. How would she react were he to enter the music room and become her audience? Was she aware how deeply he favored her masterful ability?

With a deep sigh, he lamented that his wife remained a mystery. Ten months past, ten months wasted. They spoke little more than niceties and cordial conversation, and he accepted the blame for the stagnant, awkward tension that grew more pervasive each day. Meanwhile his body, in tune to his complicated emotions, yearned to breach the chasm between them.

He stepped backward in a feeble attempt to detach from the enchanting summons of her music, each note and chord a beckoning. His legs met the edge of the desk and his hand caught the corner of the leather box. With care, he laid his palm flat atop the surface and closed his eyes to the truth within.

How much easier it would be if he could pack away his emotions and keep them in a secure container. He shook his head. He’d adored Charlotte from the moment he saw her. And yet, he’d doubted he possessed the wherewithal to capture the beautiful and talented lady’s attention. He was a reserved, quiet man, and while confident in his ability to master finances, his diffidence in matters of the heart left him the victim of lost opportunity. And so, he’d calculated the risk, measured the potential for success and chosen an alternate route to gain what he wanted. Yet despite the fact he’d executed the most ingenious business maneuver of a lifetime and acquired an ideal wife, the marriage left him desolate of satisfaction.

A cascade of precisely timed notes resonated through the hall to permeate his thoughtful reflection. As if they communicated on a level unmarred by indecision, the music echoed the sentiment within him.

All too soon, the tempo changed, and he fell in stride with each striking chord as it dominated the new rhythm and forced him forward. He arrived at the door of the music room and watched in silence, the pianoforte positioned near the large mullioned windows overlooking the gardens behind the house. Seated with her back to the door, Charlotte would never know the convenience he enjoyed due to the judicious placement of furniture. Her fingers caressed the keys; many a night he spent wondering how those slender fingers would feel lingering across his skin with the same scrupulous finesse.

The song came to a crescendo, and he angled his body forward, his heartbeat quickening. How absolutely fetching she appeared in the throes of concentration, cheeks flushed pink and delicate brows furrowed in attentiveness, though his view of her profile proved fleeting. The candlelit epergne atop the pianoforte lent a burnished glow to her silky brown hair, neatly arranged in a braided coronet. Would she object were he to remove the pins and thread his fingers through the lengths? Would she welcome a kiss placed to the graceful slope of her neck?

A sustained final note pierced through the haze of his admiration, and he turned into the hall and made his way abovestairs. Still his questions resonated. What if he’d charged into the room? What if he’d dared show, without words, how well and thoroughly he loved his wife? Guilt fueled his hesitation, the answer all too obvious. Were Charlotte to discover what he’d done to gain her hand in marriage, she would despise him and sever all ties with him forever.

Charlotte greeted her mother with an enthusiastic embrace.

This home a mere six miles from Dearing House, she may as well have crossed to the other side of the globe, the households were so different. Her parents were a love match, an affectionate and demonstrative couple who raised their four daughters to practice the same. She’d grown from childhood to adulthood with the knowledge a true relationship offered more than a shared roof. Was it any wonder Charlotte found Dearing and his restrained attention disappointing and unnatural? Pushing the thought from her mind, she relished the comfort found in her mother’s arms.

“You look lovely, dear.” Francine Notley beamed as she held Charlotte at arm’s length. “Your sisters will be delighted to discover you’ve arrived, but not nearly as much as your father. Why haven’t we seen more of you? Your new husband isn’t monopolizing all your time now, is he?”

The twinkle in her mother’s eyes pierced Charlotte’s heart. She was married less than a year and considered a newlywed. The assumption that certain intimacies were frequent and exciting was expected.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She forced a laugh. “I’ve spent a good stretch of time organizing Dearing House and redecorating the rooms in want of a woman’s touch.” She didn’t dare confess she’d struggled with the desire to rush to her parents’ home too many times to tally and often practiced the pianoforte until fatigued. “Married life is an adjustment.”

