Authors: The White Swan Affair
Elyse Mady
The White Swan Affair
Elyse Mady
London, 1810
After the tragic death of her beloved, Hester Aspinall vowed never to be ruled by her passions again. Still, she is drawn to her landlord, handsome adventurer Thomas Ramsay—but she doesn’t fool herself that a man of his station would look twice at a poor tailor’s sister.
With the sea for a mistress, Thomas has no intention of entering into matrimony. And yet, he can’t get the plain-spoken and desirable Hester out of his mind, even though she’s never tried to secure his attentions as other women do.
Everything changes the night Hester’s brother is arrested during a raid on a gay brothel, the infamous White Swan. With no one else to turn to, and terrified Robert will hang for his crime, Hester accepts Thomas’s offer to bear the cost of the defense. A true gentleman, Thomas expects nothing in return—but Hester can no longer deny her own desires...
She may offer her body eagerly, but can she protect her heart?
96,000 words
Dear Reader,
I love May. In my part of the world, May is the beginning of
two things: beach season and festival season. Granted, beach season is just
barely starting in May, but it’s still starting. And with the unseasonably warm
winter we’re having, perhaps it won’t be too cold for the beach, even in early
May. As for the festivals, well, in my area we’re spoiled for choice. From April
to October we have everything from BBQ and beach festivals, to apple, strawberry
and watermelon festivals—even a river festival. It seems like every week there’s
something new to look forward to!
But if festivals don’t interest you it doesn’t mean you can’t
have something to look forward to as well. Each week in May we showcase a
variety of new Carina Press titles.
This month we’re proud to present debut author Cynthia
Justlin’s compelling novel
Edge of Light.
A true
spine-tingling and thrilling romantic suspense, this is one that will have you
on the edge of your seat and wondering where this author has been! Get ready for
a fantastic read.
Kicking off May, we have
Brook Street:
Rogues
by Ava March, which finishes up her fantastic male/male
historical novella trilogy. Releasing along with Ava is paranormal romantic
suspense author Alexia Reed and her novel
Hunting the
Shadows.
Later in May are three historical romances joining the Carina
Press lineup. From Jennifer Bray-Weber comes a swashbuckling pirate adventure,
The Siren’s Song.
Alyssa Everett gives us a
charming and passionate Regency romance in
Ruined by
Rumor.
The White Swan Affair
by Elyse Mady is the third of
our historical romance offerings this month.
Not quite historical romance but in the historical period
comes Christine Bell’s new steampunk romance
The Bewitching
Tale of Stormy Gale.
Join Christine as she takes you on a romantic
adventure through time.
Two erotic romance books are sure to satisfy those craving a
slightly naughtier story. Check out
Let Me In
by
Callie Croix, a hot BDSM novella, and Daire St. Denis’s erotic ménage romance
Party of Three.
Rounding out the month of May are releases from two returning
Carina Press authors.
Guarding Jess
by Shannon
Curtis is the next novel in her McCormack Security Agency series and the
follow-up to her debut title,
Viper’s Kiss.
Rebecca Rogers Maher offers up a satisfying and emotional, yet sexy, read in her
contemporary romance novella
Snowbound with a
Stranger.
I hope you enjoy this month’s new releases as much as we’ve
enjoyed bringing them to you.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your
thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
.
You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter
stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Contents
Chapter One
Hester Aspinall knew something was wrong the moment Robert failed to appear at the breakfast table Monday morning.
Her brother was a creature of unshakeable habit. Only a calamity of the worst sort would dislodge him from his routine.
He’d gone out last night a little past six o’clock, to celebrate his forthcoming nuptials to Miss Charlotte Stroud, the very pretty, very well-jointured daughter of a London wool merchant.
In between freshening his cravat and washing his hands and face, he’d told her his destination—The White Deer? The White Hart?—and, quite emphatically, not to wait up, for he expected to be a great deal later than usual.
But Robert had not come home, late or otherwise.
