Following her parents' dictates, Lady Julianne is perceived
by society as the earl's perfect daughter. Julianne
represses her emotions until her father announces her
engagement to the aloof rake, the Duke of Eastling. With
visions of her entombment in Cornish away from her friends,
Julianne gathers her courage and takes a risk for one
adventure before she is bartered off. Months ago, a Bow
Street Runner caught her attention. He represents every
trait she longs for in a man -- strength, integrity and a
sense of stability. She can never have him forever, but
maybe for a little while he can be hers.
Talented Bow Street Runner Gideon Mayne is investigating a
thief who prowls through society robbing the rich of their
jewels and murdering any witnesses. He pushes aside his
farfetched feelings for a society princess he met in a
previous case. Gideon knows the idiocy of chasing after
impossible dreams. Trying to refocus his attention on the
case, Gideon is called in when Lady Julianne receives a
threatening note and an attempt is made on her life. His
worst nightmare occurs when he must guard Julianne from a
possible killer.
Julianne's little white lie of a threat on her life gets
her Gideon's attention. Now all she needs to figure out is
how to seduce him. Using the inappropriate books from the
Ladies Literary Society, she concocts a scheme, which works
too well. Now Julianne has tasted paradise and cannot image
returning to a life where she is little more than an
ornament.
Ms. D'Alessandro has created a powerful visual imagery of
her heroine's stifled existence that will haunt readers
throughout the story. The glass coffin metaphor, coupled
with the lack of hope in their ill-fated love affair and
the desperation of their circumstances, could have made for
a dark read. Instead, Ms. D'Alessandro uses her characters'
innate goodness and adds light humorous touches with the
promise that love can overcome all.
The Ladies Literary Society of London gathers again for
a ghost story...
Lady Julianne Bradley has
always longed for wild adventure. Unfortunately, the man
with whom she wishes to share her fervor can never be
hers. Tormented by her desire, she’s preparing for a
suitable marriage when ghostly occurrences straight out of
her latest read start happening—and to protect Julianne,
her father hires the very man her heart cries out for.
Excerpt
Chapter One
London, 1820
From the London Times: Do you believe in
ghosts? Mrs. Marguerite Greeley was found murdered and
robbed last night in her Berkley Square townhouse, in a
crime identical to the robbery and murder of Lady
Ratherstone only last week. Mrs. Greeley’s butler
reported hearing eerie moaning sounds coming from her
private sitting room where her jewel box was located.
Upon entering the room, the butler discovered the body and
missing jewels and stated that all the windows and doors
were locked from the inside. Similar sounds and locked
windows and doors were reported at Lady Ratherstone’s
home. It seems clear Mrs. Greeley is the latest victim
of Mayfair’s cleverest, most diabolical, seemingly
invisible, and thus far uncatchable criminal. Which begs
two questions all of London is asking: could the thief
indeed be a ghost? And who is next?
After making certain she wasn’t observed, Lady
Julianne Bradley slipped from the crowded drawing room and
walked down the candlelit corridor. Although her heart
pounded in anticipation, urging her to hurry, she forced
her feet to keep a sedate pace. She had no wish to call
undo attention to herself should she happen upon anyone.
Music and laughter, the hum of conversation and the
tinkling of crystal faded as she made her way further from
the center of Lord and Lady Daltry’s elegant soiree. She
turned a corner then counted the rooms as she
passed...one, two...she slowed as she approached the third
door.
The feeling that she was being watched suddenly flooded
through her. A heated flush, the sort that always stained
her pale skin a telltale red whenever she experienced any
sort of nervousness, whooshed upward from her neck,
flaming her face.
She turned, scanning the area. And saw nothing amiss.
She was alone. Your imagination is running amok with
itself as usual.
Hoping she didn’t look as furtive as she felt, she took
one last glance around, then opened the third door. She
stepped quickly into the room, closing the door behind her.
“It’s about time you arrived.”
The whisper came from directly beside her and Julianne
barely squelched the startled cry that rose to her lips.
Leaning back against the oak panel, she looked around the
shadowed library, illuminated in a curtain of dull gold
from the low burning fire glowing in the grate. Three
pairs of eyes scrutinized her.
“We were beginning to think you weren’t going to come,”
said Lady Emily Stapleford, impatiently pulling Julianne
away from the door. “At best we have only a few minutes
together before someone notes our absence from the party.
What on earth detained you?”
