Dangerous Liaison
Lords of Whitehall, Book 2
Ann Chaney
Copyright © 2020 by Ann Chaney
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
For more information, address: annchaney@annchaney.com
Interior Format & Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc.
Published by Windtree Press https://windtreepress.com
Dangerous Liaison / Ann Chaney – 1st ed.
ebook Rom. Suspense. 978-1-952447-32-7 / 2020 Dangerous Liaison
Print. Rom. Suspense. 978-1-952447-33-4 / 2020 Dangerous Liaison
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Other Books by Ann Chaney
Thank You
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To
Zola and Joel
John and Laura
I love each of you dearly.
Chapter 1
November 1809
Berkeley Square, London
Lady Philomena Preston, Whitehall’s legendary spymaster had a horrid sense of timing that rivaled her outrageous sense of fashion. Moreham hurried up the stairs to Lady Philly’s front entry. The sooner he spoke with her, the sooner he would be across the street in his own bed. He’d not slept more than a handful of hours in the last three days, not that the old girl would care. He and his associates theorized Philly herself hadn’t slept since Napoleon was crowned emperor five years earlier.
James Buckley, the 3rd Earl of Moreham, covered his mouth to stifle another yawn. He winced at the sight of Philly’s butler standing in the open doorway. Neither spoke as a footman stepped forward to take Moreham’s hat and greatcoat. The rhythmic ticking of a long case clock echoed through the shadows.
He didn’t like visiting Lady Philly’s pied-à-terre during the day, but after midnight the old townhouse took on a gothic ghostly air that made his skin crawl. The townhouse was where the lady conducted her business activities as she called them. In truth, she served at the will of the King’s Privy Council. Moreham and many others answered to her in dealing with nefarious activities of those dastards intent on causing harm to the King’s Government.
The butler cleared his throat. “My lord, I’m to take you through to the library straight away.”
Shivers skated down Moreham’s back as he followed the somber gatekeeper into the bowels of the townhouse. His previous encounters with Philly in the dead of night had repeatedly proven nothing good ever came out of being summoned thusly. No doubt tonight would only confirm that belief.
His senses heightened as his escort shuffled his way down the corridor. Portraits of the lady’s Preston family ancestors hung the length of the corridor. Another wave of unease traveled up his back as he walked past the long dead earls and countesses. He refused to glance back over his shoulder to see if those deathly glares were pointed in his direction. Philly relished intimidating her guests. Far easier to gain the upper hand. Where he was concerned, she succeeded.
The butler nodded to two footmen standing guard by the library doors. In unison, the pair stepped forward and opened the two doors with a courtly flourish. The male servants in the Preston household were trained in weaponry and the pugilistic arts. His sense of foreboding held firm as he concentrated all his efforts on keeping his feet moving forward into the room rather than bolting for the entry hall and the street beyond.
His first clue something was amiss was the sight of Lady Philly’s desk with no Philly sitting in the high-backed monstrosity of a chair, upholstered in royal purple velvet. Moreham wondered if the king had gifted the chair to Philly for some courageous act. Equally disturbing was the cold fireplace. The old lady never occupied a room without a blazing fire, even in summer. Whoever had requested this meeting was not Philomena Preston.
At his back, the soft report of the door latch mechanism engaging shot through the silence. He refused to look over his shoulder. Moreham proceeded further into the room and stopped next to an ugly Egyptian settee.
Philly’s townhouse was a fortress. She recruited her footmen personally from the public schools in England. A fiercely loyal cadre of guards who took an oath to give their lives for the King. Only someone Philly invited would gain entrance. Whoever sent for him had Philly’s blessing. Still, not one to take chances, he remained alert.
“My lord, my thanks for coming so quickly. We only have a limited amount of time before daybreak.” A lady’s disembodied voice echoed from the shadows. The voice tugged at his memory. He knew that voice.
He looked around the room, trying to determine where this lady was located, but only saw darkness. The soft rustling of skirts warned him an instant before the lady floated forward into the light of the candles strategically placed on tables in the middle of the room.
He winced as Miss Gillian Browning made her way to stand an arm’s length from him. Dressed in a drab gown more suitable for a servant than the ward of a duke, the woman bore little resemblance to the lady he’d danced with only a fortnight earlier.
Her hair brushed smooth, not a single curl in sight, into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Society’s young bucks called her “Plain Jane Browning” behind her back. Seeing her dressed so did reinforce the validity of that sobriquet.
He refused to demand an explanation of why she was here in Philly’s townhouse of all places. Doing so would be a waste of time. There could be only one reason the lady would risk ruination.
Someone talked, but who?
Moreham decided that question would have to be tabled until later when, if he were fortunate, the lady would voluntarily give him the name. More importantly now, he needed to take control of this encounter.
He stepped forward to close the distance between them. No surprise, the lady immediately stepped
