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Authors: Ella Quinn

The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh

BOOK: The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh
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CAUGHT IN A KISS
Anna's heart beat faster as his lips reached her throat. When he kissed her, she thought nothing could be better; then his tongue moved against hers, and she thought she'd swoon. She tried to put her arms around him, but they were trapped under his body. It was as if he were possessing her. Thank God he didn't know who she was.
“Anna, tell me what you're doing here,” Rutherford whispered into her ear.
“How did you know it was me? I thought you were just kissing . . .”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You thought I'd just kiss any woman? What the hell do you take me for?”
She struggled to sit up, but his body weighed her down. “I haven't even given you leave to kiss me, and you're doing even more!”
“Harumph.” He bent his head to kiss her again. “And I plan to continue.”
“Sebastian!” She wiggled to get out from under him.
“Anna. Be still. I'll let you up when you tell me what you're doing here. Until then . . .”
He moved his hand over her breast again and an ache started between her legs. His mouth covered hers and she opened to him. His tongue skated over her teeth, before caressing the inside of her mouth. She'd never imagined a kiss could be like this . . .
Books by Ella Quinn
THE SEDUCTION OF LADY PHOEBE
 
THE SECRET LIFE OF MISS ANNA MARSH
 
THE TEMPTATION OF LADY SERENA
 
 
 
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
THE
Secret Life
OF
Miss Anna Marsh
E
LLA
Q
UINN
eKENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
To my mother-in-law,
Margaret,
who has supported my
decision to write in
both words and deeds.
 