“It was difficult to escape Mother,” Julianne said. As
she did at every soiree, the Countess of Gatesbourne took
her duty of advantageously placing her only daughter in
the path of every eligible titled gentleman in attendance
very seriously. Such contrivances only served to render
Julianne more shy than usual, a fact which greatly
displeased her mother. Who was not shy about voicing her
displeasure.
Julianne’s three friends exchanged a glance then gave an
understanding nod. They well knew the countess’s
overbearing nature.
“Well, we’re just glad you’re here,” said Carolyn Sutton,
Countess Surbrooke with a smile. “For a moment I thought
perhaps a ghost absconded with you.”
Julianne glanced at the beautiful newlywed who’d returned
to London two days ago after a fortnight long wedding trip
to the Continent with her new husband. Carolyn was
practically glowing with obvious happiness. Julianne’s
admiration for her friend’s calm efficiency and serene
composure knew no bounds.
“Botheration, Carolyn, not you, too,” said Sarah
Devenport, Marchioness Langston, in her usual no-nonsense
manner--another trait Julianne wished she herself
possessed. Sarah shoved her spectacles higher on her nose
and frowned at her sister. “You’re nearly as bad as The
Times, not to mention many guests at this party. You
can’t possibly believe that a ghost is responsible for the
recent rash of robberies.”
Emily’s mouth curved upward in the mischievous
grin that so often touched her lips. “Unless he’s like the
ghost in our latest book selection. Of course, in The
Ghost of Devonshire Manor there the only thing stolen was
a lady’s innocence. The story was so deliciously real--“
“Which is why I called for this meeting of the
Ladies Literary Society now,” interrupted Julianne. “The
timing of a ghost robber is perfect. I think we should
hold a séance, similar to the one in the book, to discover
who this thief is.”
“I think perhaps the Devonshire Manor ghost
has addled your wits,” said Sarah.
“Perhaps,” Julianne conceded. “I must admit I
haven’t been quite the same since I read it.” Indeed, the
book had ignited a restlessness within her she’d been
unable to squelch. “The story affected me strongly. It
was haunting--“
“As a ghost story should be,” Emily
interrupted with a grin.
“Yes, but more than anything, you can’t deny
it was extremely...” Julianne cleared her throat then
lowered her voice. “...sensual as well.”
“It was indeed,” agreed Sarah. “A more apt
title might have been might have The Haunting of Lady
Elaine.”
“By the Very Delicious Maxwell,” added Emily, fanning her
hand in front of her face.
“Yes,” said Carolyn. “Maxwell was...oh, my...”
Her words trailed off into a vaporous sigh and Julianne,
Emily, and Sarah all nodded and murmured in agreement.
Based on the fact that the Ladies Literary Society’s
reading selections were far more scandalous than their
group’s name would suggest--which was no accident--
Julianne had known their ghost story would be more than a
simple tale of spirits flitting about in graveyards. Yet
she hadn’t anticipated its deeply sensual protagonist
Maxwell, who was a ghost--a fact that didn’t stop him from
seducing the lovely Lady Elaine. Over and over again. In
some very inventive ways.
“If only such a man existed in real life,” Emily
said. “So strong and brave. Masculine and romantic and--“
“Passionate.” The word slipped from Julianne’s lips
before she could stop it.
“He does exist,” Carolyn and Sarah said in unison. “I
married him.” The sisters looked at each other and shared
a smile.
Julianne’s gaze dropped to Sarah’s midsection which was
just starting to show signs of swelling with the baby she
carried. Her happiness for her friends, both of whom had
fallen in love and married in the last several months,
mingled with undeniable envy. She’d never have the love,
joy, and passion that Sarah and Carolyn shared with their
husbands.
No, there would be no love match for her. She’d long ago
accepted the inevitable--that her father would arrange her
marriage, his choice based solely on the advantageous
considerations of property, titles, and money. As she’d
been reminded practically from the cradle, she had no say
in the matter, and complying without complaint to her
father’s wishes was the least she could do since she’d had
neither the decency nor the sense to be born a boy. After
overhearing her parents’ conversation earlier today,
Julianne feared her arranged marriage was closer than ever.
Still her heart dreamed of falling in love. Of passion.
Of a man who would want her in those same ways and not
merely as the product of a business arrangement. A man
who would have fire in his eyes when he looked at her...
