Deborah Simmons - Glory and the Rake. Deborah Simmons (Historical Romance Hb)

Deborah Simmons

Glory and the Rake

For Ruth and all of the book club members: Darlene, Ellie, Frances, Grace, Kim, Melissa, and Pat. Thanks for your support and for many memorable afternoons.

DEBORAH SIMMONS A former journalist, Deborah turned to fiction after a love of historical romances spurred her to write her own, Hearts Masquerade, which was published in 1989. She has since written more than twenty-five novels and nov-ellas, among them a USA TODAY bestselling anthology and two finalists in the Romance Writers of Americas annual RITA Award competition. Her books have been published in twenty-six countries, including illustrated editions in Japan, and shes grateful for the support of her readers throughout the world.

Contents

Chapter One

G lory Sutton slipped into the Pump Room, blinking in the dimness. She should have brought a lantern, for the curtains that were drawn to foil gawpers also kept out the light of the fading day. But she hadnt realised how late it was when shed remembered that she had left her reticule here. The workmen had gone, but the smell of fresh paint lingered, making it easy to envision the final touches that would enable the spa to re-open. Queens Well had been in her family for centuries, and Glory took pride in her efforts to preserve that heritage. But a low noise made her glance warily about. It was just the creaking of the old wood, Glory told herself, yet she renewed her hunt for her reticule. Although she had never been the type to start at sounds, since arriving in the village a month ago, shed been aware of the mixed feelings of the residents. That alone wouldnt unnerve her; what did was the sensation she often had that someone was watching her. She didnt mention it, for her brother Thad would say her feelings were proof of the enmity of the locals. And Aunt Phillida would only worryor faint dead away. Neither of them shared Glorys hopes for the spa and would seize upon any excuse to abandon the once-thriving well she was trying to revive. Although Glory kept her concerns to herself, she had slipped a small pistol into her reticule. The precaution would have horrified her aunt and her brother, but Glorys father had instilled in her the good sense to watch out for herselfeven in such a seemingly benign locale as the village of Philtwell. However, a pistol would do no good, if she did not have it at hand, Glory realised as she turned to scan the deserted room. The shrouded furniture made the place look ghostly, as well as shielding her view, and she had to swallow a cry of surprise as a stray draught caught at a sheet. Finally, she spied a dark object lying on one of the benches that lined the walls. Had she put it down when inspecting the refurbished pieces? She couldnt recall. Perhaps one of the workmen had moved it there. Hurrying into the shadows, Glory reached for the item, relieved to feel the soft material of her bag and the heft of the weapon inside it. But then she heard a noise again and spun round in alarm, for it sounded like the creak of a door. Had someone followed her inside? Glory was tempted to call out the question, but held her tongue. Who would be entering a darkened building that had been closed for decades? It might just be a curious villager or one of the workers returning, but something made Glory shrink into the shadows. A glance towards the main entrance showed that it remained firmly shut. However, she had come through the rear of the building, using her key. Had she left the door open? She had so much on her mind, so many details to tend to before the re-opening, that she might have been careless. The wind was sometimes fierce in Philtwill and could be to blame, Glory told herself. Still, she slipped the pistol from her reticule and inched behind the sheeted tables, keeping to the edge of the space. But the rooms at the rear of the Pump Room were even darker, and Glory cursed her own foolishness as she shied away from the shadows. Finally, she saw the door standing open ahead and moved towards it, eager to leave the eerie atmosphere of the building. Hurrying over the threshold, Glory released a sigh of relief, only to catch her breath again as a shape loomed up in front of her. Jerking backwards in alarm, Glory lifted her weapon with a shaking hand and called out in an even shakier voice, Stop, or Ill shoot. Excuse me? The low drawl wasnt what Glory had expected, but she was not about to lower her guard. Stand right there. Dont move, she said, inching away from the presence. Although it was lighter outside, tall sycamores shrouded the Pump Rooms exterior, and she could see little except a dark form, tall and menacing. Do you know who I am? it asked. Although