Thank you so much.
Acknowledgments
Writing
The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh
was an exercise in organization. One cannot have two converging love stories, spies and smugglers without it. Thanks so much to the Regency Romance Critique group as well as Romance Critiquers for bearing with me as they patiently reviewed several versions of
Anna Marsh
while I tried to figure it all out. To Courtney Milan who graciously offered up the name of her editor, Robin Harders. Robin edited the first few chapters when I needed her most and did it quickly. To the members of the Beau Monde Chapter of Romance Writers of America who are always available for advice and support.
As always to my wonderful agent, Elizabeth Pomada, and my editor at Kensington, John Scognamiglio, without whom this book would not be published, and the talented staff at Kensington.
Prologue
October 23rd, 1814, London
L
ord Florian Iswell, the fifth son of the Marquis of Wigmore, entered his rooms on Jermyn Street after eating dinner at his club in the convivial company of some old school friends. He spied a sealed letter propped up on the fireplace mantel.
His heart thudded painfully. It had been months since he'd seen his name in that bold scrawl. Gingerly, he reached out his trembling hand. Using two fingers, he plucked the missive up as if merely touching it might harm him, and broke the unadorned seal.
As he read the note, his stomach roiled. He should have never eaten the lobster patties.
My dear Florian,
Meet me at the Cock and Crow at eleven o'clock this evening. Do not, my friend, be late. We have matters of Great Urgency to discuss.
G.
“Envill,” Florian bellowed to his valet, “when did this arrive?”
“About an hour ago, my lord.”
Florian shook the letter. “Why did you not send for me? I'll barely make the meeting as it is.”
“I'm sorry, my lord. I told him you were out. He didn't say it was urgent.”
Forty-five minutes later, dressed in a shabby brown frieze coat and well-used hat, Florian entered the dingy tap of the Whitecastle inn a few minutes before the appointed time. The pungent smell of unwashed bodies, gin, and ale made him wish he could hold his handkerchief to his nose.
He glanced around the room. A man, indistinguishable from the other patrons, sat in the far corner, nursing an ale. From this distance, he was very like Florian, not much above average height, medium brown hair, and a forgettable face, though in the man's case, it was a ruse. Florian should have seen about killing Georges long ago.
Trying to maintain a casual appearance, Florian walked to the table and assumed a polite smile. “Georges, how are you?”
The man motioned to the chair opposite him. “I'm glad you could meet with me.”
After so many years in England, Georges's French accent was almost nonexistent.
“I didn't know I had a choice,” Florian said, dryly, eying the seat with disgust. Who knew what was on it.
The smile on the other man's lips didn't reach his dark eyes. “You did not. I merely thought to be pleasant.”
Florian ordered a tankard of ale and sat. “What's all this about? I thought we were finished.”
“Yes? Many thought the same,” Georges said. “One must not underestimate the Corsican.”
Sweat broke out on Florian's forehead. Napoleon? He was in exile on Elba. “I take it some small changes are expected?”
“How perceptive you always are.” Georges took a pull of his ale. “Then again, it runs in the family, does it not?”
“You would know.” Florian's stomach clenched. Between the smells and the unwelcome news, he was starting to feel ill. “Tell me what I can do for you.”
Georges leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We need to bring in some rather large packages. Your part is to contact the sort of people who can be helpful to the endeavor.”
Tightening his lips into a thin line, Florian asked, “Do you have any particular area in mind?”
“We”—Georges grinned wickedly—“rather like the cliffs of Dover and farther east along the coast.”
Florian nodded. “I can't go anywhere until the week's end. I'll contact you when I return.”
“My dear cousin.” Georges's cold gaze bore through Florian. “I knew I could count on you.”
Only because of the mistake he'd once made in trusting the wrong people. “I want this to be over. If I get caught . . . the scandal.”
“You should have thought of that before.” Georges stood. “I shall await word from you.”
“Yes, of course.”
Georges left the tavern. Florian waited a few minutes before quitting the place himself.
Bile rose in Florian's throat. He was to have been done with this. Where to find a smuggling gang? There was only one he knew of he might approach. What if they balked? No, they'd help bring the French spies in, or he'd threaten to expose them to the Home Office. He had too much at stake now to be caught. If his father found out, Florian would be cut off without a penny.
Despite what he'd told Georges, Florian decided to leave for Thanport tomorrow, after he made arrangements to rid himself of his demanding cousin.
Chapter 1
October 25th, 1814, Marsh House, London
M
iss Anna Marsh was in her parlor reading, when her maid, Lizzy, entered and held out a grubby piece of paper.
“Came from my brother, Kev, this morning,” Lizzy said.
Anna nodded, took the note, and opened it. She perused the contents, then closed her eyes. “I'm going to have to find a way to convince Mama to allow me to remove to Marsh Hill before the Little Season has ended. Though I cannot do anything until after Lady Phoebe's wedding.”
“That bad, miss?” Her maid screwed up her face. “You might have a time of it. I heard Lady Marsh was planning to go to some country house next week.”
Anna sighed. Ever since her brother Harry's death, Mama had become difficult. “She probably expects me to go with her.” Anna shrugged. “Well, I cannot. Someone has been sniffing around Thanport. I don't like the sound of it.” Anna rose and walked over to her mahogany writing desk. She opened a drawer. Eschewing the neat stack of elegant pressed paper, she pulled out a piece of the distinctly rougher type. “I'll write Kev and tell him to lay low until I can get there.”
K
No information exchanged or meetings scheduled until I arrive.
Mr. A
She sealed the message and handed it to Lizzy. “Make sure this goes out today, even if you have to take it yourself.”
“Yes, miss.”
Anna pinched her upper nose. “I do hope this is not going to make our lives even more complicated.”
“What do you think that other man wants?” Lizzy asked.
“I don't know.” Anna shook her head. “But I have a feeling whatever it is will do us no good. I'm going to Mama and try to talk her around. I do wish she and Papa could settle their differences.”
Lizzy nodded. “It does make things a bit more difficult.”
“That it does.” Anna smiled grimly.
A few minutes later, she knocked briefly on the door to the morning room in the back of the house, and tripped in only to stop. The gentleman sitting on a chair next to her mother's chaise rose. Anna curtseyed.
Sebastian, Baron Rutherford, rose and bowed. Anna fought the urge to smile. He was tall and rangy. The cut of his coat molded to his broad shoulders, and his pantaloons clung to his muscular legs. He had hair the color of a hazelnut and impossibly gray eyes. When he was angry, they shone like molten silver. Anna frequently made him angry.
She'd loved him since she was a child. If he'd asked for her hand when she'd first come out, she would have accepted him. Now, at one and twenty, she was wiser.
Sebastian—he hated his given name—had spent the last few years dangling after Anna's best friend, Phoebe, who was now marrying Lord Marcus Finley. With no more cover and his mother nagging at him to wed, he'd turned to Anna. Yet, the past two years had made it impossible for her to marry him unless he truly loved her and all she was. She wasn't sure they even knew each other anymore.
Anna met his gaze coolly. “Lord Rutherford, pray, what brings you here?”
“Oh, Anna dear,” her mother said. “Lord Rutherford has very kindly offered to help by escorting you to Charteries for Lady Phoebe's wedding.”
Anna raised a brow and stared at Sebastian for a moment before turning to address her mother. Lady Marsh reminded Anna of a wraith. Her mother's dark brown hair was still unmarked by silver. She always dressed in flowing gowns and draped gauzy shawls around her shoulders, giving the impression she would blow away if one breathed hard enough. Mama desperately wanted Anna married and could not understand how it was she'd reached the age of one and twenty still single.
As objecting to Sebastian's escort would do her no good, Anna kept the smile on her face. “Yes, Mama, very kind of him.” She glanced at him and thought she saw the remnants of a smug look on his face. “How do you think of these ideas?” she asked sweetly.
His lips twitched slightly. “I really couldn't tell you, Miss Marsh. It just popped into my head. We
are
both attending the wedding after all.”
It did not auger well for him that he had used her mother to get his way. “Yes, we do have that in common.”
“Well, my dear,” Mama said, apparently oblivious to the tension between Anna and her guest. “Lord Rutherford would like to leave fairly early. He is to stand up with Lord Marcus, you know.”
Anna's expression didn't change, nor did her dulcet tones. “Indeed? How interesting. I trust you're not doing it for the practice, my lord.”
The innocent expression in Miss Marsh's large blue eyes belied the stubborn set of her lips. Rutherford turned his choking laughter into a cough and looked down so she couldn't see his expression.
When he raised his head, she was in negotiations about something with Lady Marsh. He took the time to admire her. As always, Anna was elegantly attired. She wore a day gown in printed mulberry, and he could make out the lean lines of her slender figure. Lately, his fingers had itched to touch her in ways they never had before.
Gleaming chestnut curls were allowed to escape the loose knot held by combs at the back of her head. During the past year, her heart-shaped face had lost much of its youthful roundness. When she stood, the top of her head was below his collarbone. Rutherford had kicked himself at least a dozen times in the last few weeks for not having made a move to engage her affections sooner.
He had simply always just assumed she'd be available when he was ready, but he couldn't have been more wrong. To his chagrin, after Anna had made it very clear he'd have to win her heart, he'd noticed other gentlemen of his ilk also vying for her hand. He wished she'd go home to Kent where he'd have a better chance. At least he'd have her alone. The only other gentleman of marriageable age living in their area was that insufferable pup, Percy Blanchard. Rutherford had nothing to fear on that score.
“But Mama,” Anna said reasonably, “the Season is almost over. There are only two weeks left, and it will be terribly flat with Phoebe gone. Papa is at Marsh Hill, and so is Aunt Lillian. I'll be perfectly fine. I can leave from the wedding. If we take the coast roads from Sussex . . .”
“Anna,” her mother interrupted, “I will not hear of you taking that route. It is too dangerous. You will stay on the highway where it's safer.”
“Yes, Mama. Of course, you're right. Should I take everything with me or will you send it by courier?”
Rutherford frowned slightly. Anna had just won the argument and had really made no concessions at all.
“You will never fit all your baggage in the coach,” Lady Marsh said. “Have your maid pack your trunks, and I shall send them.”
“Thank you, Mama. I can make the arrangements. There is no need to put yourself out over it.” Anna bent and kissed her mother's cheek.
“Very well, my dear. Thank you.”
Rutherford wanted to shake his head. When he'd proposed last week, and she'd refused, he had thought it was out of pique that he hadn't asked earlier. It had been clear she was no longer a scruffy little girl in pigtails wearing grown-up clothes, but in fact was ready to take on the role of his wife.
Was
something else going on?
“Lord Rutherford,” Anna said. “I shall be ready to leave when you are. I'll see you in the morning.”
He watched her walk out of the room, and a sense that she had walked out of his life passed over him.
Drat the girl
. She was up to something, and he needed to find out what it was. Perhaps he should have been spending more time with Anna and less hiding behind Lady Phoebe's skirts. He was being ridiculous. He'd known Anna since her birth. That was one of the reasons he wanted to marry her. During the past few years his life had been complicated enough. With her, there would be no surprises.
He almost offered to escort her to Kent, but he'd received a message from the Home Office to hold himself ready, so he needed to return to London after the wedding.
He bowed to Lady Marsh. “My lady, I trust I shall see you in the morning. I am glad I could be of service.”
“My dear, Lord Rutherford, I cannot thank you enough for offering to keep an eye on my poor little Anna.”
Rutherford gave her his most charming smile. “Not at all, my lady, it will be my pleasure.”
He took his leave. Poor little Anna, indeed. The minx. What could she be up to that necessitated an early return to Kent?
 
