Silhouette

By Jackie Walton

Lady Elizabeth Selford has cause to dislike Lord David Brownlee. He's unjustly insulted her. Now he suspects her of assisting Princess Caroline, the Princess of Wales, to steal one of the Crown Jewels. He changes his tune when she helps foil not one but two attacks on the Royal Family. When she becomes a target, he kidnaps her to his country estate, properly chaperoned, of course. He doesn't understand his attraction to her. More plots threaten the realm. When the Prime Minister is assassinated, he and they return to London. The French are desperate to disrupt England during the war against Napoleon. They aren't finished.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Walton
• Release date: Oct 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005719616

Jackie Walton

After growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area and marrying my high school sweetheart, we became what Alvin Toffler called "corporate gypsies." We've lived in a number of states and countries, including Italy, and have visited a lot of places, some of which show up in my stories. I'm a retired high school science teacher with degrees in English and psychology. (Those two and $4 will get you a good cup of coffee!) I've always loved history, though, as you might guess from the last chapter of my books. That's what happens when you mix a teacher with a self-professed history geek. We are once again back in the Bay Area with our long, tall Pole of a dog.

Book preview

Silhouette

Jackie Walton

For Dick, with love, as always

Published by Jackie Walton at Smashwords

Copyright September 2021

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy form their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Chapter 1

David, I must speak with you! Lady Serena Venton, a lovely widow, slipped her arm into the crook of his and dragged him out into the hall of the Madley’s town house. Lord David Brownlee didn’t object too strenuously. The Madley’s ball was wearing on him; he’d toyed with the idea of leaving and perhaps kiss his pillow before dawn. His quarry for the evening failed to show. However, the Prince Regent planned to attend. Politics and duty both said David needed to be here.

Serena, if you crease my sleeve, my valet, Eggers, will be exceptionally cross with me. I’d prefer to face Napoleon’s Imperial Guard. The thought crossed his mind, as it had more than once, that her parents had misnamed her. He loosened her fingers but didn’t put her away from him. He figured he owed her a few minutes.

****

As she hustled him down the hall, David thought back several weeks to that fateful, and probably fortuitous, house party.

At the Pressman’s house party, he’d strolled over to the parlor window curtained in dark green velvet with gold trim. Glancing out, he continued on his way. Something caught his attention, and he looked out again. Two figures stood in a semi-secluded glade. Even at that distance, they were recognizable. The man, a flaming redhead, David knew to be Sir Watley Tetlaw, a minor baron with major aspirations. The woman was Lady Serena Venton, the woman David contemplated making his countess. He could tell by the way she moved she flirted with Tetlaw. He sighed. ‘Rena flirted with anything in breeches. That would have to change.

After dinner, he mentioned to her that he needed to speak with Fauntleroy. He would see her later.

Fauntleroy played a wicked game of billiards, and the contest, evenly matched, went on for several hours. They even talked about serious political matters.

Finally declaring a draw, they went their separate ways. David stopped at Serena’s chamber. He raised his hand to knock when he heard an almost-anguished moan. He frowned. Concerned, he tried the door. Unlocked.

The man and woman in the curtained and caparisoned bed engaged in some vigorous sexual gymnastics.

David watched for a moment then cleared his throat.

God damn it! the red head snarled before he identified the interloper. Shit! He rolled off the bed and scrabbled around for his breeches. He hopped around trying to pull them up his legs. Grabbing his shirt, he headed for the window.

Don’t jump, Wat, you’ll break a leg. David leaned against the open-door jamb. I’m finished here, anyway. Any thought he may have had of proposing marriage to Serena jumped out the window instead of Tetlaw. He ceremoniously bowed and waved the lover to the door.

Shirt in hand, Tetlaw looked at him. I will tell my seconds to expect yours in the morning.

David cocked his head. No, no. Don’t bother. She’s not worth a bullet.

David, David! Serena screamed, holding the sheet up to protect the remnants of her virtue.

He followed Tetlaw out of the chamber and quietly closed the door.