Even as Julianne tried to erase his image from her memory,
a mental picture rose in her mind. Of a tall man with
stark features, ebony hair, and dark eyes filled with
secrets and mystery. A man surrounded by a veil of
tempting, enticing danger. A man forbidden to her.
Gideon Mayne...
His name whispered through her mind, a silent sigh of
longing.
He had fire in his eyes when he looked at her--one that
made her burn to know more, to know everything about him.
“Yes, you both married fabulous, dashing men,” Emily said,
pulling Julianne from her wayward thoughts, “and very
selfishly I might add, leaving nothing but nincompoops for
Julianne and I. No other such magnificent men exist, and
alas, Maxwell is but a figment of fiction.”
He existed, Julianne knew.
But he could never be hers.
Lady Elaine had suffered the same dilemma regarding her
ghostly lover Maxwell in The Ghost of Devonshire Manor and
Julianne vividly understood the hopelessness of the other
woman’s impossible feelings.
“The things that Maxwell did to Lady Elaine...” Sarah
gushed out a sigh. “Good heavens, no wonder she never
wanted to leave her home.”
Julianne bit back a groan as a flash of heat tingled
through her body. The story’s sensual nature had conjured
all manner of fantasies featuring Gideon Mayne, images she
couldn’t dispel from her mind.
“My favorite parts of the book were when Maxwell scared
off Lady Elaine’s various suitors,” Carolyn said. “He was
quite devilish. And ingenious.”
“Very,” agreed Sarah. “I especially laughed when he made
the vicar’s duck entrée dance and quack on his plate.”
“Maxwell did those things because he didn’t want another
man to have the woman he loved and desired so deeply,”
Julianne said softly. “His pain was so palpable, I could
feel it, and my heart broke for him. They both knew that
in spite of their feelings their circumstances rendered
them unable to truly be together.”
Yes, circumstances no less impossible and insolvable than
those between her and the man she could not stop thinking
about.
In an effort to banish thoughts of that which she could
not have, Julianne sought to change the subject back to
her séance idea of catching the robber. “Certainly if one
is going to be haunted by a ghost, Maxwell is the sort to
have--”
“Oh, I agree,” interjected Emily. “Much preferable to the
ghost that haunts my Aunt Agatha’s Surrey estate. His
name is Gregory. According to Aunt Agatha he’s old,
paunchy, suffers from the gout, and is wholly unpleasant.”
“What makes your aunt believe she has a
ghost?” Sarah asked in a dubious tone, pushing her
spectacles higher on her nose.
“She’s seen him,” Emily responded. “And heard
him. He groans a great deal. She calls him Gregory the
Groaner.”
“But how could she hear him?” Julianne
asked. “Your Aunt Agatha, although a dear lady, is deaf as
a tree stump.”
“Apparently Gregory flits about in the
corridors, complaining of his aches and pains, loudly
enough for even Aunt Agatha to hear.”
“Have you seen Gregory?” asked Carolyn.
Emily shook her head. “No, but I did hear
some odd groaning sounds the last time I visited.”
“Hearing groaning sounds, seeing ghosts,
that’s one of the things I wanted to discuss,” Julianne
said. “Based on our book selection, I think we should
conduct a séance, similar to the one Lady Elaine held.
Only instead of trying to conjure a lover, we’ll attempt
to summon this Mayfair ghost.”
Emily’s eyes sparkled with immediate
interest. “An excellent suggestion. Of course we won’t
be successful, but it should prove an interesting
diversion. When and where do you suggest?”
“I could host it, tomorrow evening,” Julianne
said. “Could you all come?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Emily said without
hesitation. “Who knows what sort of ghost might be
summoned or secrets revealed in the dark?”
“I wouldn’t miss it either,” said Sarah. “Of
course, convincing Matthew to allow me out of his sight
for an entire evening will present a challenge. He thinks
that because I’m expecting I’ve turned into delicate spun
glass--although I can’t deny that his constant attention
is flattering and quite, um, titillating.” She turned to
Carolyn. “I imagine your bridegroom won’t be anxious to
spend an evening without you.”
“Hopefully not.” An impish grin touched the
corners of Carolyn’s mouth. “But I’m certain Daniel and
Matthew won’t object to spending a few hours together at
their club. It will be good for them to miss us.”
A wave of pent-up emotions washed over
Julianne and she looked down. The gloomy shadows
swallowing her feet in the dimly lit room seemed the
personification of the future looming before her.