Rutherford arrived at his town house in Berkeley Square to find a letter waiting for him asking him to attend Lord Jamison of the Home Office. He immediately set out again. Whatever it was, it had to be important for them to contact him after he'd sold out.
Twenty minutes later he entered Jamison's chamber.
Jamison stood and motioned Rutherford to a seat. “Glad you could come.”
Rutherford regarded the large, buff, fair-haired gentleman with a sapient eye. “What is it you need me to do?”
“We think we've a bit of a problem in your area of Kent.” Jamison glanced through some documents on his desk. “All along the coast actually. You're not the only one we're calling in.” His bushy brows drew together. “We've heard rumors out of France that some of Napoleon's former officers might take up his cause. I've no doubt they'll be trying to run information through the smuggling gangs. That's where you come in.” Jamison put his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. “Harry Marsh used to keep track of the smugglers in your area. You'll have to do it now.”
Rutherford frowned. “I thought they'd disbanded. That was the reason Harry could leave to work elsewhere.”
Jamison shook his large head. “No, my boy. Harry had got someone else to take them over. Never told us who it was. All he said was the man was responsible and would have good control over them. After all, it was only to have been for a few months.”
Rutherford leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. “I wonder who? I'll have to scout around and try to find out who the smugglers' head man is. Harry always took the lead with them. I went a few times, but I'm not even sure they'd remember me.” Rutherford sat up and scowled. “I wish to hell he'd stayed and not gone over to France.”
Jamison nodded. “He was a good man. Reckless, but good. A shame his family can't be told the truth about his death.”
“I've no idea how they'd feel about his being an intelligencer. Better to let them think he died in Badajoz rather than on a mission.” Most Englishmen thought spying the lowest form of vocation. If they only knew the military could not have won without its spies and the information they gathered. “I'll be able to travel to Kent in a couple of days.” Rutherford stood. “I've a good friend getting married. I'll go after the wedding.”
Jamison rose and held out his hand. “Thank you. I know you don't have to do this.”
Rutherford clasped his former chief 's hand and smiled. “I'll accept your thanks. You're likely the only one to offer them.”
“Rutherford,” Jamison said, “let me know if you need reinforcements.”
“You can be sure that I will.”
Damn
Harry Marsh for going off and getting himself killed. Who the devil did he find to take his place? A mental review of the men in his area capable of handling the task came up with nothing. Two years ago, they had all either been too young, gone off doing other things, or incompetent.
The only good thing to come of this was that he would be able to escort Anna home after the wedding ceremony. He wondered how she'd take that bit of news and decided not to tell her until they were already at Marcus's family's estate.
 
