Carrying The Gentleman's Secret

Unmarried and pregnant!

Alex Golding had a duty to stop his brother-in-law’s bigamous marriage. But when he saw the bride, he offered whatever comfort he could to sweet young seamstress Lydia Brook...

Lydia has spent weeks trying to forget her brief encounter with Mr. Golding—she knows the rich widower can never love her. But when it’s Alex who offers her the investment to open her own shop, she can’t say no. This time their passion is as unexpected as its dramatic consequences...she’s expecting his baby!

Quite inexplicably Lydia’s heart gave a leap of desire, and when her gaze settled on his mouth she was lulled into a curious sense of well-being by his closeness as a rush of warmth completely pervaded her and her lovely eyes became blurred.

‘Just a kiss then,’ she whispered.

‘Just a kiss, Miss Brook,’ Alex murmured in a husky whisper.

Very slowly he lifted his hands and placed them on either side of her face. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward, and at his touch Lydia trembled slightly—with fear or with excitement? She didn’t know which, but she did not draw away as he lowered his head the final few inches and placed his mouth on her soft, quivering lips, cherishing them with his own, slowly and so very tenderly.

His gentleness kindled a response and a warm glow spread over her—but also fear began to possess her…a fear not of him but of herself, and of the dark hidden feelings he aroused within her.

Author Note

I have really enjoyed writing this story. It is about Lydia, a working woman in early Victorian London, who takes control of her own life before the emancipation of women—although calls for change were gathering pace in the last decade of the nineteenth century.

Lydia is an experienced seamstress and designer of ladies’ clothes. Intent on opening her own establishment, she is disheartened but not defeated when the bank refuses her a loan on the grounds of her being a woman. Along comes Alex Golding, a wealthy and influential businessman who deals with business ventures and legalities on a daily basis. He admires her intelligence and knows he is looking at a fighter. When she tells him she is looking for a loan to open her shop he offers her the money, confident that she will succeed…

Carrying the Gentleman’s Secret

Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

HELEN DICKSON was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she now has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

Books by Helen Dickson

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Destitute on His Doorstep

Miss Cameron’s Fall from Grace

When Marrying a Duke…

The Devil Claims a Wife

The Master of Stonegrave Hall

Mishap Marriage

A Traitor’s Touch

Caught in Scandal’s Storm

Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant

Lord Lansbury’s Christmas Wedding

Royalist on the Run

The Foundling Bride

Carrying the Gentleman’s Secret

M&B Castonbury Park Regency miniseries

The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook

One Reckless Night

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

1852

Beset with nerves, self-doubt and just a little terror at the speed with which events had taken her over, Lydia stood beside Henry Sturgis, the man who in a few minutes from now would become her husband. The realisation of the fact struck her anew and, as it did, she asked herself again if she was doing the right thing.

When Henry had told her he wanted to marry her, at first she had not been sure of herself, not really. The little time they had spent together had been exciting, but she had resolved to make no resolutions. With the death of her mother one year ago and after a lifetime of fending for themselves, to unite in such intimacy with another human being was a hard step for her to take.

Why? she asked herself. Why was it so difficult? Why was she so sensitive to committing herself to the challenging emotions of love, honesty and trust? Other people didn’t have a problem with it. Why should she?

Fear! Fear of what? Of moving forward, she supposed, of letting another person into her life and pledging herself to them. Pledging yourself meant holding another’s heart in your hand, of offering a secure place where anything was possible and everything between the two involved was understood. Pledging yourself meant facing what life had to offer together in the name of love. The problem was, she didn’t know if she wanted to. It was a risk, like leaping into a void, with no idea what she would find there.

Would it work? That was the question. Unable to make up her mind whether or not to marry Henry, she had decided she would carry on with her work as normal and see how things turned out. But Henry was in a hurry and after further persuasion from him and the resurrection of an unwelcome ghost from her past—a ghost in the shape of her father, who had cruelly abandoned her as a child and now wanted to reinsert himself into her life, which she wanted to avoid at all cost—she had relented, trying to convince herself that Henry was the living promise of all she desired and her escape from fear. But she wouldn’t think of that now. Not here. Not now, not ever.

The minute she had said she would marry him, Henry had set the wheels in motion with what she silently considered indecent haste. She’d had no say in the necessary arrangements. Two days hence they were to travel to Liverpool to take passage for America. Henry lived in America and his father was very ill. Should anything happen to him, he didn’t want to be on the wrong side of the Atlantic. It was for this reason they had come to this Scottish village called Gretna Green, the first changing post over the border, which was also a fashionable and romantic place for couples to marry immediately and without parental consent.

