Sweet Enemy: A Veiled Seduction Novel Read online

  THE START OF A DÉTENTE

  Something tilted within him, and Geoffrey gave in to the need that had been building for days.

  He kissed her.

  It was no sweet suitor’s kiss, begun with a slow lean and fraught with anticipation. No, it was a hungry kiss, initiated first by his hands, which cupped Liliana’s face in a firm grip, followed by his mouth, which enveloped hers with ravenous desire.

  She moaned low in her throat, a velvety sound that shot fire through him. He half expected her to pull away, but instead, she leaned up on her toes, relaxing into his hold and pressing herself against him. She opened to his exploration, allowing his tongue access to her mouth. Her skin was soft beneath his hands, like satin as his finger brushed the tender underside of her earlobe. She shivered in reaction, sending a tremor through him as well.

  Sweet Enemy

  A VEILED SEDUCTION NOVEL

  HEATHER SNOW

  A SIGNET ECLIPSE BOOK

  SIGNET ECLIPSE

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

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  First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, February 2012

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Copyright © Heather Snow, 2012

  All rights reserved

  EISBN: 9781101575406

  SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is dedicated to the loves of my life:

  My first love—my mother, Sarah Fry—who taught me what unconditional love is and who always told me I could do anything I set my heart to…

  My lost love—my grandmother, Gretchen Shepherd—who inadvertently began my love of romance novels when I found hers stashed on the very bottom shelf of her bookcase, hidden behind her recliner. I miss you, Nana, and I hope you would have loved Sweet Enemy—even if I would have blushed to know you were reading my love scenes…

  My lifetime love—my husband, Jason—without whom I would be utterly incomplete…

  And my special thanks go to:

  Mona Snow, Gretchen Jones, Fran Abram and Stacey Long, who waded through so many beginning drafts of this story as I found my way that it bordered on the cruel and unusual…

  And to:

  Katy Madison, Elisabeth Burke and Keri Smith, who helped take my writing to the next level. I couldn’t have done it without you…

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chelmsford, February 1817

  R

  ejected. Again. Blasted men—they were so shortsighted. Could they just not see what she truly had to offer? Liliana Claremont entered the cottage through the kitchen, muffling the click of the latch with her wool scarf. She had no wish to wake Carsons, her butler and all-around manservant. She’d given the rest of the staff holiday since she wasn’t expected back for a fortnight yet. But after the Royal Society rejected her paper on the possible isolation of chemicals from plant life, she couldn’t stomach staying in London another moment.

  She removed her hooded cloak with a frustrated tug. She would have swallowed her pride and remained in Town if the Fellows would have allowed her to attend their upcoming lecture. But the only woman ever to make it past the hallowed doors of the Royal Society had been the Duchess of Newcastle, and she only once. Liliana huffed. She was no duchess, but one would think that being the daughter of an esteemed chemist, she would at least be able to attend a meeting as a silent guest. Particularly since she had the support of his colleague, who’d taken up her scientific education after Papa’s death. Alas, no. How would she ever become the first woman admitted to their ranks if she couldn’t even get past the threshold?

  A loud thump jerked her attention to the hallway.

  A frown creased her face. What could Carsons possibly be doing at well past midnight?

  A rumbling crash came next, followed by a series of bumps. Almost like books hitting the floor…

  Liliana dropped her cloak and dashed down the darkened hall. Light spilled from the library doorway. Foolish man. Carsons was five and sixty if he was a day. He needn’t be moving things, and especially
not when there was no one around should he fall.

  She flew through the door, scanning the room for the servant. “Are you all ri—” The words died on her lips and shock stilled her feet. She felt her eyes go wide. Books lay everywhere, pulled from their shelves haphazardly like so many feathers plucked from a stew hen. Drawers had been torn from the desk and upended onto the flagged stone floor. The cushions of the settee had been sliced, vases smashed, even plants yanked from their pots, soil scattered around—

  A hand clamped over Liliana’s mouth and she was jerked back against a solid chest. A sinewy arm snaked just below her clavicle, pinning her upper arms against her body, and her against the intruder. Her heartbeat spiked with her fear and she drew a sharp breath through her nose. Who? What? She struggled, fighting to wrench free.

  A calloused thumb moved down to pinch her nose, cutting off her breath. “Be still,” a rough voice growled against her ear. She immediately complied. As a scientist, she knew precisely what would happen to her body if she didn’t start breathing again—and soon. Her lungs screamed and her blood pulsed urgently through her veins in a futile attempt to deliver air to her starving system. Yet he didn’t relent.

  Finally, as black spots danced before her eyes, the man released her nose and Liliana greedily sucked air back into her lungs.

  “Where does your mistress hide her valuables?” the voice demanded.

  Mistress? Liliana’s head still spun. Ah, the man must think her a maid. Disheveled and dressed as she was for travel, and given that she wasn’t supposed to even be in Chelmsford, it was a logical assumption.

  He removed his hand just enough to allow her to croak, “Valuables?”

  “Jewels and the like.”

  Liliana scrambled for an answer that might win her freedom. But she had nothing of the sort the thief seemed to be looking for. What would he do to her when he realized? He’d already proven himself a vandal and showed no reluctance to do her harm—and God only knew what he’d done to poor Carsons. Her only hope was escape. “I dunno, sir,” she said, mimicking the lower speech of the villagers. “I only just started here round Christmas.”

