Eulogy's Secret

By Grace Elliot

In the four weeks since her guardian’s death, Eulogy Foster has lost everything. She travels to London seeking the help of Lord Lucien Devlin, the estranged brother who doesn’t know she exists. But Lord Devlin turns her away and alone on the streets, Eulogy is attacked, robbed and then thrown onto the mercy of a passing stranger...who sets her pulse racing.

Jack Huntley - bitter, cynical and betrayed in love -believes women are devious, scheming creatures and not to be trusted. So when one night he saves a naive young woman from rape, little does he suspect how life is about to change. Despite his growing attraction to Miss Foster, Jack has a problem: Eulogy Foster has a secret and he can’t trust her.

As Eulogy learns the haunting story of her mother’s past, she knows she will only marry for true love. Deeply drawn to Jack Huntley, she needs him to confess his love before she shares the secret of her birth. Caught in a deadlock, with neither able to confess their true feelings, events take a sinister turn as it becomes clear someone wants Eulogy Foster dead and will stop at nothing to achieve it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grace Elliot
• Release date: Oct 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781613648087

Grace Elliot

Grace Elliot leads a double life as a veterinary surgeon by day and author of historical romance by night.She firmly believes that smart people read romance as an antidote for the pressures of real life. 'A Dead Man's Debt' - "historical romance at its best" The Romance Reviews. 'Eulogy's Secret' - “Wonderful, yummy, sweet, sexy... oh the list could go on and on. L.O.V.E.D. IT! It had my heart thumping and hands sweating” TJ – Affaire de Couer magazine.

Book preview

Eulogy’s Secret

Book 1 in the Huntley Trilogy

by Grace Elliot

Copyright 2011 Grace Elliot

2nd Edition

All rights reserved.

EULOGY’S SECRET

Book 1 in the Huntley Trilogy

By Grace Elliot

Copyright 2011 Grace Elliot

All rights reserved.

Smashwords- License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

As night fell, the rain stopped. A hackney cab sluiced through the deserted streets, slithering to a halt outside an imposing stone terrace.

Here we are, Miss. Grosvenor Square, like you said.

Eulogy tightened the grip on her valise and peered into the night. Yellow lamplight spilt through the curtains of the grand buildings, hinting at comfort and warmth within, mocking the inhospitable, rain-washed streets.

Well, Miss. I ain’t got all night, you getting out or what?

Eulogy hesitated. Alone in London, she was vulnerable, and yet she had no choice. She squared her shoulders, stepped down and counted the fare into the driver’s greasy hand. Without warning he whipped up his nag, causing Eulogy to jump aside to avoid slurry thrown up by the wheels. As she watched him go, without even this gruff company, she felt crushingly alone in a strange city without friend or companion. The recklessness of her errand struck home. Yet she gathered her courage, remembering her journey’s end was so close, just up some steps and behind a glossy door framed by lamps.

She gazed upward, craning her neck as the stucco walls and floor after floor of tall windows stretched heavenwards to block out the stars. She had never seen buildings of such grandeur, and they made her feel so small and insignificant. What sort of man lives in such a place? The excitement that had sustained her on the journey from Easterhope gave way to hunger and fatigue. To calm her nerves, she took a deep breath, but unlike country air, the city reeked of manure, soot and rotten vegetables that made her cough. Then, in the inky shadows, a sly movement caught her eye. The dark street appeared deserted, yet her skin was alive to the sensation of being watched. With a shudder of raw fear she picked up her skirts and ran up the steps to rap urgently on the door with the large brass knocker.

A surly footman opened the door and squinted into the gloom, music and raucous laughter spilt over his shoulder.

Yes, Miss?

My apologies for the late hour, but I must see Lord Devlin. Eulogy pushed back the hood of her traveling cloak and smiled.

The footman raised a haughty brow.

His Lordship is not at home.

But Lord Devlin would wish to see me. I’ve traveled a long way.

Her head buzzed with frustration that this man stood between her and safety as his gaze wandered disapprovingly over her stained skirts, wool cloak and battered valise.

Your card, Miss?

Her heart sank. I don’t have one, but I’m a close, very close, family friend. On reflection, she thought it best not to mention that she had yet to be introduced to his Lordship.

No card? Then what name do I give?

Miss Eulogy Foster. Be sure and tell his Lordship that his late mother, Lady Devlin, knew me well.

Wait there, Miss Foster. Exuding disapproval, he withdrew.

Pulling her cloak more tightly about her shoulders, Eulogy shivered on the doorstep. At the center of Grosvenor Square lay an extensive garden, but in the dark the bushes and shrubs formed lumps of shadows like a crowd of hunched men, and Eulogy’s heart hammered as she shrank back against the door.

