Too Hot For A Spy. Pearl WolfЧитать онлайн книгу.

      ZEBRA BOOKS

       Kensington Publishing Corp.

      http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      To Shelley Freydont

       Friend, Mentor, Critique Partner, Wine Lover

      Acknowledgments

      I am fortunate in my choice of friends and colleagues, for they have been of immense help to me in the writing of this book. In particular I wish to thank first reader Sally Metzger for her comments, and Shelley Freydont, whose guidance and humor I cannot live without.

      In addition, surgeon Dr. Rick Nedelman continues to amaze me with his knowledge of medical history. I owe him many thanks for his intelligent input.

      My thanks also to all the authors who have written books on the Regency period. Their scholarly works have been an invaluable research tool for me.

      Lovers of historical romance are notorious in their diligence when it comes to informing an author of errors in their work. I invite you to let me know when you find mine. I promise to take full responsibility and apologize to you for them.

      Chapter One

      London, 1816—Saturday, The Twenty-second of June

      His Grace, the Sixth Duke of Heatham, and his family were trapped in the crush of carriages that lined the road in Berkley Square. Shouts of drivers and ostlers, snorts of horses, the clatter of hooves and the oohs and aahs springing from the mouths of curious onlookers, greeted their ears with a bizarre street symphony. The duke, however, paid it no mind, for he was engaged in a battle of wits with his eldest daughter, Lady Olivia.

      “I’m merely asking you to give young Smythe-Jones serious thought. Why won’t you at least consider his marriage offer, Livy? He has all the qualities I deem appropriate to make you a fine husband.”

      “Then you marry him, Father!”

      “You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

      “Thank you for that reminder, Father,” she said with asperity. “I hadn’t been aware that my four and twenty years make me such an ancient crone.”

      The duke prepared to retaliate with an equally tart retort, but the duchess put a restraining hand on his arm which caused him to swallow his reply. The ongoing war of words between father and daughter had begun almost as soon as the crested brougham had started out for the Hobbleton Ball, one of the last entertainments of the London season.

      The battle with her father ran a crease across Lady Olivia’s brow, marring an otherwise lovely face. Emerald green eyes, hair the color of wheat, a pointed chin and seductive lips were an irresistible magnet for many a young man. Tonight she had a special reason for looking her very best. She had chosen a shimmering green gown of silk moiré and Belgian lace cut low to enhance her well-shaped figure. Green ribbons the color of her eyes entwined her long curls, artfully arranged by her clever French abigail Nancy. Matching green slippers sparkled with tiny crystals as they peeked out from under her gown.

      When the duke and his family were presented to Lord and Lady Hobbleton, Lady Helena, the more diplomatic of the two Fairchild sisters, turned to her parents and said, “Would you mind if Livy and I take ourselves off to the withdrawing room to freshen up?” With an approving nod from her mother, Helena took Olivia’s hand and spirited her away.

      The two sisters were close confidantes, yet they were not at all alike in appearance. Where Olivia was a fair-skinned beauty, Helena, four years her junior, was a dark exotic whose olive skin, slightly slanted brown eyes and high cheekbones held a hint of the Orient. Her hair was brown, lightly bronzed by streaks from the sun. She wore a gown of ivory silk that became her. She was taller than her sister, yet had an equally well-formed figure.

      When they entered the withdrawing room, it was already crowded with young ladies gossiping, fixing stray strands of hair, or simply envying one another’s attire. Helena dragged her sister into a quiet corner. “Sit,” she ordered. “It’s clear you need some time to compose yourself. You’ve allowed Father to crawl under your skin once again, you foolish girl. When will you learn? He likes nothing more than to draw you into battle, thinking to wear you down until you bend to his will.”

      “A hopeless cause, for I won’t bend, I promise you that. You know as well as I do that he tries to control all of us, though it’s worse for me because I’m the oldest.” A wicked grin crept across her face. “If he only knew my real purpose, he’d have a fit.”

      Her sister laughed. “I agree. If you succeed, father won’t be able to stand the shock, not to mention the humiliation.”

      “Humiliation? No, I don’t think it would come to that. Not if I were successful. You know perfectly well he can’t stand for any of his children to fail. Good thing for me he doesn’t know what it is I actually do in the home office. It’s menial clerical work to be sure, but it’s merely a first step to what I really want. Tonight’s the night for me, Helena. I’m determined to confront the home secretary and persuade him to give me the opportunity to move up the ladder, so to speak. See if I don’t.”

      Helena smiled at her determination. “You’ll do it, too, if I know you. No one is more tenacious than you, dearest. If the home secretary survives your planned onslaught, I’ve no doubt you will prevail.