The Hellion and the Hero

by Emily Sullivan

Genres: Women's Fiction; Siblings; Historical Fiction

Synopsis

Fans of Netflix’s Bridgerton series will love this captivating second chance story—from the series that delivers “both emotional intensity and lush sensuality, and vivacious writing enhanced by ample measures of wit.” (Booklist, Starred Review)

Society darling Lady Georgiana Arlington spent years crafting her image as the ideal wife, but since her husband’s unexpected death, she has lived mostly for herself while making desperately needed improvements to the businesses she inherited­­––and gaining a mysterious enemy in the process. With few people she can trust, Georgiana must rely on Captain Henry Harris, a former fortune-hunter turned private investigator who once claimed to love the woman beneath her carefully polished veneer. Time and experience have left a heavy mark on the dashing young officer she used to know, but she finds herself even more drawn to the dark and complicated man he has become.
 
When Captain Harris left London eight years ago, he was heartbroken and nearly penniless. Now he has returned as a decorated naval hero with everything he could ever want. Everything except Lady Georgiana… As a careless young woman, she once shredded his heart when she married another man. But now she is as alluring as ever, with a newfound tenacity he can’t help but admire. And the more he uncovers, the more nothing is as it seems, especially the woman he once swore to hate forever.

Release date: August 23, 2022

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

Chapter One

London
April 1899

You simply had to have the office with a view of the river, no matter how distant,” Captain Henry Harris muttered to himself as he slowly mounted the stairs to the top floor of a building in a quiet corner off the Strand. It had been a more fanciful indulgence to be sure, but after spending so much of his adult life at sea, Henry found even the most fleeting glimpse of water comforting. That combined with an enticingly low monthly rent had made him dismiss the four flights of stairs. It wasn’t much of an inconvenience—usually. But today he wasn’t so lucky.

Henry paused to massage his knee before entering his office. If his secretary, Miss Delia Swanson, caught him doing so, she would only make a fuss. It was being particularly bothersome after he had spent most of the last week tailing a woman suspected of being unfaithful to her husband. Henry hadn’t uncovered any evidence that suggested the lady in question had a lover, only that she appeared to have an excessive amount of time to spend in department stores. Privately, Henry concluded that his client would be better off actually talking with his wife rather than hiring a private investigator. But in his experience, clients rarely wanted his advice. Just results.

He released a breath as the ache subsided and opened the door marked HARRIS INVESTIGATIONS.

As usual, Miss Swanson was already at her desk, typing away. She looked up at his entrance and flashed him a bright smile. “Good morning, Captain Harris! How are you today?”

“Fine. Thank you,” Henry grumbled as he leaned his cane against her desk to hand her his coat and hat. No one should be that chipper at half past eight in the morning, but the young lady’s incessant cheerfulness had been one of the reasons Henry hired her, even though it never failed to make him feel like an old curmudgeon by comparison.

“I’ve left the morning’s post on your desk. Will you be wanting coffee?”

“God, yes.”

Henry retrieved his cane and made his way to his office. No doubt Miss Swanson’s sharp eyes had already noticed he was favoring his right leg more than usual. Her attention to detail was an admirable trait in a secretary, but one that caused him a considerable amount of grief. It had been nearly two years since he had injured his leg during a mission gone awry while serving the Crown abroad, and though he had initially balked at using a cane, Henry had grown quite attached to it—not to mention that it came in rather handy when he found himself in a rough part of town.

Henry sat down heavily in his chair and glanced up as Miss Swanson breezed into the room with a tray bearing a shiny coffee pot, a cup, and a plate of something that promised to be delicious.

“Maude made a batch of her famous scones last night specially for you, sir, after I told her how much you enjoyed the last ones,” she explained unprompted. Maude Covington was Delia’s flatmate, among other things.

He frowned as she set down the tray and began pouring the first of the many cups of coffee he needed to get through the day. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh, come now,” she said with a wink. “Everyone likes to be spoiled a little.” Her hazel eyes sparkled as she passed him his cup.

Henry took it and began riffling through the pile of mail on his desk. “Not me.”