After what felt like eternity, the door re-opened and in full expectation of admittance, Eulogy let out her breath and stepped forward. The footman, however, sneered back.

As I said, His Lordship is not at home.

The echo of the slamming door died in her ears as she stood, perplexed by this turn of events. What was she to do now? The question vexed her greatly for her future depended on Lord Devlin.

Her first instinct was to knock again, but she swiftly rejected the idea. It wouldn’t do for her brother’s first impression of the sister he didn’t know existed to be that of a hoodlum.

Eulogy sighed. Clearly, it had been a mistake to arrive straight off the coach, travel-stained and weary, for it seemed people in London were less welcoming than country folk. Slowly, her familiar practicality reasserted itself as she decided on seeking suitable lodgings for that night. Once rested and bathed, she would call again at a more conventional hour and would be sure to be admitted.

Despite feeling braver, the next problem presented itself. Where to find inexpensive but respectable rooms? She chewed her lip. A couple of streets back she’d recalled the cab passing a pie-shop. Her empty stomach churned. She would retrace the route, buy supper and inquire about a hotel.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Eulogy picked up her valise, left the safety of the porch and descended to street level. She had not gone three paces when a stone skittered out of the darkness and landed at her feet. Scuttling footsteps sounded in the shadows.

Fear slammed against her ribs.

Hello? Who’s there?

Warily, she backed towards the steps but found the way blocked, by a man reeking of stale sweat.

Please, sir, let me pass. Her heart squeezed and she felt weak with fright.

No answer, except for wheezy breathing.

I have a knife. With a barely perceptible movement, Eulogy lifted her skirts in order to run, but luck was not on her side as a second man solidified out of the darkness.

And who hav’ we here then? Another, toothless man grinned, his face a disembodied moon in the darkness.

A tasty morsel and no mistake.

A hand that tasted of coal dust clamped over her mouth and instinctively, she bit down as hard as a terrier.

Bitch!

A fist flew towards her. It was too late when she saw it and ducked. Pain slammed through her skull, and as she reeled, the second man grabbed her by the waist, lifting her bodily and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of coal. Panic fuelled her rage as she kicked and clawed with all her strength, knowing that her life depended on not leaving the square.

Help!

Shut it, bitch.

Another cuffing blow and a high pitched whine filled her ears. Eulogy’s last thought as dizzy darkness consumed her was regret that she’d come all this way and still had not met her brother.

-oO0Oo-

Jack Huntley was late and therefore in a foul mood. In his view good time-keeping was the measure of a man and to be tardy an unpardonable offence. So as he turned the corner into Grosvenor Square and a woman’s scream rent the air, he felt unreasonably annoyed. For a moment he even considered hurrying on to his appointment, but then his conscience forbade such neglect and he stopped to listen. The commotion seemed to be coming from outside Lord Devlin’s residence. With a sigh, he crept closer and glimpsed two ruffians making off with a woman.

Stop! Jack bellowed. Unhand her this instant!

His request met with foul curses.

Stop, I say! Put her down.

Oh yeah? And what if I don’t want to?

This wasn’t part of Jack’s plan for the evening and he now felt very irritated indeed.

Then I shall make you. Huntley sighed and stepped closer. Taller than average, broad and muscular, his intimidating presence was diminished only by being outnumbered.

Yeah? What with? The sharp side of your tongue?

Huntley reached for his sword stick. Cold steel hissed through the air.

I’m late and I dislike being late. Now, if you’d kindly put her down we can both be about our business, no harm done and I won’t take this any further.

With a hollow laugh, the felon carrying the woman threw her to the ground. She lay deathly still. Silently the villains split apart, circling like wolves, one on either side of Huntley to cut off his escape.

Two ag’in one. A broad bladed hunting knife glinted in the lamplight. Now why don’t yer be sensible and keep on walkin’?

Huntley couldn’t say which irked him more, being delayed or threatened, but one thing was certain, these dogs weren’t going to get the upper hand, not if he had anything to do with it. With a sigh, he prepared to teach the ruffians a lesson.

In a deadly dance, the three men circled, sizing each other up. A crude blade whistled past Huntley’s ear. He ducked, spun, and with a vicious sweep of his sword sent the felon sprawling backward. Huntley might have been outnumbered, but with athletic grace he parried and thrust, moving with lightning speed to rebuff attacks from both sides. As his attackers grew bolder, working as a team, he found himself pressed, retreating against the basement railings of Lord Devlin’s house to protect his back.

