A Most Improper Rumor

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS

OF EMMA WILDES

“A luxurious and sensual read. Both deliciously wicked and tenderly romantic. . . . I didn’t want it to end!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Celeste Bradley

“This wickedly exciting romance will draw you in and take hold of your heart.”

—
USA Today
bestselling author Elizabeth Boyle

“A stylish blend of dangerous intrigue and scorching desire that is bound to captivate fans of Amanda Quick and Nicole Jordan.”

—
Booklist

“Regency fans will thrill to this superbly sensual tale . . . deliciously erotic . . . a spectacular and skillfully handled story that stands head and shoulders above the average historical romance.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Wickedly delicious and daring . . . a page-turner that captures the era, the mores, and the scandalous behavior that lurks beneath the surface.”

—
Romantic Times
(4½ stars, top pick)

“[A] gem of an author . . . keep[s] readers riveted to each scandalous scene—and everything in between.”

—Romance Junkies

“A historical gem.”

—TwoLips Reviews

“Of all the authors I’ve read, I believe Emma Wildes to be my hands-down favorite.”

—Just Erotic Romance Reviews (5 stars)

“A truly rare and remarkable talent.”

—Euro-Reviews

“Emma Wildes is a rising star who writes incredible historical romance.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

“Ms. Wildes has penned an excellent novel that is sure to be a favorite for many years to come . . . deserves no less than a perfect 10!”

—Romance Reviews Today

“[A] delightful, delicious, and sexy tale that readers will adore.”

—Goodreads
(JERR Gold Star Award)

“Inventive and well-written, with fabulous love scenes and characters worth reading about.”

—All About Romance

Also by Emma Wildes

Whispers of Scandal

Ruined by Moonlight

Ladies in Waiting

The Third Duke’s the Charm

(A Penguin Special)

Twice Fallen

One Whisper Away

The Notorious Bachelors

Our Wicked Mistake

His Sinful Secret

My Lord Scandal

Seducing the Highlander

Lessons from a Scarlet Lady

An Indecent Proposition

A MOST
IMPROPER RUMOR

A WHISPERS OF SCANDAL NOVEL

Emma Wildes

SIGNET
ECLIPSE

Published by the Penguin Group

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

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

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Copyright © Katherine Smith, 2013

Excerpt from
Ruined by Moonlight
copyright © Katherine Smith, 2012

This ebook belongs to vzyl at 64 70 67 72 6f 75 70 forum.
The name vzyl refers to an entity and not any registered user with the same name.

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

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.

For Mary Ann Smith. We all miss you.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my support group, Lara Santiago, Morgan Ashbury, and Raina James. You are always in my corner. Also a salute to Juanita Brand, Leshia Stoltz, and Celesta Hoffman. A girl can never have too many friends, especially if they are willing to talk shop.

Bill Dikis is a very talented architect, and I admit that I find that particular occupation fascinating, mostly because it is such a combination of form and function. Let us hope I did his profession justice.

Prologue

I
t was nearly dawn.

The pearly light was a hint of promise, the room hushed, the tangled linens cool against her heated skin.

Maybe a century or so from now her breathing would return to normal.

The man braced above her lifted his head and smiled, just a faint curve of his sensual mouth in the semidarkness. The fire had long since gone to embers, but she was too warm anyway despite her lack of clothing.

“I think I just drifted back into this world.” His lips brushed hers, his husky voice a complement to the languid contentment of the aftermath of passion, his weight carefully balanced so it was no more than a delicious pressure of male on female, her breasts pressed taut against his hard chest, his hips widening her thighs. “Have you returned?”

Had she? She wasn’t sure. Moments like this always seemed more dream than reality.

Angelina DeBrooke touched her lover’s face. Just a feathering of her fingertips, soft and tender against his skin. The faint hint of a morning beard gave him a slightly rakish look. She murmured, “Can we stay like this forever?”

His teeth were a white gleam as he laughed. “I accept the invitation.”

She was
such
a reckless fool.

This was all wrong.

And entirely right at the same time. It was bewildering, it was magical, and it frightened her beyond the realms of imagination.

“Darling,” she started to say, but he kissed her again, a persuasive pressure of his mouth on hers, his tongue sliding in, tasting, possessing . . .