“You’re both so fortunate to have husbands who love you so
much,” she whispered, unable to keep the hitch of
wistfulness from her voice.
“Are you all right, Julianne?”
Carolyn’s question, along with her gentle touch on
Julianne’s sleeve, pulled her gaze upward. “I’m fine,”
she said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
Emily frowned. “I don’t believe you. You seem out of
sorts. And preoccupied.”
I am. By the same thing that has haunted me for
weeks...thoughts of something, someone, I can never have.
Yet she couldn’t admit the truth, not even to her closest
friends. They’d be shocked, and warn her to turn her
romantic inclinations toward someone suitable. Advice
anyone would give an earl’s daughter harboring an
impossible fascination for a man whose circumstances were
so far removed from her own.
“Has your mother said something to upset you?” asked Sarah.
Julianne grasped onto the excuse and shot her conscience
an inward frown. After all, when didn’t her formidable
mother say something upsetting? Indeed, she’d done so
only a few hours ago, and on a topic she could discuss
with her friends. And one that brought reality back with
a thump.
“Actually, yes,” Julianne admitted. “I overheard her and
Father talking earlier this evening about their plans for
my future. Apparently the Duke of Eastling expressed
interest in me.”
“Eastling?” repeated Emily, her expression reflecting the
same wide-eyed dismay Julianne felt at the name. “But
he’s...so...so...not young.”
“He’s only just turned forty,” Carolyn said.
“Which is only several years younger than my father,”
Emily retorted. “Besides, Eastling’s already been
married. And what did he do? Dragged his wife off to
Cornwall, that’s what. Which is no doubt where he’d want
to drag Julianne as well.” She turned distressed eyes
toward Julianne. “Heavens, you cannot live in Cornwall.
We’d never see you!”
“His wife died,” Julianne said, “a year and half ago.
He’s ready to remarry.”
“I thought something like this might be in the wind when I
saw your mother speaking to him just before he asked you
to waltz,” Sarah said.
“As did I,” Carolyn agreed. “He’s very eligible. And
rich. And handsome.”
“Yes,” Julianne agreed. Indeed most women found the duke,
with his blonde hair and light blue eyes, very
attractive. But to Julianne, his good looks didn’t
matter. Not when he exuded the same icy, remote,
uncompromising demeanor she’d been subjected to her entire
life from her father. A shudder ran through her at the
thought, and her father’s stern voice seemed to echo in
her ears, the mantra she’d heard countless times, The only
thing a worthless daughter can do is marry to the
advantage of her family. She longed for warmth and
passion. Not chilly politeness and indifference.
“You are one of the loveliest, most sought-after young
women in the ton,” Carolyn said in a soothing tone, giving
her hand a squeeze. “Your father will be entertaining
many offers for you. I noted you shared a dance with Lord
Haverly. He’s a decent gentlemen.”
“And as exciting as beige spots on a beige wall,” Julianne
said with a sigh. “He bears the same expression whether
he’s ecstatic or livid. Indeed, the only way to which one
he might be is if he’s forthcoming enough to say, ‘I’m
ecstatic’ or ‘I’m livid.’ He spoke of nothing but the new
cutaway jacket he just purchased. He waxed poetic about
every stitch. I thought I would doze off during our
waltz. Besides which, he’s bald.”
“Not completely,” said Emily. “He’s just rather thin on
top.”
“What about Lord Penniwick?” Sarah
asked. “You danced with him as well, and he’s quite
handsome. And has a full head of hair.”
“Yes. But unfortunately his full head of hair only comes
up to my chin. He doesn’t speak to me--he speaks to my
bosom.”
“An affliction that affects many men, I’m afraid,
regardless of their height,” said Carolyn.
“Yes, but there is a lasciviousness to Penniwick’s
expression that makes my skin crawl. Every time he looks
at me I fear he’s about to lick his chops. Then drool.”
“Drooling is definitely bad,” Emily said, wrinkling her
nose. “What about Lord Beechmore? He’s extremely handsome
and tall.”
Julianne shrugged. “And is very well aware of his
exceptional looks. I cannot see him falling in love with
any woman when he is so completely enamored of himself.
He’s also very aloof.”
“People have said you’re aloof, Julianne,” Emily pointed
out with her usual brutal honesty, “when you’re actually
just shy. Perhaps the same can be said about Lord
Beechmore.”
“Perhaps,” Julianne conceded. “But there is no mistaking
his conceit.”
