Forbidden Seduction : an historical romance: Dangerous Desire, #3

By Emmanuelle de Maupassant

On the first night of Lady Cecile McCaulay's transatlantic crossing, a passenger is found dead.
Cecile believes the murderer will strike again.
Can she protect those she loves?
Perhaps she can, but who will protect her?

'Forbidden Seduction' is the concluding volume of the 'Dangerous Desire' historical romance trilogy
For lovers of suspense, mystery and romance.

Heat level : passionate

 

Read all three titles in the 'Dangerous Desire' series:
Forbidden Desire
Forbidden Temptation
Forbidden Seduction

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Castle Press
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215541005

Book preview

Prologue

Lisbon

Early September, 1899

From the rail of the upper-deck, Lucrezia’s gaze swept the swell of people pressed along the dockside. Their cheers rose upward as they waved hands and handkerchiefs, sending off those embarking for a new world and a new life.

Her eye lingered briefly on the ladies crossing the first-class gangway, their hats elegantly plumed, their sleeves full and their waists narrow, skirts sweeping behind.

Once, she would have feared appearing shabby beside them. No longer, of course. Though she’d lost almost everything in the fire that had consumed her home, the earl had been generous in providing for her.

The journey had passed pleasantly enough, through Roma, Toulouse and Madrid, all the way to the Iberian Peninsula. She’d been careful to mind her manners, to seem all that was necessary—though the effort had irked her. Now they were setting sail, her position felt more secure.

Fate had smiled the day the earl and his family had come to Scogliera. Not that Lucrezia truly believed in Fate. Good fortune was most effective when crafted by one’s own hand.

Her attention settled upon the men heaving trunks and crates and bags of mail into the cargo hold, and the motley crowd surging to enter the deeper levels of the looming hull.

None she recognized.

Whatever premonition she’d had, it was idle fancy. The ghosts of the past were just that, and had no substance with which to haunt her. Those who’d wished her ill were scorched to ash in the ruins of the castello. If they had souls, she trusted they now resided in a place of perpetual heat.

Nevertheless, a degree of anxiety remained. Lucrezia had lived so long under the yoke of fear that it was impossible to believe herself wholly safe.

The screech of a gull, gliding and wheeling on the ocean breeze, brought her back to the moment.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Raising her cheek to the sun’s late afternoon warmth, Cecile gave a contented sigh. ‘Not just the ship, but everything: a whole country to discover—a whole continent, even. True adventure, Lucrezia! Just as we’ve yearned for.’

’Sì, cara.’ Lucrezia smiled indulgently before adopting a wistful expression.

Cecile gave her friend’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. ‘Forgive me. I see your thoughts are elsewhere, and it does you credit, to remember…’

Lucrezia lowered her eyes. She felt only relief at being free of her brother's dark influence. As for her poor sister, she had been lost to the world long before that night of flames.

Fortunately for Cecile, she had glimpsed but a fraction of Lorenzo's wickedness. Ever sensitive to the feelings of others, she had hardly spoken of her own brush with danger. Whatever wound she had suffered at Lorenzo's hands, her sweet-nature was more inclined to pity than to dwell on pain.

If Cecile had faith in Lucrezia boasting a similarly generous heart, it would do no harm to encourage that belief.

‘You know me too well.' Lucrezia returned the pressure of Cecile's hand. 'I cannot hide my feelings from you, but I shall recover. All shadows are banished when you are beside me.’

The sudden boom of the ship’s horn drowned whatever reply Cecile might have been about to give.

On the bridge, the captain gave his command. The engines rumbled, sending their power to the great propellers beneath the waves. The water churned and, pulled oceanward by an array of tugboats, the ship moved off, gliding effortlessly, to the approving roar of the crowd.

Inside her mistress’s cabin, Claudette looked up from the dress she’d been shaking out. Through the porthole, the sun’s lowering rays glinted upon the sea and, for a moment, her heart lifted.

She’d learnt the value of discretion, and for this her recompense was adequate. Another year or two and she might have enough to choose a different path. Rio was not Paris, but that very fact would help her in securing a business. A modest atelier or salon de coiffure, or a small parfumerie—places not for the very rich but for women such as herself, with money to spend for their occasional pleasure.