“You wouldn’t deceive me, would you?” Francine’s expression sobered, and a wrinkle of apprehension marred her forehead. “Your father and I struggled with the decision to arrange your betrothal and we worry still. We want every happiness for you, despite the haste.”

“Of course. I know that without doubt.” Charlotte had long ago accepted the circumstances that led to her marriage. Her father, a respected peer, had met with a devastating spiral of unforeseen loss, the likes of which no one at his club could explain. One investment after another had failed, to the point at which he no longer trusted his instincts, baffled by the lack of success where others profited. Eventually, facing unsurmountable debt amassed and his confidence obliterated, he’d retained a fiscal adviser who took control of the remaining monies. Regrettably, the sparse savings assumed by the adviser were lost in a matter of weeks and their fate sealed.

Charlotte never openly objected when she learned of the betrothal contract. Aside from her strong familial bond and sense of duty, she found Jeremy Lockhart, Viscount Dearing, as captivating and heroic as the characters in the gothic novels her sisters favored. Modest and at times insecure, she didn’t possess Amelia’s gregarious personality or unmatched beauty, so the appealing thought of a quick courtship with Dearing didn’t upset her, confident their relationship would grow naturally into a lifelong friendship. The assumption Dearing had desired a promising marriage need not be debated. Despite her family not having made his acquaintance previously, the fact that Lord Dearing had sought her out signaled that he hoped for the same as she.

Furthermore, she welcomed the opportunity to help her parents. Her sisters would all need formal introductions to society, and then there were ceremonies and dowries to consider. Dearing had approached her father and proposed a solution to their imminent crisis at the most perilous moment. Charlotte had admired her new husband for extricating her family from ruin.

That was not to say she wasn’t nervous and didn’t question her ability to be the kind of wife such an admirable gentleman deserved. But in the larger picture, all things considered, she hadn’t bemoaned her circumstances, certain that, once married, the natural course of things would prevail.

Unfortunately, from that point things hadn’t proceeded as planned. Now, burdened with a distinct sense of disillusionment, she fought against growing fear and distress. Was it wrong for her to hope her husband found her comely? Acceptable at the least? She’d garnered attention from other suitors, and Dearing had initiated the marriage proposal independently.

She shook her head and dismissed those thoughts. Now was not the time for maudlin woolgathering. “How I’ve missed all of you. The quietude of marriage cannot compare to the lively chatter of Dinah, Louisa and Beatrice.”

“Indeed.” Her mother’s smile returned. “You must stay through the midday meal. Father won’t be home until noon, but your sisters will be downstairs any minute now.”

As if carefully orchestrated, animated chatter filled the hall. The lively conversation paused as her sisters entered the room, and then transformed into a vociferous melee of questions and delighted squeals.

“Do tell us about married life.” Dinah, the oldest of her siblings, spoke above the others, impatience and laughter in her eyes. “We’ve missed you, and the letters you’ve sent are not as forthcoming as we’d requested. Have you set up house, or did Lord Dearing already have a reliable staff? What of the cook? Have you redecorated or does Dearing have an agreeable sense of style?”

All eyes turned in her direction. “You act as if you haven’t seen me since the wedding.”

“It’s been forever since your last visit, as if you’ve fallen off the earth.” Louisa, the mischievous middle sister, wiggled her brows. “We assumed you were blissfully ensconced in the nuances of wifely duty, swept away by the romantic pursuit of your husband and bound to midnight secrecy by the passion you share.”

A burst of giggles followed Louisa’s dramatic exclamation, though their mother shook her head and tutted her disapproval.

“You’ve read too many gothic novels,” Charlotte reprimanded, all the while swallowing past the emotion her sister’s comments evoked. If they knew the unfortunate circumstances of her situation, they would share her despair, yet she could never reveal how useless and unwanted she felt.

