Lady Hermione Merryhew is an unwilling heroine when, in
1871, a stranger enters her Lancashire inn bedroom where
children are sleeping. Her life has suddenly become TOO
DANGEROUS FOR A LADY. Hermione has been musing on the
possibility of being trapped in marriage with a distant
cousin who inherited her father's land. The land was
useless for farming, so her family seemed well rid of it.
Now however the sober new marquis Porteous Merryhew has
discovered a wealth of coal, the newly valuable fuel. Can
she afford to refuse his suit, just a governess to her
sister's children?
The intruder seems like a stranger, but Hermione gradually
places him as a Lieutenant Thayne whom she'd met at a ball
prior to one of Wellington's campaigns. Her brother was
killed in the Napoleonic Wars. She has no idea why this
intruder, who admits to stealing papers and says he needs
to remain hidden overnight, doesn't strike her as
threatening. He even allows her to tie him up. What might
a
refined lady do with a bound gentleman?
The social conditions of the day are deftly drawn in to
the
motivations of the characters. Britain is in turmoil, with
new industrial cities enriching a few and employing many
more at poor wages in bleak conditions. Reform for a more
equitable society is being promoted, but Lieutenant Mark
Thayne is determined to protect all the nobility from a
French style revolution. Other nice details include
Hermione's light travelling corset, which she can tie and
loose herself, so no maid is required. There's lots of
intelligent humour in her dalliance with the lieutenant.
With plots afoot, and honest working men tired of being
unable to feed their families, the air becomes thick with
hostility and mobs gather at crossroads. This stirring
story of a dangerous journey on the Manchester to London
road is full of realism and character. Hermione arms
herself with a dagger. Her heart is in danger of being
lost
to Mark, but her physical self needs protection too.
I am highly impressed by the research and attention to
detail which has gone into creating TOO DANGEROUS FOR A
LADY. Jo Beverly has splendidly shown that antiterrorism
was a very real necessity in Britain at this time, with
the
Riot Act being read to quell crowds, returned soldiers
left
jobless, no political representation for the working class
and new inventions appearing daily. This book can be read
perfectly well as a standalone but it is well down a
series
called
The new novel in the Rogue Series from the New York Times
bestselling author—and five-time RITA Award winner -
Lady Hermione Merryhew, daughter of an impoverished
marquess, already has her share of problems. The last
thing
she needs is an intruder in her bedroom, especially not a
fugitive thief. She should scream, but the shabby rascal
is
a man from her past.
Six years ago, at her first ball, dashing Lieutenant Mark
Thayne failed to steal a kiss, but succeeded in stealing a
little of her heart. She's older and wiser now. She can't
toss him to the wolves. Besides, she wants that kiss.
Now Viscount Faringay, Mark has never forgotten Lady
Hermione, but he mustn't involve her in his dangerous
life.
He's infiltrated the Crimson Band, violent revolutionaries
who plan a bloodbath in London, and if he survives the
night
he will be able to destroy them. Hermione is involved,
however, and only he can protect her.
Excerpt
Lady Hermione Merryhew is the daughter of a marquess, but
he
was the Poor Marquess. To make matters worse, both his
sons
died so that the title and estates, such as they are, have
gone to a distant relative. The last straw is that the
heir,
Porteous Merryhew, has offered to marry Hermione and she
can't stand him. Can she refuse, however, when he offers
to
her her older sister and her family, who need the money.
Now a long lost maternal relative has been in touch to say
that he's dying and wishes to see his only relatives.
Great-uncle Peake was a black sheep who went to the Orient
and family stories say he made a fortune there. So the
whole
family has set off to attend his death bed, hoping for an
inheritance. At an inn they have two adjoining bedrooms
and
Hermione is looking after her two young nephews. To help
settle them, she's extinguished the candles and is making
do
with firelight and dwelling on her fate if they don't
inherit a fortune.
--------------
She'd responded to Porteous's proposal with a request for
time to think, claiming discomfort with him replacing her
dead brothers. He'd not pressed his suit, but she imagined
him now like a cat watching a mouse hole, confident that
she'd have to emerge into his claws in the end.
Please let Great Uncle Peake be as rich as we think, and
please let our interpretation of his invitation be correct
-- that he’s dying and intends to leave his all to us, his
only close living relatives. Please!
She was urging her wish upward to whatever powers attended
to a selfish maiden's prayers when the door to the
corridor
opened. She turned quickly to whisper to the servant to be
quiet. But the man coming in was no servant. He closed the
door, flipped the rotating bar into place and then leant
his
ear against the wood, listening.
Even from where she sat Hermione heard rapid footsteps in
the corridor and urgent voices. She stayed fixed in place,
hoping the intruder would leave before noticing that she
was
there. Thinking better of that, she eased to one side,
toward the poker.