Claudette placed the gown upon the bed. The countess would probably wish to wear it this evening, to make a certain impression on her first night aboard the ship. She usually chose the red velvet when they arrived somewhere new, paired with the rubies gifted by her husband.

Perhaps there would be a man for herself, one day. A man who would adore her as the Earl of Rancliffe did his wife.

Down, down we go, to the engine of the beast, and to those who feed its fire.

The newcomer wiped sweat from his eyes. Smeared black with soot, his own mother wouldn’t have known him.

And just as well.

His present face, livid-scarred from other flames, would make even the bravest harlot cower.

That thought was not unappealing. He’d long had a taste for conquering dainty sensibilities.

For now, he would shovel coal, and hold his pain between his teeth.

Who knows what lurks in the deepest ocean dark; what mysterious eels and razor-mouthed fish, what creatures of claw and tentacle. Creatures who prey on those who fail to look, or whose eyes face the wrong way.

Monsters, some would call them, but they are merely unknown. Things beyond our understanding always stir fear.

Does such a creature watch the Leviathan as it steams through the waves of the vast Atlantic?

Perhaps.

But, not all things fearsome inhabit the depths.

Some live among us.

1

‘T oo many frills and ruffles, and golden things!’ Lucrezia’s nose wrinkled in disapproval. ‘No person of taste could design such a room! And the colours! So insipid!’

Suppressing a sigh, Cecile lowered herself onto the apricot velvet-upholstered chaise and settled her hands within her lap. ‘Truly, it reminds me of the Hôtel Ritz in Paris. The curtains are most certainly of the same style. The cabin is really very grand, and so spacious.’

The latter would certainly be the case once Lucrezia’s baggage had been unpacked. At present, it occupied the majority of the floor space in the sitting room of her suite.

Lucrezia pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. She eyed the offending curtains with repugnance. ‘If they were plain silk, perhaps I could bear them, but with so many flowers, and this—’

She flicked contemptuously at the drapery’s elaborate fringing. ‘I do not know the word, but this ornamento. It is too horrible!’

‘A little more ornate than necessary, perhaps…’ Cecile summoned a placatory smile. ‘But see how well appointed the suite is, Lucrezia. The bedroom has its own place for washing, while this little salon is quite large enough for us to sit comfortably.’

She looked longingly at the tea service set upon the table. ‘You’re only fatigued; in need of rest and refreshment.’ Cecile certainly felt that way herself.

She was eager to retire to her own suite next door, furnished in an identical colour-scheme, but there would be no napping until Lucrezia was placated.

‘Let me pour you a cup.’ Cecile inclined her head towards the plate of iced fancies beside the tea pot. ‘And these look delicious. It would be a shame not to enjoy them.’

‘You are kindness, always.’ Approaching, Lucrezia cupped Cecile’s cheek. ‘And patient with my capricious ways, as only the true friend can be.’

The crew member who’d delivered the tea cleared his throat. ‘If all is good, senhoras…?’

Cecile had quite forgotten he was there. She’d already tipped him but his exit had likely been hampered by Lucrezia sweeping about the room, making those clicking noises of hers. Now, her look of dissatisfaction alighted on the steward.

‘Are all the rooms the same?’

The steward’s brows knitted as he taxed his knowledge of English. ‘Yes, all: bed, table, chairs. All the best.’ He took two side-steps towards the door.

‘But this colore rivoltante?’ Lucrezia intercepted him.

The steward held up his hands in supplication. ‘This, and verde—the green, you say. But, this is nice, yes, for the senhoras?’

‘Green?’ Lucrezia shot out her hand to rest upon the wall, mere inches from the man’s head, preventing his escape. ‘There is a green room close by?’

Warily, the steward nodded.

‘Then everything is easy. Move my bags to a green room.’ Lucrezia made a flurrying motion with her fingers to wing him on his way.

She turned back to Cecile. ‘Apologies for my fuss, cara. You see how bold we must be to ensure our comfort.’

Cecile endeavoured to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘Lucrezia, do come and sit down, and let the man return to his duties.’

‘But, of course.’ Lucrezia lifted the lid on the heavy silver pot, peering at the leaves within.

‘But, senhora!’ The steward wrung his hands, his tone pleading. ‘All rooms have guests. Stay here, yes? Is comfortable. Is beautiful.’