Miss Swanson laughed a little and returned to her desk. She was an attractive girl, and more than one client had assumed she was his wife, which Henry was always quick to correct. Besides, even if he had been interested, Delia was perfectly content to keep company with Maude. Together, the two women practically tortured Henry with their considerateness and constant stream of invitations to Friday evening gatherings with their eclectic group of friends, Sunday roasts, and holiday fetes.

One of these days he would have to put a stop to it. But until then he would suffer with a competent secretary and a stream of baked goods.

Henry set down the mail and took a sip of coffee before biting into a buttery scone. He couldn’t help the little moan of delight that rumbled through him.

“I heard that!” Miss Swanson called out from her desk.

He responded by picking up his cane and using it to push the door shut. It was time for a little morning privacy. The muffled sound of Miss Swanson diligently typing up his reports wafted through the door, but Henry had come to find that comforting. A busy secretary meant business was good. He resumed his perusal of the mail: several bills, a letter of thanks from a satisfied client, and something with a postmark from Brighton. Henry didn’t need to see the return address. He recognized the handwriting immediately. As he ripped open the envelope and scanned the short note, his chest grew tighter and tighter. Then he set it down and stared out the window.

The contents of the note were much the same as the one he received two months ago, and the one that came three months before that. It began with giving thanks for his previous generosity and extolling his virtue as a man of honor before getting to the point: His cousin Dale had lost yet another job, and his wife, Deborah, the writer, was again appealing to him for a loan. They both knew Henry would never get his money back, yet they kept up the pretense in their correspondence to save her the embarrassment that came from asking for help. The trouble was that Henry had already lent Cousin Dale nearly twenty pounds this year alone, a not insignificant sum, especially given that he had opened his business only a little more than a year ago. All in all, things were going well. Though clients had initially been attracted by his status as a naval hero, Henry had quickly earned a reputation as a thorough and discreet investigator. But he wasn’t exactly rolling in excess funds, and this could be a precarious business. He needed to be careful. Conservative.

And yet, despite all these perfectly salient points, Henry still heard his mother’s voice chastising him. Though she had been gone for nearly half a decade, her remonstrations were still very much alive in his mind: But my dear, you must help your cousin Dale. It isn’t his fault he drinks. His father was the same way, bless him. Think of his poor wife and all those children.

Henry bit back a sigh and picked up the note. Deborah had added a postscript asking for twice the amount he sent last time, as their youngest child needed an operation. It had been years since Henry had visited the Brighton branch of his late father’s family. Back then Dale had a decent job at a tire factory nearby and three boisterous children, with a fourth on the way. In truth, Henry had been a little envious of their obvious happiness, both with life and each other. But then the factory had closed without warning, as the owners discovered they could triple their profits if they moved operations abroad. Dale had never found a comparable position and thus began his slow descent into drink. Henry wasn’t even sure Dale knew that his wife wrote to him. He glanced at the unopened bills on the desk and rubbed his eyes. There was never any doubt that he would send them the money. Henry just didn’t know how he would scrape it together this time.

The comforting tap-tap-tapping of Delia’s typewriter suddenly ceased, and he heard her speaking. Someone must have entered the office. Henry quickly set aside the mail and moved his cane to a more covert spot.

Delia entered the office. “A Mr. Fox is here to see you, sir,” she said as she handed him a card. “He doesn’t have an appointment.”

Henry frowned as he took it, noting that it was made of heavy cardstock and embossed in glossy ink. Fox was a common enough last name; perhaps this man wasn’t—

But Henry hadn’t time to convince himself, as Reginald Fox trailed behind Delia.

“Hello there! Do you remember me? We met at Lady Harrington’s house once. I was there visiting my sister during her season.”

Georgiana Fox.

Henry was caught off guard, both by the man’s sudden appearance in his office and the unwelcome reminder of that long ago afternoon. He rarely thought of his failed attempt on the London marriage mart eight years before. Had not allowed himself to. He exchanged a subtle look with Delia, who did a decent job of holding back a smile at his undoubtedly shocked expression, and she quickly excused herself.

He glanced at the young man before straightening a stack of blank envelopes that most certainly didn’t need it. “Of course. How are you?”

“Quite well, actually,” he said with a chuckle and took the seat on the other side of the desk. “It’s been ages, and I was barely out of short pants when last we met.”