He turned sharply, and across the room his eyes caught and
reflected the flame in the firelight. Heart thumping, she
grasped the poker and stood on guard. But rather than
attacking or fleeing, he raised a finger to his lips in a
clear "shush" gesture. Stunned, she couldn’t think what to
do. She should shriek for help, but that would wake the
boys. Even worse, anyone who ran to her aid might leap to
scandalous conclusions.
And he wasn’t attacking her yet.
The room was lit only by firelight which hardly reached
his
shadowy corner, but she could make out a tall man wearing
an
ordinary outfit of jacket, breeches, and boots, though he
lacked a hat and his hair
hung down to his collar. Who was he? What was he?
Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor,
Rich man, poor man, beggar man....
Thief.
As if he'd heard the thought, he turned toward her again.
She made herself meet his eyes, trying not to show the
fear
that had dried her mouth. She could hear no disturbance in
the corridor now, so she jabbed a finger outward,
mouthing,
"Leave! Or I scream."
His response was to lean back against the door, arms
folded.
She glanced at the door into Polly and William's room, but
it was in the wall closest to the invader. He could block
her way in a couple of strides. She was going to have to
scream.
Then two-year-old Roger stirred and whined, "Minnie...."
The man looked sharply at the big bed. Hermione dashed to
put herself between him and the boys, poker in hand.
"He's not really awake," she whispered, "but you must go,
now."
He relaxed again. "I'm afraid that's not quite
convenient."
At least he, too, spoke softly, and with a surprisingly
well-bred accent. That didn't mean he was safe or honest.
Times were hard for everyone.
"It’s not at all convenient for you to be here,” she said.
“I will scream if you don’t leave.”
"You'd wake the children."
"And the whole inn, including whoever is after you.
Begone."
If he'd made a move toward her she would have screamed,
but
it seemed an odd thing to do when he remained leaning
against the door. "If you fear people inside the inn,
leave
by the window."
He pushed off the door and walked with easy grace past to
look outside. "You think I have wings?"
She could escape through the door now, but she couldn't
abandon the boys. "I thought thieves were adept at such
things."
"That's doubtless why I'm not a very good thief." He
turned
to her and a touch of moonlight illuminated one side of a
sculpted, handsome face, tweaking her memory.
Did she know the rascal? How could that be?
"The window looks onto the inn yard," he said, "and there
are people down there. Someone would be bound to notice me
scrambling down the wall, and then..." He drew a finger
across his throat.
She sent him a look of powerful disbelief.
He nodded.
It must be play-acting, but she didn't want to be
responsible for a death. "The corridor seems quiet now.
Leave that way."
"They'll be watching. I'll have to spend the night here."
"You most certainly will not!" She was hard put not to
shriek it.
"Minnie.... I'm thirsty."
Perhaps she’d raised her voice. Five-year-old Billy was
sitting up. What would this desperate man do if the child
saw him and cried out?
"I'm coming, dear." Hermione side-stepped to the bedside,
keeping an eye on the intruder, though she had no faith in
her ability to hold him off, poker or not. In any case she
had to put it down to get the water, but she kept
half-an-eye on the intruder as she poured some into a
glass
and gave it to the lad.
Billy hadn't noticed the man and was still mostly asleep.
He
drank, murmured thanks and settled again. But he mumbled,
"Want to go home."
"Soon, dear," she said, smoothing blond curls from his
brow.
Six days would not be soon to a five year old, but it was
the best she could offer. She took the risk of drawing the
bed curtains in the hope the boys wouldn't be disturbed
again.
"So you're Minnie," the man said, speaking as quietly as
before.
She saw no reason to reveal her real name so she agreed.
"And yours, sir?"
"Ned."
It was more convincing than John or Henry, but it wouldn't
be real.
"Am I allowed to stay?" he asked.
"No."
"I won't harm any of you."
"Why should I believe that?"
"For no reason at all."
Even so, her instincts said he was safe, which was
ridiculous, except.... Dear Lord, could it be...?
"You could tie me up," he said.
She started. "What?"
"If you tied me to that wooden chair you'd all be safe and
you could sleep."
Still distracted, Hermione could hardly make sense of his
words. "You imagine I travel with rope in my valise?"
"Stockings would do."
"You're deranged."
"Not at all. Think about it."
But instead she was thinking that he just might be, could
possibly be, the dashing dance partner, the man who’d
almost
given her her first kiss, the soldier she’d never been
able
to forget. Thayne. Lieutenant Thayne. She’d never known
his
first name. It could be Ned, but if so, how had he sunk to
such a state?
One thing was clear. If there was any possibility, she
couldn't eject him to possible death.
She forced her mind to clarity. "It won't work. In the
morning servants will come to build up the fire or bring
hot
water."
"Servants won't come until you summon them and no one can
enter if the doors are barred."
He flipped the latch on the adjoining door then walked to
the chair. He moved it to face the fire and then sat down,
presenting his back to her. She could pick up the poker
and
hit him over the head with it, except she would never do
such a thing and apparently he knew it.
Did he know why?
That would mean that he’d recognized her just as she’d
recognized him.
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