Historical Romance: Natalia’s Secret Spinster’s Society A Lady's Club Regency Romance: The Spinster's Society, #8

By Charlotte Stone

Book 08 in The Spinster's Society series - A Historical Romance Book

Natalia Hext— or rather Leah Wells—  has a secret that the Men of Nashwood would kill for.

 

Circumstances have forced her to keep her true identity hidden.

It is unfortunate that the boy she once knew, now a very handsome man, is eager to expose her secrets in the most cruel and sensual of ways.

 

William Tift knows there's more to the eye than what the cryptic Mrs. Wells presents to the world.

Something about Leah is not quite right.

He'll find out what it is, never mind that he feels a familiarity with her.

The point is, she knows too much and William will do what he must to keep her quiet.

 

But Leah won't go down easily.

 

When with each encounter, the sexual tension becomes harder to ignore.

 

… as do their hidden feelings.

 

What will happen when Leah's true identity is revealed?

And when secrets come to light, will love stand strong or fall under its weight?

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlotte Stone
• Release date: Apr 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393384311

Charlotte Stone

In a near cynical world which we are currently living in, Charlotte finds comfort in the readings of Regency Romance writings, one of her favourite would be Laura Kinsale’s Flowers from the storm where the female character loves and saves the male lead character who is a stroke victim. It was such writings which inspired her to be an author herself. In Charlotte’s writings, the characters are able to see beyond the imperfections of each other and to accept and love one another, just the way one is. Isn’t this true of our inner self? To be able to find someone who is able to see the beauty in us, in spite of all imperfections we might have. Isn’t this true of what love really should be? Ever accepting, ever loving, ever seeking. May you find love and acceptance in Charlotte’s writings.

Book preview

prologue

*   *   *

Liam, put me down! You’re hurting me!

Ten-year-old William Tift released her at once and Natalia Hext stepped away before straightening her dress. Settled, she righted her curls, tossing them behind her back before glaring at him. You were holding me too tight, William. Her sides still ached from where his fingers had dug into her. She was sure to have bruises before night came.

William held her eyes without the faintest hint of remorse in his green depths. You wanted to fly. I had to hold you tight or else you’d have fallen. A sudden wind picked up, blowing the tall straw that stood around them and the tops of the trees in the distance.

Natalia’s seven-year-old thoughts moved to being able to ride on that wind, to become one of the birds that flew toward the sunset.

William’s black hair danced in the breeze across his forehead and jaw. His skin was dark, a gold so deep it was clear he was not purely English. For her, the only English thing about him was his name. William. It was strong, though she preferred to call him ‘Liam’.

Would you rather I had let you slip? he asked.

Tears burned her eyes, but she wiped them away before they could become visible. When Julius lifts me, it doesn’t hurt. Though Cousin Julius rarely wanted to play with her, and she admitted that was her fault. She was cruel to him and his friends even when she didn’t mean to be. She didn’t even know why she did it, but she couldn’t help it. She was even mean to William, yet he still played with her.

I’m not Julius, Tally, William told her defensively. His hands, which always seemed larger than the other boys’, were balled at his sides. For a boy so thin, he was strong.

She looked away when the tears wouldn’t stop falling, blinking them out into the dirt. A few drops landed on her shoes. I know you’re not Julius. She sniffed and wiped her face again, startled when William grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back around.

Why are you crying? he asked in what sounded like another accusation.

She yanked away from him. You’re hurting me again!

He looked down at his hands then, spreading them wide before letting them fall. I’m sorry.

Vagabond, she whispered and sniffed.

Stop calling me that, he growled.

She stiffened at his anger.

He looked up, and his eyes softened. Why are you crying?

She shook her head.

He moved closer. Did I really hurt you?

No. He had hurt her, but even she knew that wasn’t the reason for her tears. The warm wind picked up again and whistled in the silence of the dying afternoon that painted her world in reds and oranges. The straw swayed and slid across her arms. She batted it away.

Is it your mother? William whispered.

She pulled in a deep breath, but that only caused a tightening in her chest. She’s crying again. Lady Romina always cried when Lord August, Natalia’s father, would leave to visit Julius’ mother, Lady Edwina. Why does my father go to see Aunt Edwina? 

William placed a hand on her shoulder again. Gently this time. That’s not for you to worry about. He gathered her in his arms. His shirt smelled of lemon and grass.