Now, the tea had grown cold and the porridge had begun to congeal into a thick grey mass. With a sigh, Hester cleared the table. The kitchen of their third floor lodgings was even more oppressive than the front room, the bricks still radiating heat, as she filled the dishpan and set to washing up.
Since their removal to London three years previously, she could count on one hand the number of times her brother had deviated from his usual practices, for he was a young man with an uncommonly developed need to succeed.
During the week, he rose at six, washed and dressed, then ate his breakfast, insisting on grace before every meal. At seven o’clock, he would leave their small set of rooms on the third floor of number one Brewer’s Court, stop briefly to bid their landlady, Mrs. Hannaford, good-day, then walked the three quarters of a mile to his shop, located in High Holborne, unlocking the doors at half past the hour and picking up from his tailor’s bench the work he had left in readiness the day before.
Such was his practice every day from Monday to Saturday. From time to time, when he had an excess of jobs, Hester joined him, keeping his accounts and waiting on the clients who came to order new suits, jackets, waistcoats and breeches, helping them select cloth and buttons. But most days, she busied herself domestically, doing the marketing and mending, preparing their meals and keeping their rooms in order, and visiting among their small circle of acquaintances.
It grated at times. The only day that was ever different was the Sabbath and even that alteration was as regular as clockwork, for Robert made it a practice never to miss a sermon at the local parish church. Hester would have been satisfied with a little less evangelical zeal, but knowing how much she owed to her brother after their parents’ deaths and all that he had done for her during her…misfortunes…she submitted with as much grace as she could summon to the minister’s long-winded exhortations to goodness.
Through the open windows of the front room came the sounds of the busy city street outside, the disgruntled lowing of oxen and the heavy clatter of wooden casks being delivered to a nearby alehouse reminding Hester that the morning was progressing apace and that dawdling would not locate her brother. Quickly collecting the kettle from its metal hook, she poured scalding water over the dishes and left them to dry.
A thought occurred. Perhaps he had left a clue to his whereabouts in his room. Hurrying down the narrow hallway to her brother’s bedroom, she stepped inside.
The narrow space was in perfect order. The bed was untouched, its counterpane as smooth and unwrinkled as it had been when she had made it the day before. On the bedside table, stood a half-burned candle, flint and two thick books. She picked them up: a collection of sermons their minister had recommended to her brother in advance of his wedding and a volume of Mr. Bowlder’s Shakespearean plays from which Robert was wont to read aloud in the evenings. She fanned the thin pages, hoping perhaps to find a ticket or handbill, but her efforts revealed nothing.
He had been going out far more of late, Hester realized suddenly, especially since he and Charlotte had come to their understanding at Easter. Of course, some of that increased sociability could be laid at Miss Stroud’s door, for she and her parents entertained often and the Aspinalls were frequent visitors to their table. But there were other evenings, like last night, where Robert had been vague about both his destination and his companions. Seen in the light of today’s disappearance, the outings suddenly took on a more sinister complexion.
Hester hurried to the clothes press and flung it open. A half-dozen plain linen shirts, folded and undisturbed. Finely knitted stockings, neck cloths and small clothes, all neatly arrayed in the shallow drawers. Two everyday suits, coat and britches, hung in the interior. Only Robert’s best suit was missing—the same suit he’d been wearing when she had seen her brother last the evening before.
Where was he?
Had he been set upon by thieves or ruffians?
Was he even now lying insensible in some alley, unable to call for aid? Or had he been claimed by a Good Samaritan and conveyed, unawares, to a hospital or other refuge? Should she wait in their lodgings, in case a note was delivered, or should she venture forth in search of him? She would need her bonnet and a shawl and…
The answer occurred to Hester with a rapid burst of insight and she wanted to laugh in relief.
The shop.
Her brother was an upright sort, unlikely to be caught up in disaster, but for all his rectitude, he was still a young man on the verge of marriage. While she had been imagining forms of calamity enough to do Mrs. Radcliffe proud, the truth was certainly far more pedestrian.