She laughed, arching against him, her hands on his broad shoulders in protest, then whispered against his lips, “Not so soon.”

“Why not?” His hand cupped her hip, fitting her more closely against him.

As if their position could be any more intimate.

“Aren’t you tired? It’s getting light outside.” The words were hushed, poignant.

Thick fair hair brushed his neck as he shook his head. “I am never too tired when you are in my bed.”

She was. Pleasantly exhausted, replete, satisfied. But she knew she wouldn’t refuse him.

Never.

And then he said those dreaded words. “I love you.”

No,
she thought, closing her eyes.
You should not love me
.

Chapter 1

I
t seemed he would not have the dull afternoon he’d anticipated, after all.

Benjamin Wallace, the Earl of Heathton, studied the card in his hand with interest and pondered his reaction to this unusual facet of his day.
The butler waited, his only expression one of polite inquiry.

There was no question he could refuse this caller.

Some might even say he
must
refuse.

But he just couldn’t seem to resist the intrigue of the situation.

A few moments later, London’s most infamous murderess settled into the chair in his study in a swirl of expensive Lyon silk and a hint of floral perfume. She said, “Thank you for receiving me, my lord.”

“Not at all, Lady DeBrooke.” He sat also, but behind his desk, where a neglected amount of tedious correspondence awaited his attention. “Though I admit I am curious about your call.”

An understatement.

“You know all about me. Everyone does.”

To her credit, she didn’t sound bitter, accusatory, or even defensive. She just sat there, elegant and as exquisitely alluring as rumored, her poise impressive.

To admit or deny? He wasn’t sure, and as usual, he took the middle ground. “I certainly know who you are.”

“So diplomatic, Lord Heathton.” Her smile held a telltale hint of sardonic amusement. “You have a reputation for being suitably evasive when the occasion calls for it. I am sure you know exactly what I was implying when I said you know about me. Let me be more frank. You know all of the
rumors
about me.”

He did, but he was much more concerned about how she’d heard about
him.

“We’ve been introduced before. Your husband was a friend.”

He actually remembered the meeting quite clearly. She was a raven-haired beauty with crystalline gray eyes, her form graceful, and with an opulent bosom and narrow waist, she was the picture of enticing, feminine allure. Ebony brows were perfect arcs over those silver eyes, and her nose dainty and straight. Her gown was tasteful but yet seductive, with a fashionable décolletage, and when she reclined and crossed her ankles, the movement was languid and elegant.

The
haut ton
had given her the nickname Dark Angel, and her debut had been the event of the season the year of her coming out, with scores of dazzled gentlemen vying for her attention before it had all gone terribly wrong.

However, he was difficult to beguile, or at least Ben liked to think so.

“My second husband, you mean.” Her tone wasn’t combative, but instead neutral.

He inclined his head. “Thomas and I knew each other from Cambridge.”

“How close of friends?”

“Please tell me how important the answer is to this conversation and I’ll give due weight to the answer.”

“You have such a way of speaking and not saying anything at all, my lord.”

He’d been accused of that enough times that instead of replying to the hint of challenge, he asked, “Would you like a sherry before you tell me why you are here?”

After a moment she nodded. “Yes, thank you. Perhaps that will help.”

He thought it might. She wasn’t nearly as poised as she seemed. The façade was sleek and polished, but the inner trepidation showed to someone who understood how to read the small nuances.

And there was the true question.
Help what?

He rose to go to the drinks table and pour her a glass, taking it back and handing it over with a polite bow. “I believe my wife mentioned recently you had returned to London.”

As she accepted the drink, her hand trembled slightly. It wasn’t much, but it betrayed her, confirming his suspicion that her sophistication was only on the surface. Lady DeBrooke murmured, “Ah, yes, the society pages. They refuse to leave me alone.”

“Notoriety can be uncomfortable, I’m sure.”

If the frank observation stung, she didn’t show it. “Yes.”

He could play a game of dancing around the question as well as anyone—and better than most, given his past—but at the moment, he just wished to know her purpose. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“I need your help.”