  The man made a disgusted sound and started to pull her backward, to God knew where. Liliana tried to remain calm, but she couldn’t catch her breath, as the clamoring of her heart seemed to take up all of the space in her chest. Her upper arms were still pinned, but she could move her forearms just a bit. She surreptitiously slipped a hand into the deep pocket of her dress, her fingers curling around the tiny decorative tinderbox she carried with her always, as a means to light candles or lamps or spirit burners in the lab. She flicked the catch with her thumb. Its contents were an experimental mixture of her own creation and weren’t caustic to the touch—but if introduced to the tender tissue of the eyes might do damage enough for him to release her. Though it went against everything in Liliana to harm another person, she would do what she must to escape and run for help.

  His grip loosened as he tried to maneuver her through the doorway. It was now or never. Liliana dug a sharp elbow into her captor’s ribs, taking advantage of his surprise to pull away. She spun, her other arm coming round as she raised the tinderbox to her lips and blew the powder into the man’s face.

  “Ah! Christ!” he yelled, his hands immediately flying to his eyes.

  Liliana didn’t waste her chance. She ran—down the hall, through the kitchens and into the night, not stopping for more than a quarter mile, until she reached a neighboring estate.

  Three days later, the cottage was nearly back to rights. By the time Liliana had returned with help, the intruder had fled. They’d found Carsons trussed up, with a wicked knock to the head but otherwise unharmed. He’d been recovering nicely with the tincture she’d concocted in her father’s old laboratory, which was now hers.

  Liliana ran a dust rag gently over a volume on eudiometry before placing it back in the shelves of the library. As most of the books had been tossed during the ransacking, she’d decided to recatalogue her collection. But the entire episode still troubled her. While she’d heard crime had surged in England since the end of the war, hearing and experiencing were two vastly different concepts. The local magistrate had concluded that her cottage must have been targeted because she’d been out of town for several weeks and credited her with chasing the villain off before he could burgle others, too.

  She climbed down the rolling ladder and retrieved another volume—this one on Dalton’s atomic theory—dusted it on the way back up and slid it into the stacks. It caught on something, not quite fitting against the back of the shelf. Liliana pulled it out again, looking to see what blocked it, but saw nothing there. She shoved with more force and heard a click.

  Odd. When she tugged the book out once more, she saw a crack in the wall behind the shelf. No, not a crack, but an intentional division—a door. She must have tripped some sort of lock. Her natural curiosity bubbling, Liliana shoved the books aside until she was able to open the door fully. The space couldn’t be wider than two hands square. And there was something in it.

  She reached inside and pulled out a wrapped bundle, testing its weight. What could it be? It was light, no heavier certainly than one of her thinner books. Papers, maybe?

  She scrambled down the ladder, excitement pushing aside her earlier concerns. Given that Claremont Cottage had been in her family for eight generations, there was no telling what the find might be. But oh, if it were something of Papa’s…Just the thought that it could be sped her feet. She had precious little of him. Only his scientific papers and a few scraps of silly coded messages he’d given her to solve as a game they’d played in the last few months of his life. He’d been taken so young, so unexpectedly—the victim of a vicious attack by footpads. Long before a man in his prime might have thought to preserve his legacy.

  She cleared the desk and seated herself, laying the bundle out before her. The plain linen had yellowed slightly with age, but it didn’t appear too old—no more than a generation. Her father certainly could have been the one to secret the bundle. It took great restraint to unwrap the cloth gently as anticipation buzzed through her. When the material fell away, two packets of letters appeared, tied neatly with red ribbons. Love letters, perhaps? Maybe even between her parents. Wouldn’t that be excellent? She’d cherish a glimpse of her mother, whom she couldn’t remember at all.

  Liliana picked up one of the packets and untied the ribbon. Silk shushed against silk as the knot gave way. Eager, she plucked the first letter from the stack and began to read:

  26 May, 1803.

  Spring is glorious this year. None of winter’s

  gloom dare cling to the air. We were fortunate to

  sell many sheep at the Shropshire festival, more

  so than in years past.

  Drat. Her breath whooshed from her nose as she slumped back into the chair. Not love letters at all, at least not between her parents. Her mother had been dead seven years by then, having died when Liliana was just three.

  She skipped to the last page of the letter and found it unsigned. She scanned the others. They were all in the same handwriting, dated between May and December 1803, but with nothing to indicate the author. They weren’t even interesting. Full of words but with no real content—just babble about the weather and farm husbandry and such. How disappointing.

  She picked up the other packet and tugged the ribbon free. Masculine French scrawl covered the pages. Liliana read, her brow knotting in confusion. These letters had about as much substance as their English counterparts and were also unsigned. Who would have kept such drivel?

  She checked the linen and found one loose paper still within its folds. She lifted the vellum. This letter was marked by a broken red wax seal. She flicked open the page, expecting something thrilling—like a treatise on horse manure as fertilizer.

  19 Dec, 1803.

  We have been compromised. Meet me two days hence. Same time and location.

  Liliana sucked in a breath, choking o
n her harsh inhalation. December nineteenth? Two days before her father had been killed?

  Meet me two days hence.

  Her father had met someone on the night that he’d been attacked?

  Memories of that night flooded Liliana’s mind.

  Papa was going to love his Christmas present this year. Maybe even so much that he wouldn’t take her to task for playing in his laboratory while he was out. Really, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t be allowed in the lab without him. She was ten now—not a baby.

  Liliana pinched the dropper, squeezing fat drips of cobalt chloride into the chemicals she’d already mixed. Her own invisible inks. She didn’t know what had Papa so distracted lately. It certainly wasn’t any experiment he was working on. He hadn’t been focused in weeks. But he still took time to play with her, and for months now, his favorite game had been to leave her coded messages to solve. So she’d decided to create different inks to take their game to a new height. With these mixtures, she could leave him invisible messages and he would have to figure out what chemical revealed them. She couldn’t wait to try it.