“Don’t forget Logan Jennsen,” Sarah interjected. “You
danced with him as well. He’s incredibly handsome,
incredibly tall, and not the least bit aloof. And he’s
fabulously wealthy.”
Julianne shook her head. “I agree Mr. Jennsen is all
those things, but it doesn’t matter. Father would never
consider him as he’s a commoner, not to mention an
American.”
“Lord Walston has called upon you several times,” Carolyn
reminded her. “He’s attractive and seems quite nice.”
“I suppose. But he’s just so...” She searched for a word
to adequately describe the viscount who was, as Carolyn
said, quite nice. They’d shared a pleasant conversation,
but in spite of his obvious intelligence and kindness, he
hadn’t lit the slightest spark of interest within her.
“Dry,” she finally finished. “He’s like unbuttered toast.”
“Well, he’s the best of the lot, so slather a bit of
butter and jam on him,” Emily said with a hint of
impatience in her voice. “Unless...” Her eyes narrowed
and filled with speculation, an expression that snaked a
fissure of unease through Julianne. “You’re finding fault
with gentlemen who, while perhaps not perfect, are
certainly acceptable--and certainly far preferable to drag-
you-off-to-Cornwall Eastling. The only reason I can
fathom why you would do that is because your interest lies
elsewhere.”
A flaming flush scorched her cheeks and she gave a silent
prayer of thanks for the dim lighting. How had their
conversation floated into this perilous water?
“My interest lies in conducting a séance,” she said firmly.
“I meant that your interest lies in a different man,”
Emily stated just as firmly. “One we haven’t mentioned.”
Botheration, of course Emily, whom she’d known since
childhood, would see through her diversionary tactic.
“Who is it?” Sarah asked, her face alight with curiosity.
Someone I can never, ever have. Someone who made every
other gentleman mentioned pale in comparison. “No one.”
No one I can discuss with you. “I’m just feeling
unsettled because I suspect Father will be making his
decision within the next year, and all the gentlemen he’s
considering are so very...civil.” The word seemed to
burst from her, opening the floodgates to her
frustrations. “I’m so tired of polite and restrained
civility. I want a man who is interested in what I have
to say and who will discuss more than fashion, the
weather, and other trivialities with me. I don’t want to
merely exist--I want to live. I want passion. Feelings.
Fire.” Her words sounded desperate even to her own ears,
yet how could they not when desperation was all she felt?
Sarah reached out and clasped Julianne’s hand. Behind her
spectacles, Sarah’s eyes brimmed with a combination of
sympathy and concern. “As someone who is extremely
fortunate to have those things you want, I completely
understand your desire. You deserve that happiness--every
happiness--and I dearly hope it comes your way.”
“Here, here,” seconded Emily, and Carolyn nodded her
agreement.
Tears pooled behind Julianne’s eyes. For the show of
compassion and loyalty. And because she knew the things
she truly wanted were, by virtue of her circumstances, out
of her reach.
Not wanting to dwell on such a depressing subject,
Julianne said, “Thank you. Perhaps all of us hoping will
insure a favorable result. As for tomorrow night, shall
we say nine o’clock?”
“Perfect,” Sarah agreed, while Carolyn and
Emily nodded. “But now I think we’d best return to the
party. Matthew is no doubt craning his neck about,
looking for me, worried that something’s amiss. Good
heavens, by the time the baby is actually due to arrive I
fear his hair will be standing up straight on end--all of
it that he hasn’t yanked out--and he’ll teeter on the edge
of panic.”
Julianne smiled briefly at the picture Sarah’s
words painted of her normally calm, level-headed husband.
Clearly love could make one act in very uncharacteristic
ways.
Just then she heard a soft click. She turned
quickly and stared at the closed door. “Did you hear
that?” she whispered.
“What?” responded a trio of whispers.
“It sounded like a door being softly shut.”
She hurried over to the door and opened it a crack.
Peeked into the corridor. And found it empty. Relieved,
she drew a deep breath, and detected a hint
of...something. Something elusive she couldn’t place
other than to know it pleased her.
She turned back to her friends. “Clearly I’m
imagining things.”
“Or perhaps my aunt’s ghost is flitting
about,” Emily said with a grin. “Regardless, it’s time we
returned to the party.”
Julianne again peeked into the corridor, and
upon finding it empty, she silently motioned for her
friends to follow her. They made their way back to the
party, the sounds of merriment increasing as they
approached.
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