Henry met Reginald’s gaze. Along with similar shades of dark blond hair, the Fox siblings all had sapphire-blue eyes. The effect was momentarily unsettling. The young man who sat before him had once been a gangly youth Henry had played several games of chess with. But he had grown into his height and acquired an air of confidence that was usually accompanied by financial success.

“I know you are a busy man, so I won’t keep you too long this morning,” he began before turning sheepish. “It’s just that I’m in a bit of…a pickle.”

Henry’s shoulders relaxed a little at Reginald’s visible discomfort. This was personal for him, then. Good.

“What sort of pickle?” Henry silently ran through the usual: an unhappy mistress, an unpaid gambling debt, a wayward wife. But Reginald wore no ring…

“It’s my sister,” he burst out. “I think she’s in trouble.”

Reginald Fox had three sisters. That didn’t necessarily mean—

“It’s Georgiana. Lady Arlington,” he added unnecessarily.

Henry pulled his hands back from the envelopes and placed them on his lap, where Reginald couldn’t see them tighten into fists. “What makes you think that?”

“I heard from her secretary that she has gotten a few upsetting messages recently. After the death of her husband about a year and a half ago, she inherited two garment factories my father once owned. They had been part of her dowry, you see.”

Henry recalled that the late Mr. Fox had been a stockbroker but invested in a number of different businesses around London.

“My sister decided they needed to be improved. She’s become something of a reformist,” Reginald said with a little laugh. “At first we all thought it was a splendid idea. It kept her busy. Happy, even. Especially since she and her husband never did have any children.”

Henry shifted in his seat. Though he had taken great pains to ignore any information about the Arlingtons over the years, it had been nearly impossible since returning to London. It seemed that everyone knew the viscount had died without an heir, leaving his beautiful younger wife a wealthy widow.

“Anyway,” Reginald continued, “she’s made a name for herself with all the changes she’s implemented. And her workers love her for it. She pays them the highest wages in the business and enforces safe conditions. I suspect she aims to build a little empire.”

“That’s impressive,” Henry said reluctantly.

Reginald flashed him a smile. “Don’t let her beauty and perfect manners fool you. My sister is quite industrious.”

Henry grunted. He would not comment on that.

“In any case, not everyone has welcomed her reforms.”

“Her competitors,” Henry guessed.

Reginald nodded. “They complain that her changes will put them out of business, but it’s all nonsense. They want to be able to continue exploiting people without consequence, and my sister is making that increasingly difficult. She’s planning to expand her operations, and it’s caused talk. Plain old gossip I can abide by, but I’ve been informed that some of it is far more nefarious. These men are growing more disgruntled by the day.”

“Has she been threatened directly? Aside from the messages?”

“Not that I know of,” Reginald admitted. “But I think she’s holding things back, so as not to worry any of us.”

“You mean, your other siblings?”

Reginald nodded. From what Henry remembered, the five boisterous Fox siblings had been uncommonly close. One might even be tempted to call them meddling. Their father was usually tied up in his work, so when their mother died a few years after Ollie, the eldest, was born, Georgiana had stepped in as a de facto parent, though she had been little more than a child herself. But that had been years ago.

And she is no longer Georgiana to you.

Henry felt a slight tremor in his hand and refocused his attention on Reginald.

“Louisa, our youngest sister, has been particularly anxious. Her husband is related to one of Georgie’s rivals and says there’s good reason for caution, but she won’t back down. Georgie’s convinced she can pressure these men into changing their businesses for the better, but she doesn’t understand that they don’t share the same motivations.”

Henry tilted his head. “What do you mean? For success? Power?”

Reginald turned serious. “Greed. Her improvements have come at a personal cost. One the other factory owners will never willingly make.” He let out a breath. “It could all be nothing, of course. Idle threats from men railing against a swiftly changing world. But I’d sleep a hell of a lot better if I knew. And I’ve heard from a few other fellows that you are discreet,” he added with a sheepish look.

“She doesn’t know you’re here, then,” Henry supplied.

Reginald shook his head. “Georgie thinks I’m overreacting. Ever since her husband died, she’s changed. I’m glad she’s found something to do of course, but…well, she’s become a bit reckless.”