****

She led him down the hall to what looked like a library. Closing the door behind her, she launched herself at him. David, I’ve missed you so terribly. Her arms wrapped around his neck like one of those snakes he’d seen in the zoo at the Tower. They both could kill.

David studied the woman who embraced him. He knew her intimately, from her smooth, soft skin, to her artfully styled hair, to her seductive mouth, and every place in between.

He may owe her a few minutes, but she was spending them fast.

He pulled at her arms so he could breathe. What do you want, Serena?

Oh, David, I only want you! I’ve been so very lonely these past few weeks.

Tetlaw throw you over?

David, a small tear glistened in one eye, you know he plied me with wine and liquor. I didn’t know what I was doing when he seduced me. She reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss.

He held her off. Really, ‘Rena? You looked quite in command of all your faculties when you were fucking Tetlaw.

You’re being deliberately crude, David.

Uh huh.

I want to marry you. Why would I be with Tetlaw?

Brownlee stepped back and pulled her arms away. Marry me or the Brownlee fortune? Venton didn’t leave you as well-to-pass as you hoped I know.

No, David! It is you I want. Money doesn’t enter into it.

He pulled further away until their only point of contact were his hands on her arms. Right. Try that one on Tetlaw. He’s stupid enough to buy it. He released her and strode out of the library.

Chapter 2

Lady Venton glared over the shoulder of her companion. The ton swirled around them. Lord and Lady Wentworth’s ball was a sad crush, indeed.

Is something wrong with my hair, my dear?

Jerking her attention back to the tall, delicately-featured woman in front of her, Lady Venton gave one of her signature, tinkling laughs. Lud, no. Your hair and your gown and your throat corsage and your face are perfect as always. I vow you must get the latest fashions straight from Paris. I think you must have spies there.

Spies? How droll. Lady Port, widow of a minor, but wealthy, knight, attended a number of society’s gatherings. But why the black looks if it isn't my hair?

Lady Venton sneered, disturbing the perfection of her features. Lord Brownlee is strolling through the room like he owns the world. He is despicable.

True, but he has the face of an angel, hair that rivals a gold guinea, and the body of a Greek statue.

I know, but the angel's name would be Lucifer!

Here's venom! her companion said with a rough laugh. An arch look accompanied the remark.

Lady Venton's expression turned ugly. She flipped open her fan to partially shield her face. Are you the only person in London who does not know that Brownlee courted me after my husband died. At least I thought he did. Turned out he was just amusing himself at my expense. The end was…most public.

The cad!

One day I will repay him. One day he will regret humiliating me!

Her outburst met a thoughtful face. After a moment, the woman said, You wish revenge?

Lady Venton growled, I could happily put a bullet in him.

I may be able to help. Let me think on it, and I will contact you.

****

David Brownlee leaned on a decorative pillar in his uncle’s ballroom. Tall enough that he could look over most of the crowd, he surveyed the other guests. His blond hair, a few shades darker than his sister’s pale locks, fell well past his ears. Unfashionable, he knew and didn’t care. Ice blue eyes scanned the crowd. He watched his sister dance with her new--no, he thought, not quite new—husband. A quiet smile played around his mouth as he tracked the couple whirling through the crowd. He was very glad she was happy; she deserved it.

He just hoped that black-haired bastard continued to treat her like a queen, not that Chiara wasn’t capable of dealing with him on her own. David had heard the stories of their practice sword fighting bouts on board the Swiftsure during their mission to rescue Pope Pius VII. Two out of three to the little lady weren’t bad against a big, hulking brute like Rafael FitzHenry. David flexed his right hand. He’d once planted that fist in his brother-in-law’s face. Fortunately for himself, Rafe had other things on his mind than returning the favor. Still, they were pretty evenly matched: it would have been an interesting fight.

****

Brownlee! A short, rather round, man stepped into his path, putting out a hand to stay him. Need to talk to you about my girl.