Anna entered her bedchamber to find Lizzy packing. “Did you send the note off?”
“Yes, miss, I had a footman take it.” Lizzy said. “Told him it was a letter from me to home.”
“Good. We'll be traveling home after the wedding.” Anna looked at the clothes spread around the room. “You've no time to lose. Everything must be packed this afternoon. I shall make arrangements for the courier to pick the trunks up in the morning.”
“Yes, miss. I have to say, I'll be glad to be home.”
For the first time that day, Anna relaxed. “Yes, it will be good to be back in Kent again. Do you want me to help you?”
Lizzy grinned. “No offense, miss, but you're no hand at folding. I'll have it done in a trice.”
“Very well, then,” Anna replied. “If you're sure you don't need my help, I have some shopping I should complete.”
“No, miss.” Her maid shook out a gown. “You go on.”
Anna found a footman to accompany her, left a message for her mother with the butler, and walked out the door in the direction of Bond Street. She had several items of clothing she needed to fetch and a new hat to buy, as well as silk stockings and other small items she'd not find anywhere closer than Dover.
Two hours later, pleased that she'd found all she needed in such a short amount of time, she returned to Marsh House in time for tea.
Her mother handed her a cup, and Anna helped herself to some of the various biscuits as well as a scone with clotted cream and jam. “I've finished my shopping, and Lizzy is packing. The carter will pick up my trunks in the morning.”
“I hope you have a wonderful time at the wedding, my dear,” Lady Marsh said. “I was so pleased to hear that Lady Phoebe is finally marrying. She certainly has taken her time settling on someone.”
“Yes, Mama. We are all delighted for Phoebe.” Mama had in no way approved of the license Phoebe had been given and could not fathom any lady's waiting for a love match. Mama's match had been arranged, and she and Papa had got along very well until Harry died. Then it all seemed to fall apart.
BOOK: The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh
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