Henry ignored the voice in his head loudly demanding to know the details and instead maintained his impassive expression. “It will be difficult for me to uncover all the necessary information without Lady Arlington’s cooperation.”

“But not impossible,” Reginald pointed out. “I’ll pay you twice your usual daily rate. And a ten-pound bonus if you uncover any actual threats.”

“You’re joking.”

“Hardly.” Reginald grinned. “My sister isn’t the only one in the family that inherited our father’s business acumen, God rest him. The past few years have been very good to me.”

Henry pursed his lips as his gaze drifted to Deborah’s letter. That would certainly help solve his financial issues…

Absolutely not.

He was not nearly in so desperate a state to consider taking on this case. “Why me?” he asked after a long moment. “Surely I don’t need to explain to you why this might be rather awkward, for both myself and your sister.”

Reginald hadn’t been that young during their chess games. He must have known Henry had called on Georgiana, along with scores of others. And that she had chosen someone else.

The young man gave him a considering look. “I anticipated that, and I won’t bother you for any of the particulars. Whatever occurred between the two of you is none of my business, but…” Reginald, the bastard, hesitated. “You should know that she always spoke highly of you.” Henry realized he had been holding his breath. “And you have a reputation as a man of honor,” he continued before the moment could turn awkward. “Why, you’re a national hero.”

Henry waved a hand. “That was nothing. And completely irrelevant here.”

Reginald raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call coming to the aid of two innocent countrymen and then escaping from a Turkish prison nothing.”

Only because you don’t know the truth.

But Henry kept that thought to himself. It was part of his agreement with the Crown: He would dutifully play the role of the noble hero in public in return for being released from naval intelligence service. Forever.

It was times like these that he questioned whether he got the raw end of the deal.

“You don’t need to give me an answer right now,” Reginald went on. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. Take some time to think it over and let me know by tomorrow evening.”

Henry had already made up his mind, but he nodded anyway. If he said no now, Reginald would only try his damnedest to convince him otherwise. The two men then rose and shook hands before Reginald left.

Once he was alone again, Henry sank back in his chair and looked out the window.

She always spoke highly of you.

That had to be a misunderstanding on Reginald’s part. Or perhaps a lie to further cajole him into taking the case. Well, it wouldn’t work. There was absolutely no reason why she would have ever discussed him with her brother. With anyone.

But what if…

“No.” The sharp, single word echoed in the silence of his office.

And that was to be the end of it.

*  *  *

The next morning Henry arrived at his office slightly later than usual. He had wasted long hours alone in his bed staring at the ceiling and recalling that fateful night he had met Georgiana Fox at Lady Harrington’s ball.

Henry had been hiding out on the terrace, nervous as hell and second-guessing his decision to come to London for the season. A lieutenant in the Royal Navy didn’t earn much, especially since he supported both his mother and his sister. His mother had come down in the world when she married Henry’s father, and it irked Henry to no end that they were considered someone else’s poor relations. Now he hoped to do something about it. Namely, marry the wealthiest woman he could find and elevate his family’s social status permanently. It made him no better than a scoundrel, but it meant his sister would be saved from the dull horrors of spinsterhood and Henry would never have to worry again about his mother spending the rent money on ribbons. He also hoped to get the increasingly persistent and wildly intimidating Commodore Perry from Naval Intelligence off his back, as he didn’t like recruiting family men. But that meant Henry needed to go back into that ballroom and be charming. And Henry had never been very good at that.

It was in the midst of these thoughts that Georgiana Fox burst onto the terrace, golden-haired and swathed in fine silk, like one of his sister’s fancy dolls brought to life—aside from her distressed expression, though she had quickly recovered once she noticed his presence. And that was all it took for Henry to begin to fall. And deeper still once she actually spoke. For unlike him, Georgiana Fox was quite good at being charming. Enough for Henry to mistake her interest as genuine when it hadn’t been more than a silly flirtation that had gotten out of hand until she put a stop to it. Permanently.

Delia was already at her desk, of course, busily tapping away when he entered. She looked up and arched a dark eyebrow.

“My goodness, I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” she teased.

“It’s barely a quarter after nine, Delia,” Henry groused.