The last time he’d heard those words he’d stepped into a nasty scheme that involved kidnapping and slander. Ben gazed at the woman sitting upright in the chair across from him and almost reflexively refused. His marriage was sailing along smoother waters than a few months ago, his financial holdings were prosperous, and while being the earl wasn’t exciting, it was fulfilling in other ways . . .

Perhaps not the ways he craved, though he was happy that he and his wife were more in tune. Once again, he should
not
get involved.

“What kind of help?” he asked against his better judgment.

Lady DeBrooke stared at the liquid in her glass for a moment, a fringe of long lashes lending shadows to her perfect cheekbones. “I’m quite desperate and I heard you can clear up small puzzles with amazing skill.” She glanced up. “I hope that applies also to large ones.”

“Who told you that?”

“I am not supposed to say.”

That was fine; he’d find out on his own. Already he had his suspicions on who might have pointed her in his direction. “How large?”

“Murder.”

Murder? Really?

He leaned back, taking stock of what that single word implied, particularly in her case, and then he sighed. It must be a character flaw that he even took an interest, but he did. She was entirely too beautiful to refuse, and besides, he was curious. Intensely so, damn him. He had letters to answer and other dull duties as well, and getting caught up in anything else would put him behind; yet he found himself saying, “I cannot promise you anything, but go on. I will listen.”

To her credit, there were no theatrics. She simply nodded, the coil of heavy, glossy hair at her nape a contrast to her slender neck. “As perhaps you know, my first husband died almost six years ago of an unknown ailment. He was ten years older than I, and the marriage was arranged by my father. I had barely turned eighteen, but William had a barony and he was wealthy. Of the offers for my hand, my father selected to accept his and I had little choice. I will be frank and say it was hardly a love match; he simply wanted a fashionable wife.” Her smile was brittle. “He’s reputably my first victim.”

“That I have heard.” He kept his voice even and unemotional.

“Yes, I imagine you have.” Her tone wasn’t nearly as dispassionate. “Then I suppose you also know I remarried several years later.”

“To Thomas, Lord DeBrooke, who died of the same ailment.”

She made a small gesture of humorless affirmation with her glass. “I can see the gossips have done their work well. Since you knew him, you’ll remember Thomas was a nice man, and of my choosing. He was healthy and vibrant, and though once again I married only because my father insisted I was too young to be a recluse living at our country estate, I was saddened when he died so suddenly.”

Did she speak the truth? He didn’t know her well enough to judge—he didn’t know her at all—so he didn’t comment.

“That was when the rumors truly started. It was insidious at first, and I was in mourning in the country, so I had no idea I was under suspicion until my sister told me. You can imagine how shocking it was to hear.”

Shocking because she was innocent, or because she was certain that no one would suspect someone of her grace and beauty of being capable of maliciously poisoning two husbands?

It was almost four o’clock. He was supposed to have tea with his wife and her elderly aunt, but he was much more interested in having a brandy in his study while listening to his unexpected visitor and her fascinating story. To that end he rose and went over and uncorked the decanter to pour a small snifter. Alicia would forgive him for skipping tea. When he told her about this visit, she would be fascinated as well. His wife was more inquisitive than even he was.

His unexpected visitor went on. “My brother-in-law even had me brought up before a magistrate, but there was no evidence to prove me guilty except his suspicions. The physician who attended Thomas at his death couldn’t say for certain it wasn’t an ailment of some kind, though the symptoms were very similar to whatever proved to be the end of my first husband.”

He recalled the scandal of the trial. She was correct. The society papers had clung to the story and still rehashed it long after her acquittal and Lady DeBrooke’s retirement once again to the countryside.

“I see.” Instead of sitting down, he leaned against a bookcase and swirled his brandy while studying her expression. “I take it you are telling me you
do
think they were murdered, just not at your hand.”

“Very astute, my lord. This is where I point out I have the advantage of knowing I am innocent.” Her fine brows lifted. “A cliché, I know, but quite true. The more and more I have thought about it, the more I think it possible.” Her gaze was direct.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in the challenge, but he wanted to be frank. “The
ton
is notorious for its lack of forgiveness. Do you really think, if I even could possibly solve two murders that happened years ago, it will restore your position in society, Lady DeBrooke? Or is it justice you seek?”