Robert had confessed his intentions last night of travelling to a public house with a large party of friends. While she did not know the particulars of his plans, given what she knew of such celebrations, he had in all likelihood consumed too much ale. Undoubtedly embarrassed at his out-of-character imbibing, what could be more logical than seeking refuge at his place of business, the better to avoid an anxious sister’s scolding and nurse a tender head?
Of course, Robert would be at the shop. It was the only explanation that made any sense.
She would pack a small breakfast of bread, cheese and fruit and take it to him now. Moving quickly from his room, she gathered up her gloves and bonnet from her bedroom and hurried into the kitchen, setting her market basket on the kitchen table to be packed with a meal that would hopefully settle an undoubtedly uneasy stomach. The clock in the parlour was chiming the hour as she left their apartment, hurrying down the stairs with unaccustomed haste.
* * *
“What do you mean, he isn’t here?”
“He isn’t here, miss,” Jeremy, the young apprentice, insisted again. “The shop was locked tight when I arrived this morning just a’fore seven, everything the same as when we left it on Saturday afternoon. Seeing as how Mr. Aspinall hadn’t arrived, I unlocked the doors and swept out the shop like I always do. Then Samuel arrived and we set to our work. We haven’t seen him at all. Naught but the shopkeeper from down the way, who come to be fitted for his waistcoat, have we, Sam?”
“Aye, just Mr. Butters and him so wide, a blind beggar couldn’t miss seeing him. Not meaning any disrespect to you or Mr. Butters, miss,” Samuel interjected when Jeremy nudged him sharply. “He’s just fond of his own wares, I warrant.”
“Thank you, Jeremy. Samuel. I do not doubt your accounts; I am merely worried for my brother’s well-being.” Hester frowned, rubbing absentmindedly at the knot tightening between her eyes.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” the apprentice reassured her. “If you like, I’d be happy to go and enquire after him at the pub.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have his directions.”
The young tailor’s face fell. “Oh, that’s too bad,” he said. “I’d reckoned he’d a’ told you where he was going afore hand. But if we hear from him, we’ll be sure and send word directly. Have no fear of that.”
“Thank you, Jeremy. Please continue as you were in the shop. I will continue my enquiries alone.”
Slowly, still distracted, Hester made her way out of the shop.
“Miss Aspinall?” A strong voice hailed her from the across the street and she turned reluctantly to meet its owner.
“Mr. Ramsay.”
Her brother’s landlord, Thomas Ramsay, owned the building from which Robert ran his small shop. He owned several other commercial buildings along the street too, including the largest, located on the corner next to the Bull, where he ran what was, from all accounts, a very successful trading company. The third son of a Wiltshire baronet, he was tall and dark, finely dressed but soberly, as befitted a man of business.
On the rare occasions they met, he had always been unfailingly polite, but he still made Hester uneasy. Her breath grew short and she had trouble speaking. His face reminded her of an etching of an angel she had once seen in one of Robert’s books: full lips, a strong chin, flashing eyes of the most remarkable depth. His hair was thick and his shoulders broad. He moved with the ease of a man long accustomed to using his muscles, and though his meticulously cut suit did not play up in any unbecoming degree the breath of his chest or the power of his fine legs, it could not disguise it completely.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Aspinall?” Thomas continued politely, stooping to peer beneath the brim of her wide leghorn bonnet. “I do not mean to speak out of turn but I saw the look of distress on your face, even at a distance. Did your brother’s apprentices say something out of turn? Would you like me to speak to them?”
His concern made her own awareness of him shameful. He was clearly unaffected by her proximity. It was at her door that such thoughts must be laid. The same sort of heated imaginings she’d once had about Jamie.
The thought of her former fiancé galvanized her and she forced herself to speak with a calm rationality that she was far from feeling. “No, they have done nothing. I am merely worried for my brother.”