Dearing had left on a business excursion the day after their wedding ceremony, wherein the planned two weeks turned into four, then six. By the time he’d returned, her disappointment had hardened, resolve in place, buttressed behind walls of inadequacy and confusion. The following months were civil at best, until they now lived like cordial strangers.

“He’s terribly handsome. You must agree.” Beatrice, who went by the endearment Bunny, piped up next, her blue eyes glazed with a dreamy twinkle.

When Dinah and Charlotte first saw her, swaddled in blankets, all pink skin and fuzzy hair about her head, they had immediately likened their newborn sister to a baby rabbit. Charlotte wondered how Bunny would feel once presented to society. Would she prefer the formal Beatrice or the tender image conjured by her endearing nickname?

“Yes, he is.” Heat rushed to Charlotte’s face, and she resisted the urge to place her hands on her cheeks. “Now, tell me what adventures have occupied the three of you since I’ve left.” Determined to deflect another probing question, she resettled on the chair while conversation swarmed around her in alternating tales of lively chatter.

Dinah and Bunny produced fashion plates and elaborated on the gowns they hoped to wear during the next Season, though Louisa seemed less interested. Usually the most talkative, Charlotte wondered if Louisa had something else on her mind or merely had surrendered to her sisters and their enthusiastic descriptions of the latest designs and essential frippery.

Two hours later, when her siblings had scattered, Charlotte remained alone in the drawing room. Her father entered and, without a word, wrapped her in a secure embrace of welcome.

“Now isn’t this the pleasantest surprise? Your sisters have badgered you to exhaustion, have they?” He led her to the overstuffed settee beside the hearth. “It’s the only reason that would keep you here in the drawing room alone.”

“I worried I would miss you. I’d be disappointed if we hadn’t had the opportunity to visit.” She tried but failed to keep her emotional state from coloring her words.

“Does something trouble you, Charlotte? Are you finding marriage agreeable?” The familiar strength of his hand settled over hers and his eyes softened. Both parents had asked the same question at first seeing her despite her bravest attempt to conceal her disappointment. She would need to do better.

At her silence, he continued. “Your betrothal was not decided easily. I know we’ve spoken of this before and you’ve never complained, but you must know your mother and I saw no other way to keep the family solvent. At the same time, we observed qualities in Dearing that convinced us he would make a fine husband. He expressed a great fondness for you. So much so, at first I doubted his sincerity.”

“What do you mean, Father?” They’d spoken of the arrangement before, but her father never shared these revelations. “And why are we just discussing this now?”

“Considering the haste and circumstance of your marriage, there never seemed a right time. Although I see no harm in the explanation, most especially if it allays whatever has brought sorrow to the depths of your eyes.”

“Please. Tell me everything.” She wriggled her hand free and passed her fingers over her eyes. Yet it was her father’s infallible composure that seemed to alter, a long-held breath released slowly before he spoke again.

“Good Lord, child. You behave as if I’ve shackled you to an ogre. Dearing didn’t wander in from the street with a blank bank draft and an improper proposal, nor did I consider his offer lightly. After hearing him out, I made quick work of hiring an investigator. Never would I marry off one of my cherished daughters without full knowledge of my future son-in-law’s history.

“As you are already aware, Dearing is a respected member of society. He assumed great debt to restore our financial standing and at the same time expressed sincere interest in you. Apparently, he’d heard you play the pianoforte at the Bellsums’ garden party last summer and became decidedly smitten. He led me to believe you’d never left his thoughts.”

Her father paused, and she knew her face had colored crimson. It all seemed rather odd, to have her father’s reassurances of her husband’s interest when Dearing made no effort to so much as touch her, kiss her or carry on meaningful conversation. Perhaps if her music affected him, she would insist he join her in the parlor each time she practiced. Or instead, she should rail at him and breech their silent civility, as Amelia suggested. Something needed to be done.

“Go on, Father. Please.”

“There’s not much . . .