David Brownlee, Earl Brownlee, stopped a few feet short of intimate conversation. The girl in question possessed a remarkable set of cow-eyes, a figure that would soon resemble her dear Papa's, and a dowry that would tempt Midas. David was profoundly disinterested. It did remind him that the time drew nigh for him to find a wife and set up his own nursery. This was the third attempt at solicitation just this evening. You'll have to forgive me. A ballroom is an unseemly venue for such a discussion. An appointment, perhaps? The man’s black look spoke of grim determination. Even this mild refusal wouldn't stop the man, but he could turn him down in private, at least.

And m'aunt wonders why I avoid this sort of thing, David muttered to himself. "I'd as leave face off a regiment of Jacobites at Culloden with a dress sword than run the gauntlet of the ton."

****

She watched him approach. His icy eyes scanned the room. She wasn't sure if he even realized she was there. He moved with the grace of a large, blond cat, sleek and powerful. She knew just how much power that lean body possessed. She remembered the ecstasy of the time in his arms; he was a superb lover. He'd always left before morning, but while it lasted it was rapturous. The memories had her reaching out to him as he passed close, but he veered off at the last moment. What could she do to reignite that passion?

****

He scanned the ballroom with an eye to picking up tidbits of interesting, if indiscrete, gossip. He’d seen Serena return and chose to ignore her. She wasn’t his prey for the evening.

He was here to work. Even the best spy, and there were several here, could unwittingly reveal hints of plots and informants when under the influence of Lord Wentworth's extensive and exquisite wine cellar. It was truly amusing what people said at social events.

****

Lord Brownlee, the tall, military-type man approached him, I fain would have speech with you regarding an investment in a canal.

David sneered to himself. Make one small fortune on an investment and the world wants to hang on your financial coat-tails. He just didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense. David paused. Colonel, have your man of business send the information to mine. I'd like a chance to look it over before we talk.

The man nodded, and David continued on with his quest.

****

Mrs. Abernathy-Smith held court with the Honorable Miss Peterman and Lady Ormsby over in a corner near some potted palms. Mrs. Abernathy-Smith dominated the conversation by virtue of her loud voice, large bosom, and the firm conviction that she was the expert on whatever the topic of discussion was. Miss Peterman was an insipid fortune in search of a husband. (Lord have mercy, he thought, on the hapless fortune hunter.) She provided the perfect excuse for him to approach and initiate a conversation. Lady Ormsby imitated a church mouse. She was, however, the wife of a minor Home Office official suspected of passing information to the French.

Where was her husband? Not here. A few interested inquires might be in order there.

David lifted a wine glass from a passing waiter's tray and began to move through the crowded ballroom. His gaze didn't invite approach, but he nodded to this lord and that lady and barely escaped the clutches of a notorious matchmaking mama.

As he passed through the maelstrom of fashionable gowns, dress coats, uniforms, jewels, and the light from enough candles to illuminate a small town, he knew he was being watched.

****

A young man, barely old enough to shave, strode up to him. Brownlee, you bastard! he sneered. I ought to horsewhip you!

Brownlee stepped close to the young man. His voice lowered to a cold whisper. Your sister has a husband to protect her and to keep her in line. It is not up to you to defend the honor she has so little care for. I was not the first, nor, I suspect, will I be the last. I allow that after all these years and nothing in the nursery, her husband feels he could use some help. Anyway, at this point, your sister's indiscretions are known to three people. If you wish to keep it that way, I would recommend you keep silence and speak to your sister. Otherwise, name your seconds.

Some of the menace and a lot of the warning must have gotten through because the young man swallowed, nodded crisply, and retreated. You are a bastard!

David smiled, much as a lion might. My father, and my mother, would disagree with that, but there you are. 'Servant. He walked away. Foolish puppy, he thought.

****

Dismissing his would-be assassin for the moment, David glanced to his right to see the man who would most likely be his next king. The flash of distaste never showed on his face. Since obtaining the Regency in 1811, George, Prince of Wales, or more honestly Whales, treated England like his personal purse. No expense was too great, no indulgence was too expensive. David mentally shook his head at what this boded for the country and reminded himself he served the Crown, not the man.