“Mr. Aspinall? Has he come down ill?”
Thomas took her arm and began to walk beside her down the busy thoroughfare. Hester felt faint. She tried her very best to ignore the proximity between them. Somehow, whenever she was in his presence, common sense seemed to desert her. When he came into the shop to speak to Robert, she watched him whilst she’d busied herself behind the counter with some meaningless task. A smile. A nod. A few brief words. She’d collected their encounters like a naturalist collects treasured specimens, to be taken out at a later date and scrutinized.
Now, buffeted by harried passersby, the pressure of his gloved hand beneath her elbow excited her. As if she’d touched the glass surface of one of Mr. Nicholson’s ingenious influence machines, which conveyed a charge of electricity to whomever came in contact with it.
Thomas Ramsay had an influence over her. Whether electrical or chemical or illusory, she could not deny it. She knew too well the heady pull of attraction. And look how badly that had ended.
A dark, dark history whose shadow she had only recently escaped from.
As much as her past experience made her wish it otherwise, she knew she must fight against the urge to intensify their tenuous connection.
But something in the concern on Thomas’s handsome face and the warm heat from his large hand resting lightly beneath her elbow convinced her to pour out her worries. Not because she hoped to elicit his pity. She might fancy him, but she had her pride. She would never stoop to such a paltry ploy. But he seemed so utterly dependable, as though one might confide in him and find solace and aid.
“It is not illness but absence that has darkened my spirits,” she said in a rush. “Robert is not come home all night. He left after supper to join friends, to have a drink in their company but since then, I have neither seen nor heard from him. Nor has anyone else who might have had occasion to encounter him.”
“Indeed?” Thomas said, pursing his full lips in a way that distracted Hester from her worries, much to her abiding mortification. What sort of a sister was she, that she would allow herself to be diverted at such a time? “I have always found your brother to be steadiness personified, Miss Aspinall. If I may be so bold, what have you done to discover him?”
“Far too little. I must confess I do not even know the name of the pub he intended to visit, nor its locale.” She paused and then admitted to her secret worry. “What if he is injured and needs my assistance? I could not forgive myself if he were to…”
“Come, come,” her rescuer said. “It is far too early to be entertaining such morose ideas.” He glanced up the street, towards his office, and Hester felt ashamed. He was a busy man, with employees and demands on his time that far exceeded her own. How could she be so thoughtless as to impose upon him like this? Robert was his tenant, and she merely his tenant’s sister. It was her responsibility, not his, to locate her brother.
“I am delaying you from going about your responsibilities, Mr. Ramsay. I am sorry for burdening you like this. Robert would be appalled…”
“Mr. Aspinall will understand that his sister was in need of assistance and that as a gentleman, I would be remiss if I let you suffer worry.”
“Truly?” She didn’t mean to sound so doubtful, but it was a relief to have someone as capable as Mr. Ramsay offering his assistance. He smiled ruefully, as though he were unused to young ladies being so reluctant to remain in his company. Considering the inducements he presented to any young woman of feeling, it was hardly surprising. He was well-favoured, with such an abundance of both capital and connection, that he could easily be considered a catch for any gently bred lady in search of a husband.
Of course, she wasn’t one such as that. Not anymore. And there was no denying the gulf between their situations. Despite the fact that he was only Sir William Ramsay’s third son and would not inherit the title or the estate, he could still claim a fortune through his own efforts. He was as eligible a male specimen as could be imagined, and the only thing Hester could wonder at was his still being without a wife at one and thirty.
Robert had shown her the Ramsays’ listing in Debrett’s once. It had listed the family’s holdings and connections in minute detail. No doubt, he’d intended it as a warning against his sister’s unchecked impulses, but she had not needed that august publication to comprehend the impossibility of her attraction. Thomas Ramsay was as far from her sphere as the moon. If the beautiful debutantes who graced the balls and assemblies could not secure his attention and sway him to matrimony, there was no use pretending that she would ever enjoy the least chance either.