“Neither,” she answered quietly. “I wish to remarry.”

* * *

The Earl of Heathton wasn’t quite what she expected. Angelina had met him in passing once or twice, so she recognized him, of course. He was handsome in an understated way with thick dark blond hair and classic features, tall and wide shouldered, and to that extent he was like many aristocratic gentlemen she knew, but the difference was in the keen intelligence in his eyes and the way he moved with a subtle athletic grace. She couldn’t define it, but there was an air of the hunter about him, and it did not involve horses and hounds.

It had cost her in pride to pay this call. Throughout the horrible series of events after Thomas died, she had learned a great deal about scorn and suspicion, including being given the cut direct by former friends, not to mention her husband’s vindictive family’s strident accusations. There had been no guarantee Lord Heathton would even receive her.

The apprehension proved she was still not quite thick-skinned enough to weather the scorn of her peers.

“You wish to be able to remarry because the world no longer thinks you poisoned your husbands, or you wish to marry someone specific?” he asked in the neutral tone he’d used throughout their conversation.

“I am too afraid for him to accept his proposal.” After the oblique answer, she took a bracing sip of sherry. “It seems possible that the malice is directed at me. I realize that sounds melodramatic and perhaps even self-important, but they were two very different men, with no connection I can find other than both having the misfortune to be married to me.”

“An interesting theory to be sure. If you are correct, do you have any idea who might have enough ill will toward you to take the drastic step of actually killing two people?”

“Who has enough ill will toward anyone to do that, my lord?” Her tone was brittle, though she tried to control it.

Surely she had a point.

“You might be surprised what drives certain individuals to extreme measures most of us would never consider.”

As if she hadn’t spent sleepless nights and restless afternoons in her exile contemplating that very question. With conviction, she answered, “None.”

He didn’t seem deterred, but then again, his enigmatic expression was hard to read in general. “Perhaps a frustrated lover, Lady DeBrooke? You are very lovely.”

The compliment was flattering, but she shook her head. “I was faithful entirely to both of them, and when I married William, very young. I’d barely had my coming out when our marriage was arranged. There are no scorned lovers in my past, tarnished as it is reputed to be.”

And though he’d treated her more as a possession than a person, William had done her one enormous favor and left her a generous inheritance. After his death, she’d discreetly taken the money and invested it with the assistance of a trusted friend under another name, knowing her father was going to insist she remarry. It was prudent that she had; otherwise Thomas’s family would have ended up with not just his money, but hers also. Under English law, a husband controlled anything a wife brought to the marriage. While her brother-in-law hadn’t been able to send her to the gibbet, he had seized Thomas’s fortune at once and not gifted her with even a stipend.

Had anyone discovered she’d created another identity and quietly accumulated a small fortune, she might have hanged. The thought always made her grow cold. It hadn’t been anything more than caution on her part and a bid for some measure of independence, but admittedly, it seemed calculating. As it was, she lived modestly lest anyone inquire as to where the money came from.

“I will need a list of all servants with you in both households, and any friends and even family members who visited you.”

That sounded promising.

“Then you will help me?”

“I don’t know if I can actually be of any help.” His tone was cool and thoughtful. “But I will at least try.”

Just the mere possibility of the weight being lifted from her shoulders brought her a poignant joy. She whispered, “That is all I can ask.”

“Tell me about your current lover.”

“What makes you think I . . .” She stopped, feeling a slight flush in her cheeks, and glanced away. “I suppose I am a mature woman, twice married, and it is logical to assume he shares my bed.” Actually, she’d just had her twenty-fourth birthday, but she felt far older.

“That isn’t my concern, but understandably, the more I know, the better I can discreetly gather information.”

Discreet. That was exactly what she wanted. The assurance Lord Heathton would provide his own brand of secrecy was part of the reason she was sitting in his study.

Angelina nodded once with as much decisiveness as she could summon. “He isn’t part of this except to the extent I now am no longer willing to accept what has happened and do nothing. The awfulness of the trial and the scandal made me wish to hide away from the world. But that, I have found, does not work, and besides, it isn’t fair to me or him. Or even to William and Thomas for that matter, not to seek to uncover the truth.”