Lucrezia let the lid clang shut. In three strides, she was facing the unfortunate man, berating him this time in a fierce torrent of Italian.

Cecile watched, agog, as Lucrezia pulled open the door and propelled the steward backward. With a cry of dismay, he stumbled over the lipped threshold, losing his balance, ending sprawled on the deck outside.

Horrified, Cecile leapt to help him. She was used to Lucrezia’s capriciousness and eccentricity but never had she seen her display such rudeness.

However, before she’d reached the doorway, a tall figure appeared, silhouetted against the sinking sun.

The voice that spoke was butter-rich, the vowels drawn out like melted caramel. ’Whoa there. You’ve taken a real spill, fella.’

Something within Cecile fluttered as the figure bent to help the steward to his feet.

She’d caught sight of him earlier, traversing the wooden walkway into their part of the ship, and she’d recognized him at once, for the memory of their first meeting had never left her—even in the midst of the madness that had overtaken her at the Castello di Scogliera.

But, she hadn’t thought to bump into him so soon—the owner of those broad shoulders and distinctive, honey-blonde curls—and hardly under such embarrassing circumstances.

‘Obrigado senhor. Obrigado.’ Regaining his dignity, the steward looked inordinately thankful, though his eyes continued to dart worriedly between his Good Samaritan and Lucrezia, who stood implacable, her hands upon her hips.

Tempted as Cecile was to retreat within the room, there was only one correct course of action. Standing on tiptoe, she peered over Lucrezia’s shoulder.

’Mr. Robinson! How marvellous to see you again.’

Regaining his full height, the handsome specimen blinked rapidly. ‘Lady McCaulay, is that you? I mean to say, it’s a great pleasure to find you here—but, I’d no idea…’

There was just enough room for Cecile to extend her hand, which she found grasped by warm fingers and firmly shaken. Blinking, she took in the noble contours of his face. His eyes, piercingly blue, held hers.

However, Lucrezia’s pointed clearing of her throat brought Cecile to her senses. She was still holding his fingers, or he was holding hers. She wriggled her hand free.

‘Mr. Robinson, excuse me. The surprise has made me forget myself. I wasn’t at all expecting for us to cross paths again.’ Blushing, she introduced him to Lucrezia.

‘Howdy to you both, and call me Lance, won’t you? It’s good to see a familiar face after all my travels.’

Lucrezia arched an eyebrow. ‘You know each other, cara? Never before do you tell me of such a man in your past.’

‘We met only briefly—on the Paris train, just in passing really, in the corridor…’ Cecile was aware she was gushing. Thinking back to when they’d met, it seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened.

‘You were to spend three months on the continent, were you not?’ Squaring her shoulders, she willed herself to behave like the grown woman she was. ‘I’d thought you to be in Argentina by now.’

‘You’ve a fine memory, Lady McCaulay—and you’re right of course. I should’ve taken the crossing back in June, but I got caught up in things. Europe was a real eye-opener.’

Lucrezia smirked. ‘Your eyes enjoyed the feast of everything, I’m sure, Mr. Robinson, and now you take them to sample Latin delights. Such is the life of a young man of means. Always looking for pleasure.’

‘Really, Lucrezia, you mustn’t make such assumptions. Mr. Robinson is a man of business. He’s travelling on from Brazil to Argentina at his father’s behest. Their interest is in railroads and it’s all extremely important. He was in Europe for a series of meetings—not to gallivant about.’ For some reason, Cecile felt piqued.

Lucrezia tossed her head. 'If you say it is so, then it must be true, though I wonder at you knowing so much about Mr. Robinson’s intentions—from just a few minutes’ conversation in passing.’

Cecile had no answer to that, but none seemed necessary, for Lucrezia’s attention had returned to the steward, who was now fully recovered and looked inclined to escape while he could.

‘As Mr. Robinson is here, perhaps he can be of help.’ Lucrezia turned a dazzling smile his way. ‘I was explaining that I require a room with green decor rather than this—’She waved her hand airily behind her. ‘But the steward seems not to understand, saying the rooms are taken. You can persuade, yes?’

Lance glanced briefly over Lucrezia’s head at the offending interior