Prince George stood with his back to the room. A woman stood between him and the wall and a huge floral arrangement. David couldn't see the lady until the Prince swayed in front of her. A faint creaking sound came from around the Prince's middle. His stays protested the movement.

Who was the lady? David frowned for a moment and then plastered a smile on his face for Lady Something-or-Other who looked askance at him. The prince’s object of his attention was…was… She was a friend of his sister's. Elizabeth, that was it, Lady Elizabeth Selford. Single, somewhat past her prime due to a fiancé killed at Talavera or some such. She'd rejected several suitors since then. He watched her conversing, no flirting, with the Prince. His Royal Highness fancied himself a lady's man. More likely it was his position that proved the attraction, not the person. Those stays might prove a drawback.

Lady Elizabeth responded to the heavy flirtation with some of her own: the flash of a fan, a glance under her eyelashes, a throaty laugh. David could see why the Prince was attracted. Lady Elizabeth’s dark brown, almost black, hair swirled up to be crowned with a spray of flowers. David could understand that it begged to be touched. He was male, after all. Her face, fresh and lovely, could tempt any man. The Prince, all of him, was as man. David glanced over her slender form and cynically wondered if she would survive a bedding under the man-mountain.

David mentally classed her with all the other well-born ladies who set their caps on a royal brother for a lover. He wondered if this one set her sights a bit higher. The touch of dainty fingers on a gold superfine sleeve seemed a bit too intimate. The lady was named for a queen. Could she be angling to become one now that rumors of a royal divorce again circulated throughout the ton?

He noticed the Dowager Lady Jersey evil-eying Lady Elizabeth. Couldn’t happen to a nicer female, he thought. Lady Jersey might take her down a peg or two.

Thankfully, she was not his problem. He detested women like her who made such blatant use of their sex. The fact that most women fell into that category wasn't his great problem either. He had little time for lovers, let alone a wife. The last woman he got involved with voiced that complaint over and over. He dismissed her, even though the world thought her perfect countess material: a wealthy, attractive widow. The fact that he knew she spent part of the night of a house party in the bed of another man helped that decision. She was the one imagining a target on his back.

He bowed before the two ladies and his quarry. Throwing compliments out like seeds in the springtime, he began his interrogation.

Lord Ormsby vacationed in Dover this week. An interesting tidbit of information, David mused, as he left the ladies and continued around the room.

A crowd gathered around the Prince Regent, even as he continued his attentions to Lady Elizabeth. The current dance ended as he neared the group.

Rafe and Chiara stopped nearby. Rafe drew her hands to his mouth in an unusually intimate gesture for a married couple in public. It would be the source of numerous on-dits tomorrow, but then Rafe knew that, David thought, and didn't give a damn.

Chiara hurried over to Lady Elizabeth and, after smiling prettily at the Prince Regent, dragged her friend away from the group. As they passed David, Lady Elizabeth muttered to her friend, He said that my necklace complimented the whiteness of my breasts! Can you imagine the nerve, even for a prince?

Chiara looked over her shoulder and winked at her brother. Then she turned to her friend. "I thought you might need rescuing."

Rafe appeared at his elbow. In a low voice, he said, Your uncle wants to see us. David glanced at his sister. No, not my jailer, just us. Now.

****

Lady Jersey, the Dowager Countess Lady Frances Jersey, as opposed to the affable current Countess, extended her hand to David as he passed. He really had no wish to speak to the woman. She of the toxic tongue and predatory mind was not his favorite person. None the less, he paused and bowed over her hand graced with a ring set with a large red stone. Lovely, as always, Lady Jersey.

She smiled royally, as if having shared the bed of the Prince Regent rubbed some of his royalness off on her.

****

David stepped down slowly from his curricle the next morning. He did not look forward to this chore, but it had to be done. Even the grey skies matched his mood. After giving his tiger instructions to walk the horses, he straightened his back and mounted the steps.

I know it’s early,