Huntley had little choice but to hold his ground. To attack one felon left him open to the other, and after several minutes of stalemate Huntley began to question the wisdom of interfering. Typical! If he’d been on time, he wouldn’t have had to get involved. Pah! That’s what happened with poor time-keeping. Momentarily distracted, the knife whistled dangerously close to his neck. Discomforted, Huntley glanced around. He thought of calling for help, but there was no one around. On this moonless, wet night everyone was safe indoors. With an ill-humored swipe, he parried the slashing knife with a sword thrust. Metal clanged on metal, the vibrations jarring his wrist.

Be on your way, Huntley added, and I’ll take this no further.

Nuffin’ I dislikes more than an arrogant toff.

Huntley dodged, the blade so close he felt its coldness on his skin.

Admit defeat and be on your way. No hard feelings.

No thanks, mate, reckon as we’ll have your purse as well.

With a growl, both felons closed in, leaving Huntley with nowhere to go.

Unexpectedly, the toothless felon crumpled to the ground. What Huntley could see, but the villain couldn’t, was that the woman had revived sufficiently to grasp her valise and swing it at the back of the man’s knees. Seizing the moment of surprise, Huntley lunged and slashed the remaining felon viciously across the cheek.

The man yelped like a struck dog. Scarper. She ain’t worth it!

He scrambled to his feet, pausing only to grab the valise. Both men took to their heels. The toothless man jeered over his shoulder, waving a reticule in the air.

Thanks for the gift, sweetheart.

With a gasp, the woman’s hand shot to her waist.

Give it back! she sobbed. In the name of mercy, please give it back.

Hands on knees, breathing heavily, Huntley regarded the woman with interest.

Madam?

Her face was pale as the moon, with large dark eyes brimming with tears. His heart sank. Just what he needed! An over-emotional woman.

Madam, are you hurt?

A bit bruised. More injured pride than anything. She managed a shaky smile. Shrouded in a traveling cloak, he couldn’t make out her features, but she had the voice of a young woman.

Good. Huntley straightened, with any luck he could be on his way in minutes. His expression brightened. This might even work out in his favor. What better excuse for being late than rescuing a damsel in distress? He glanced up and down the road. So where is your chaperone? I assume he went for help?

The woman hung her head. I am alone. There is no one.

Huntley glared. Well-spoken with a country accent, she was hardly a woman of the street and yet behaved like one. Are you mad? What on earth possessed you?

She tilted her chin, dark eyes bright with pride. I had no choice. Now, I thank you most sincerely for your assistance. She brushed distractedly at the mud on her cloak. I make no further call on your time.

Huntley frowned. Was he being dismissed, and after all that he had done? But, you’re not detaining me.

I think I am.

Bemused, Huntley watched her dust down her cloak, preparing to go. She seemed a determined chit. Wait! You’ve been attacked once already tonight. On my conscience, I cannot let you proceed alone.

She stopped.

Where are you heading?

Slowly, her wide bright eyes lifted to meet his and his heart leapt in his chest.

Sir, perchance you know of a lodging house here-about?

He pushed away baser thoughts and concentrated on the business in hand.

You’ve been robbed. Have you sufficient funds?

Silence.

I…I… She started to sway. I feel a little faint…

In a heartbeat, Huntley was at her side to catch her as she fell. As he scooped her up, cradling her limp form against his broad chest, a strange possessiveness engulfed him. She weighed no more than a child and her hair smelt of herbs. She seemed fragile, and yet so vibrant and alive. Shaken, he made for the steps and sat, nursing her head against his shoulder. He was surprised by the soft silkiness of her hair and suddenly felt undone, a sharp ache twisting through his chest.

She stirred. Oh. What happened?

Easy now. You’ve had a shock. His heart jumped protectively.

A small sigh escaped her softly parted lips and he felt the urge to kiss them. Appalled by his reaction, Huntley carefully set her down on the steps and stood. Here, he pulled out a silver hipflask. This will help.

What is it?

Brandy.

Reluctantly, regarding him with suspicion, she took a sip and spluttered. Oh my.

No more arguments, I’m escorting you and there’s an end to it.

My papers…everything I value…gone! She looked up at him with glassy eyes. Huntley hesitated.

Then the sooner we get you amongst friends the better.

But you don’t understand. I am lost!

Then I will help you.

But I don’t even know your name, she objected weakly.

How remiss! He held out a gloved hand. Mr. Jack Huntley, at your service.

Hesitantly, the woman bowed her head and shook his hand. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Huntley. My name is Miss Eulogy Foster.

Well then, Miss Foster, I suggest we leave before our ruffian friends, or the rain, return.

She nodded.

Stiff, like a man unused to female company, he offered an elbow. As she threaded her arm threaded through his, Jack's blood fizzed inexplicably. He risked a glance at her face, partially obscured by shadows. Her features seemed regular and pleasing, with a snub nose and tilted eyes, but more than that he could not see.

So tell me, he ventured, how a gently reared young woman comes to be wandering the city streets alone at night?