Sometimes, she said, with her cheek against his chest. I wish I could leave. Would anyone miss her? Would her brother Lorenzo miss her? He always abandoned her whenever Julius and his friends came to the country. Her mother and father wouldn’t realize she was gone. She was sure of it.

Where would you want to go? William asked.

She leaned away and looked up at him. Why? Would you take me?

He smiled. Perhaps. I am, after all, a vagabond.

She laughed. He was her vagabond. He had no title like most of Julius’ friends, but she didn’t care. Make me fly. Take me from here, Liam.

His hands settled on her hips. Of course, my queen, He said, using the name he’d given her. Sometimes he meant it to be mean, but not today.

Today, he made her fly.

*   *   *

chapter 1

*   *   *

March 1816

Oxford, England

The heat pouring out of the foundry beat back the cold wind whispering up underneath Leah Hext’s thin skirts. The furnaces inside blazed with the scent of melted iron, and shouts from the workers filled the night.

Leah kept her feet moving as she waited, standing away from the beggars who stood on the other side the backdoor in hopes of gathering the free warmth for the night.

Months ago, that could have been her standing in the huddle of discarded wood that one of the foundrymen had been generous enough to give to the displaced souls. Had it not been for her family, she’d have been lost. Though it was also her family who’d destroyed whatever beautiful future she might have had in the first place.

Now, she was hardly any better than the eyes that glanced her way, the fire dancing light across their stained hollow faces. While her clothing was in better condition than the men and women who spoke in hushed tones to one another, she did not wear the newest fashions. Leah had done well in keep her dresses entacted, stitching and mending wherever they began to fall apart, knowing it would be  months before she could afford another garment of any sort.

That was the price of blackmail.

She closed her eyes and tried to listen past the murmur of conversation across from her and beyond the chill winds to focus her mind on the men inside.

Tonight, she would meet the scoundrel who’d been causing her family trouble since before she’d been aware of it, too young to ask the required questions.

There was laughter and the sound of it had the distinct air of men of means, baritone notes that rang with a deeply cultured dialect. She pressed herself to the wall and watched the men in fine suits and winter coats leave the foundry, never once glancing in her direction or that of the beggars.

They were the foundry’s investors, but Leah only needed to follow one of them.

Lord Reinburg. He was the one who had the connection to Leah’s blackmailer.

The men all stepped into a carriage, and Leah moved with her face averted and grabbed a hack. Using some of her precious coin, she asked the driver to follow the hack and then pressed her face to the window as the vehicle conveyed her down High Street.

A moment later, she was surprised when it stopped before the city’s observatory. It was late for anyone to be out, but it made sense that the observatory would be open. After all, one got the best views of the sky at night. She noticed that a few other carriages were about tonight and wondered at the event taking place inside.

She made sure to keep her distance from the men and slipped into the building through the servants’ entrance. In the last year, she’d grown very good at sneaking around and donning one disguise after another. If anyone guessed who Leah truly was, the granddaughter of a march owner, which was the borderlands given to a marquess, it could mean her death.

Yet she’d risked returning from France to England, because she’d known it was up to her to set the past to rights.

Or as right as she could make it.

The observatory was built like a thick column, a circular structure with a dome that could hold hundreds. Inside were three floors—the main foyer, the science library, and then the observation floor.

Leah left her frock in a closet and moved to the second floor. Once there, she straightened her posture so she could easily flow amongst the ladies and wealthy women who were present. If no one stared too hard at her dress, they’d never notice that it had seen better days.

She met no eyes and offered no smiles as she moved through the room. She touched her pale brown wig to ensure it was in place and then moved around the tables, chairs, and books shelves until she saw Lord Reinburg. He and his companions were moving toward the third floor, climbing the curving marble staircase. She followed.

Excuse me, a male voice called from behind her. Have we met before?

Leah slowly turned and found an attractive young man she was sure she’d never met. He was a student. She could tell just by gazing at him and guessed his age to be... twenty? She was twenty-six, yet life’s blows had seemed to age her mind far beyond that.

She put on a smile and decided to speak to the man in her mother’s native tongue. While many of the English were proficient in France and Latin, not many studied Spanish.

The man seemed confused, a look that only emphasized how handsome he was, and she knew him to be searching for words in Spanish that were similar to either French or English. But then his brown eyes simply roamed her before returning to her face. You’re very beautiful.

She blinked and pretended not to understand. Then she gave her apologies and tried to move away.