“You’ve a visitor,” she said brightly, not at all put off by his foul mood. “I stuck her in your office.”

Henry glanced toward the closed door. He could just make out the shadow of a figure through the frosted window. “I thought I didn’t have any morning appointments,” he murmured, so the woman wouldn’t overhear.

“You didn’t. She was pacing outside when I arrived. In a right mood, too.”

It was probably some disgruntled wife who had learned her husband had hired him to follow her. “What is her name?”

“She refused to give one. Just demanded to see you.”

Henry sighed and removed his coat and hat. That was never a good sign.

“I don’t suppose Maude made any more scones last night?”

Delia smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, sir. I’m afraid you’ll just have to use your charm to placate this one.”

God help him, then.

Henry plastered a smile on his face and made his way to the office. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” he began smoothly as he opened the door. If he was the first one to talk, he found it was easier to gain control of the conversation. The woman stood before the window, her profile illuminated by the morning light. At his entrance she turned toward him, and Henry stopped in his tracks. He blinked a few times and very nearly pinched his arm, but this was not a dream.

It was her.

All the air seemed to be wrenched from his lungs, and for a moment he worried he would fall dead away right there before Georgiana Fox.

No. Lady Arlington.

He had last seen her more than a year ago in Scotland, moments after she had learned of her beloved husband’s death. As with everything else about her, he had been unable to forget the image of her sobbing in the arms of Sylvia Sparrow, who had gone on to marry his good friend Rafe Davies. But now there was no trace of the heartbreak that had been etched so clearly on her face that day. Lady Arlington faced him fully, her posture ramrod straight, and lifted her chin. She was dressed in half mourning: a deep purple coat trimmed in black velvet that hugged the enticing curves Henry was trying very hard not to linger on and an outrageously large matching hat with a gauzy black veil pulled back to reveal her luminous face. Henry guessed the ensemble was the height of fashion—and expense.

She looked marvelous, commanding, and mad as hell.

Her sapphire eyes, so like her brother’s, fixed on him, and her frown deepened considerably.

Henry failed to ignore the significant twitch of interest below his waist. He had yet to move away from the door and still gripped the knob. For a very brief moment he considered leaving the room entirely. He, who had served on an active warship for over a decade, had gone undercover on countless occasions, and had survived an imprisonment, was nearly undone by the glare of a lady.

No. Not just a lady. The woman who had torn out his heart before tossing it aside to bleed out on the ground.

Henry gripped the knob even tighter before he drew the door closed, his gaze never leaving hers. That was ages ago, he reminded himself. Henry had been an idiotic young man then. One who had mistaken deep infatuation, heady lust, and unsated desire for the beginnings of love. And, most damning of all, had believed she felt the same.

The click of the lock echoed in the silent room, and he gave a low bow.

“Lady Arlington. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Spare me the empty pleasantries, Captain,” she said crisply. “I am not a jilted wife who needs mollycoddling. You know why I’m here.”

Henry swallowed hard, both loving and hating the sound of his elevated rank on her lips. He gestured to the chair before his desk. “Please. Sit.”

She let out a huff before gliding over. Henry’s eyes were riveted to her every movement. The woman turned crossing a room into a veritable art form. Only when she was safely seated did he leave his spot by the door. As he walked around his desk, he saw that she noticed his cane, but the usual look of exaggerated pity did not follow. Well, that was a welcome surprise. Henry had endured enough shallow condolences from people to last him several lifetimes.

He took his seat across from her and met her eyes again, while a not insignificant part of him enjoyed the blistering feel of her gaze. How long had it been since anyone inspired such a visceral reaction in him? Of course it would be her.

He suddenly wished for a desk twice as wide.

As if that would make a difference.

There should always be miles and miles between them, at the very least.

“Your brother told you of our meeting yesterday,” he began.

“Not willingly, but yes. Reggie has always been wildly transparent. It didn’t take long for him to admit that he had hired you to spy on me.”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” Henry demurred, but this was entirely the wrong approach.

She raised a bronze eyebrow. “Oh? How exactly would you put it then?” she asked with deadly sarcasm.

He could have told her then and there that he hadn’t accepted the case. And had no intention of doing so. But he didn’t.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it spying. Your brother expressed worry over. . .