Her fingers tensed on his arm.

I arrived on the afternoon coach, only to find the acquaintance I was to lodge with not at home. I planned to rent lodgings…but then I was robbed.

Why on earth did your family let you travel alone? Why anything could, and did, happen.

They are dead, she said. Died of scarlet fever this past month. There is only me.

Her composure rendered him speechless and shamed by his assumptions, he muttered, I’m sorry to hear that.

They had walked for a while in silence, until Huntley cleared his throat. If I might make a suggestion?

Sir?

I have an acquaintance in the neighborhood, a woman of excellent character who, from time to time, takes in lodgers.

Most kind of you, but I cannot accept.

Why ever not?

You forget, sir, I am penniless.

Then Mrs. Parker will welcome you as my friend.

I couldn’t ask that.

Nonsense. Huntley replied, finding her stubborn independence bothersome, clearly he needed to persuade her by other means. Besides, I felt a spot of rain. You don’t want me to ruin a new cloak do you? His voice held a challenge. I suggest we hail a hackney.

Very well. She agreed slowly. I am most grateful for your help tonight. Then tomorrow, I’ll call again on my acquaintance.

In Grosvenor Square?

Miss Foster nodded. Lord Devlin’s residence.

Huntley grunted. How, he wondered, had this come to pass? Not half an hour ago he was hurrying to an appointment, not a care in the world, and now this wastrel had become his responsibility. Life could be rum, he reflected, dashed rum. He had rescued no less than an acquaintance of his bitter enemy, so the sooner he absolved this particular burden the better.

Chapter Two

Taking two steps for each of Huntley’s loping strides, Eulogy struggled to keep pace as they left Grosvenor Square. Tall, loose-limbed and muscular, he exuded an air of confident arrogance. With a strong jaw, broad shoulders and domineering bearing, he appeared more warrior than gentleman, which given recent events, Eulogy was thankful for.

Huntley hailed a cab, which tracked back toward the Thames, crisscrossing squares and streets, before passing the malignant gray walls of the workhouse and entering Berkeley Square only to exit on the other side into a maze of red-brick terraces. As they clattered past a tavern and sounds of drunken carousing, Eulogy gripped the seat, hoping this was not their destination. But the carriage did indeed slow and grind to a halt halfway along the road.

After paying off the driver, Huntley helped Eulogy down. Despite her concerns about the tavern, she had to admit the street seemed respectable enough with a neat row of white-washed doorsteps disappearing into the distance and a freshly swept pavement, clear of ordure and mud.

Huntley made straight for a green door, his knock was answered by a freckle-faced maid.

Good evening, Jones, is your mistress at home?

The maid pouted and tipped her head. Why no, sir, Mrs. Parker is out - due back within the hour.

Then may we wait inside?

For the first time the maid noticed Eulogy behind him, and her bright smile faded. Yes, Mr. Huntley, sir, of course.

Huntley stood back, holding out his arm to let Eulogy cross the unassuming threshold into a rich, eruption of color. In the hallway, rich red walls glowed like a fiery sunset in the lamplight. A floor of black and white tiles stretched ahead like a chessboard set with aspidistra and side tablets. Eulogy bit her tongue, wondering if everything in London was so surprising.

There’s a fire in the parlor, sir, Jones offered, whilst eyeing Eulogy’s muddy boots disapprovingly.

Thank you, Jones, we can find our own way.

Can I take your things, Miss?

Thank you. Having lost everything, Eulogy would rather have kept her cloak, but shrugged it off for forms sake.

And yours, sir?

With a grunt, Huntley swung the heavy opera cloak from his shoulders and winced.

Oh, sir! Jones’ voice trailed off. Puzzled, Eulogy followed the maid’s gaze to the stain, blooming on Huntley’s neck cloth. Mystified, he touched a hand to his shoulder and stared at his blood stained fingers.

That devil cut me! Can you credit it?

Oh my giddy aunt! the maid wailed.

Control yourself, Eulogy commanded, feeling useful at last. Fetch hot water, freshly boiled, mind you, and clean cotton rags. Quickly now!

Yes, Miss. The maid curtseyed automatically.

Then, run for the doctor. Do you hear? There was steel in Eulogy’s tone that brooked no argument.

Yes, Miss. Right away, Miss. With a terse nod she was gone.

Please sit, Mr. Huntley, Miss Foster ordered, and unbutton your waistcoat.

Huntley sank to the sofa and loosened his neck cloth.

And I’d be obliged if you’d remove your shirt.

His dark brow arched. Keen, aren’t you?

I wish to examine the injury.

What on earth…?

Do you want the wound to get infected?

No… Resignedly, Huntley slumped against the delicate blue settle. But it hardly seems proper.

"My