He caught her hand and turned her toward him once more. His muddled gaze said it was drunk. Won’t you join me for the evening?

She laughed, because she couldn’t help it, and knew very well what he was asking of her. Thanks to her father, she was English, more English than anything else, if one considered her paternal grandfather had been the Marquess of Darvess, yet after spending years on the Continent, she’d learned that men of a certain means were the same, no matter where she went. Persistent was a mild word where they were concerned. How many times had she’d witnessed one man after another attempt to use her mother? But Romina’s religious upbringing would not allow her to sell her body. Not even for wealth or power. No thank you. Have a good evening.

Her sudden mastery of their common language startled him enough for her to rush from his side and blend into the crowd once more. She moved quickly up the stairs, pressed through the heavy doors at the top, and stepped into the darkness of the observation room. There, she knew she’d be safe from prying eyes, just as she knew the blackguard who’d been blackmailing her thought the same.

Lord Reinburg was easy to find. He stood in the corner of the room by a lamp, and though the flame was very low, as to not obscure the view of the sky, it was enough. She was surprised to see that he was alone. She couldn’t see the other two men he’d come in with, but they didn’t matter. Only the man who stood a few paces away did.

She did look around the room for a moment to see if she recognized anyone from her past. It wasn’t likely she would, however. It had been eighteen years since she’d left. She’d been eight at the time and on a completely different path in life. She’d been a daughter of the wealthy and friends with those who would one day hold powerful titles.

Now? She was little more than a servant in the midst of these men and women.

So, she was sure that no one would recognize her and after so many years, she herself would not know an old friend if they walked right in front of her.

Her gaze returned to Reinburg.

Reinburg had no part of the actual blackmail. Like Leah, he was simply being used. The blackmailer in question had been feeding the lord information and some of that information had leaked to his arrogant heir, Lord Henry St. George.

And it was the chatty Lord Henry who was spreading the rumor that the murder of Leah’s aunt, the Marchioness of Darvess, had not been committed by an unknown villain, but by a group of very well-known lords of Great Britain.

Lady Darvess had been Leah’s relative, and though she didn’t remember much about the woman, nothing she did remember was good.

The woman was not missed by any means, yet if certain ears got wind of how the woman had truly died, it would mean pain for Leah’s cousin, Julius Hext, and she wanted to protect him from that outcome.

She and her brother Lorenzo would do anything to protect him and set the past to rights.

A woman with a elaborate fruit hat passed by Lord Reinburg and Leah ignored her... until she saw a note being passed between them.

Was her blackmailer a woman? Impossible.

And yet all she had to do was think of the Marchioness of Darvess to know just what a woman was capable of.

And there was only one way to find out if this woman was the one Leah had been looking for.

*   *   *

chapter 2

*   *   *

William Tift watched Lord Reinburg pocket the note and wondered if the woman who’d handed it to him had been the same female he’d seen follow Reinburg from the foundry. He spoke to the man at his side without turning that way. You follow the lord; I’ll take the woman.

And what do you expect me to do once I approach the man? Franklin Lockwood removed his spectacles and gave them a sweep with his handkerchief before placing them back on his face. I’ve never been good at picking pockets. You should have brought Raymond along if that’s what you wanted. I’m sure he’d have known how to retrieve the note. Raymond was one of their friends, the younger brother of their best mate Hugh. But Ray knew nothing about the situation at hand, and Hugh wanted to keep it that way.

William glared at his companion. Frank, had I known your study of psychology would render you incapable of something as easy as picking a pocket, I’d have never encouraged it. For the last two years, Frank had been spending most his time with books and surrounded by the greatest minds that England had to offer. Which meant he’d been doing nothing more than sitting around and debating on theories about the inner workings of the mind and how people came to the decisions they did.

Frank placed his hands in his pockets. When was the last time you picked a pocket?

William took a moment to think. It had been awhile.

Frank cut in. Exactly. I’m not stealing from the Earl of Reinburg. If I’m caught, I’ll go to prison, and I’ve no title to protect me.

William had a title, but not one he’d been born with. He was a knight, but that hardly put him above Frank. The Lockwood holdings were legendary, and both had enough wealth to bribe a magistrate or two for an offense such as picking a pocket. Frank, depending on what that note says, we’ll not be in court for pickpocketing. We’d be hanged for far worse.

Frank’s features shifted in the darkness of the observation room. Damn, you’re right. He looked at Reinburg. But I can’t do it. I’ll never get it done. You take the lord. I’ll follow the woman.