definitely male, the figure was too large to be Dr Tibold, who had made himself a nuisance with his insistence that the well waters be given freely to allso that he could more easily line his own pockets. No, Glory said, even as she wondered whether the physician had hired some thug to ensure her submission. Her heart thundered and her grip on the pistol faltered. This fellow seemed too smooth, his speech too refined, to be a ruffian, and yet all her instincts told Glory that, whoever he was, the man was dangerous. Should I? she asked, with more bravado than she felt. I assume thats why youre robbing me. Glory blinked in surprise. Im not robbing you, she protested. But in that unguarded instant he made his move, knocking the pistol aside and pulling her to him. The weapon fell to the ground and Glory found her back up against the mans body, while his arm closed tight across her chest, holding her fast. Gasping at the startling intimacy, Glory felt her wits desert her. Although rarely at a loss, she was bombarded by unfamiliar sensations: the mans obvious strength, the hard form pressed to hers and the heat that enveloped her. Even as she drew in a sharp breath, Glory was assailed anew by the scent of warm male tinged with a subtle cologne. Her heart thundered, her pulse pounded and then there was a brush of warm breath on her hair as though of a whisper What the devil? Thads shout rang out, cutting off whatever words Glory imagined she might hear. And she blinked as her brother appeared on the path, silhouetted against the setting sun. Unhand my sister! Work in tandem, do you? The deep drawl close to her ear sent shivers up Glorys spine. She told herself it was because the villain didnt seem the least bit wary of Thad charging to her rescue. The voice itself, rife with confidence, had nothing to do with the peculiar quickening of her body, a loss of control that alarmed her more than anything else. But perhaps thats what fear did to a person, Glory thought, although the man had not hurt her, simply disarmed her. In fact, she appeared to be in more jeopardy from Thad, who suddenly launched himself towards the stranger, despite the fact that Glory was standing in front of the man, unable to move. Her assailant, a bit more aware, quickly set her behind him. Dont make me regret this, he said, as he released her, and Glory wondered at the kind of thug who would set her free. Perhaps one who thought far too highly of himself , she mused as he faced Thad. But the mans confidence was not misplaced. Even in the dim light, Glory could see that Thads efforts were clumsy and erratic, while his opponents were perfectly controlled, as practised as a boxers. Although that was not unusual, for even Thad wanted to take up the gentlemans sport, this fellow had the skills of a professional. He could easily have been one of the bruisers who were paid to bloody each other in a milling-match, and Glory feared for her brothers life. Indeed, Thad was soon knocked to the ground, and Glory cried out in protest. Automatically stepping towards him, she nearly tripped on the forgotten pistol. Relief swamped her as she leaned down to retrieve it. Stop right there! Glory shouted, and this time her hand was steadier as she pointed the weapon at Thads assailant. But neither male paid any attention to her threat. Thad sat up, rubbed his jaw and eyed his silent foe with what might have been admiration. Where did you learn to fight like that? Gentleman Jacksons. No! Really? Thad said, his voice rising with excitement. Id love to learn from the master, but my sister doesnt approve. Instead, she dragged me here to the ends of the earth, where theres nothing for a game fellow to do. As Glory watched dumbfounded, Thads opponent stretched out a hand to help him to his feet. So youve taken up thievery? What? No! Im no thief, but whatwhat are you? Thad asked, apparently coming to his senses. His tone changed to a challenge as he straightened. What were you doing with my sister? I was wondering why the door to the supposedly closed Pump Room was standing open when your sister threatened to put a bullet in me, the man said. They both turned towards Glory, who got her first good look at her assailant as the setting sun struck him. Tall, dark and good looking, he was dressed immaculately and reeked of power, wealth and arrogance. Or was it simply confidence? Shaken, Glory drew in a sharp breath. Who are you? she asked. Since circumstances have conspired against a formal introduction, you may call me Westfield, he said, with a slight nod. Youre the Duke of Westfield ? Thads voice held both awe and horror, and Glory might have swayed upon her feet, had not the nobleman reached out a steadying handto turn away the pistol she was pointing at him.