Are you sure you can do that? William taunted. I don’t believe there is anything in your books to aid you.

Frank chuckled, and even in the darkness, William could see his features change once again, hardening into sharp lines. I’ve never needed books for this.

William cut him off from taking his leave with an outstretched hand. What do you do if she doesn’t cooperate?

There was silence and then... I can handle myself. Then he was gone, moving like the predator William knew he could be. The woman, whomever she was, didn’t stand a chance of getting away from Frank. The heir of the coveted Greenmoor Estates may have been unable to pick a pocket, but Frank held other talents.

The crowd parted for the eldest Lockwood son, and William moved in the other direction.

He caught Lord Reinburg passing underneath one of the lamps that lined the far walls. Reaching up, William brightened the flame. In the darkness, the flash of light was blinding and made more than one person jump or guard their eyes. A few people stumbled. William was one of them.

He gently bumped into Reinburg, retrieved the note, and kept moving. Pardon me.

He smiled. That had been easy enough and now, he could follow the woman as well.

He moved out of the observatory and allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the brightened room before he spotted Frank moving down the stairs. On the second level and not far ahead, he saw her. Standing just behind a stand of books was the blonde woman with the stylish fruit hat he’d seen in with Lord Reinburg... and beside her was the one he’d seen following the lord from the foundry.

Were there two blackmailers? A team of women?

Or perhaps not.

The women were speaking, but their conversation did not seem to please either of them. The one with a brown hair grabbed hold of the other’s arm, but then jumped as Frank caught them.

William moved, failing to excuse himself as he brushed through a couple on the landing. He took the steps two or three at a time.

Frank caught the blonde, but the one with the dark hair vanished. Then he saw her moving down the staircase and went after her. She was a woman of moderate height, easily blending into the crowd around her but moving with the grace of a dancer. Her dress of red striped muslin made her appear of average means. The garment was not new but neither was it shabbe enough to make her stand out. If she’d been at a proper Society event, she’d have been distinctly beneath everyone there.

She glanced over her shoulder, and their eyes clashed with the might of battle swords, causing both to stagger back a little. William didn’t understand his reaction to her but held on. Her gold gaze widened, and she turned away. Now she was moving with the speed of a spirit, and William was shoving people out of the way to get to her.

A few people shouted in his wake. Someone recognized him.

Is that Major General William Tift? You’d think he was still in the heat of battle with the way he’s moving.

If only they knew their assumption was correct. This was a battle but not for king and country. This was a battle for life and to continue that life with the ease that William had come to know, come to appreciate.

Unlike the wealthy sons and daughters who surrounded him, he’d fought and shed blood for his title, and he would not easily give it up

William’s family, though gentry, hadn’t always been wealthy. Wealth had been a disguise he’d worn as a lad that others had fallen for. If only they’d known the truth. Very knew people did.

The Men of Nashwood knew. They were a brotherhood that William had tied his loyalty to nearly two decades ago. But no one else had ever known what he hid about his existence.

Some had suspected, but none had come close to the truth... except for a girl from his past. He thought it strange to be thinking of Julius’ cousin at that very moment. The little queen. She was always a queen in her own mind and didn’t allow anyone to forget it. She’d stared at him as though she knew exactly who he was. He put thoughts of her aside and hoped they’d never return.

When he reached the middle of the room, he glanced around and knew she was lost to him.

He searched the room again, keeping his eyes low in the hopes of spotting her and then when that failed, he ran outside.

Nothing.

He could see no one and couldn’t find her even after circling the building.

But he’d seen her face, and William would not forget it.

He went back inside in order to find Frank. They ran into one another on the first floor. Frank’s hand was wrapped in a cloth, and his expression was grim. His jaw was held tight as he spoke. The little shite cut me. He was obviously livid if he’d resorted to cursing the girl. His green eyes blazed with fury and deadly thoughts. I can only hope the liquor removed any infection that could spread through me.

She got away? William asked.

Frank nodded. But I took this. He held up the woman’s fruit hat. There are initials inside.

William took it and flipped it inside out. S.D. Then he grinned. Good work. SD? What do you think that stands for?

Satan’s Daughter, Frank said without missing a beat.

William barked a laugh.

Frank didn’t join in. Instead, he bit his lip. He was fighting the pain. "You were right. I’ve grown weak. We begin training once I return