Now they faced the self-appointed priest who, for a substantial fee, had agreed to oversee the ceremony. The house where they had chosen to be married might not be as sanctified as a church, which Lydia would have preferred, but in the hushed quiet of the room and with the requisite two witnesses hovering behind them, it had all the solemnity she could wish for.

Lydia wore a costume of vibrant raspberry, simply styled and unadorned, with a well-fitted bodice. Her bonnet with its wide semi-circular brim, decorated with a small bunch of pink and white rosebuds, matched the dress. A profusion of black curls escaped the confines of the bonnet and caressed her face.

The priest leaned forward. ‘Are you ready to begin?’

Lydia nodded dumbly.

‘Yes,’ Henry was quick to reply, unable to hide his impatience to get the proceedings over with as quickly as possible. ‘Get on with it.’

Lydia looked at the priest when he asked them if they were of marriageable age. Yes, they replied. There was a disturbance at the back of the room as the door was flung open and someone entered.

‘Halt the proceedings.’

Lydia thought she must be mistaken. She thought she had heard someone say the ceremony must be halted. Startled, she turned at the same moment as Henry. It was simply unreal—the people, the priest, the sunshine streaming through the window. Two men had entered the room. The taller one who had spoken strode towards them. She looked him over openly. His tall, broad-shouldered physique radiated stamina and command, seeming to dwarf the other inhabitants of the room.

‘Can this not wait?’ the priest said crossly. ‘You are interrupting the ceremony.’

‘With justification.’

A sudden silence fell over the room. Lydia felt the cold at the back of her neck. It insinuated itself and slithered like tentacles down her spine. She stared at the man who had made the announcement.

‘What justification can there possibly be that allows you to burst in here and interrupt a wedding ceremony?’ Lydia retorted sharply with a fine cultured accent like cut glass, her gaze passing over the intruder with cold disdain.

The man’s gaze flicked from Henry to her, regarding her with an arrogance that was clearly part of his masculine nature. His eyes narrowed dangerously and his lips curled fractionally, but what passed for a smile was merely a polite obligation and a cool, dismissive one at that.

‘I apologise for any inconvenience caused, but I have justification enough—as you will, I am sure, soon agree. This man is not who he says he is. Had I not come in time he would have committed a criminal act.’

Astonished, Lydia stared at him. ‘Are you a policeman?’

‘No, I am not.’

From the tone of his voice and the set of his head and shoulders, Lydia knew that he was going to tell her the truth of the matter that was the reason for his intervention and her instinct told her that it was going to be worse than her worst imaginings. She stood rigid beside Henry, scarcely daring to breathe, waiting for him to continue.

‘It is my duty to inform you that this man you were about to marry already has a wife.’

Uncomprehending, Lydia felt her eyes widen and she stood immobile as a marble statuette as time drifted by in this sunlit room. In the time it had taken him to utter the words, all the devastation and bitterness of her expression could not be concealed.

There was a ringing silence. Nobody in the room said a word. Henry’s face had faded to the colour of dough. He was the first to recover. His mouth formed a grim line and his expression was guarded and wary—not unlike a small boy’s who has committed a wrongdoing and suddenly realises he has been caught out.

‘What is this?’ he demanded, his gaze fixed on the intruder. ‘And what the hell are you doing here?’

‘Surely I don’t have to spell it out?’ the tall stranger said, his voice dangerously quiet. ‘Of all the stupid, irrational—Have you lost your mind?’

In the face of such intimidation, Henry was visibly shaken, but it only lasted a moment. ‘Damn you,’ he uttered, his mouth forming the words which were barely audible.

Lydia tore her eyes from the stranger and looked at the man she had been about to wed, telling herself that whatever was happening had to be a mistake, that it was some kind of nightmare. It could be nothing else, but the stranger wore an expression of such steely control that she knew he was telling the truth even though she couldn’t comprehend it just then.

‘Do you know this man, Henry? And how does he know you? Answer me.’

Henry was emanating enough antipathy to suggest he not only knew this man, but that he was likely to commit violence. Anger had replaced his initial shock. Ignoring the woman he had been about to marry, he took a step towards the man, his back rigid and his fist clenched by his sides.

‘You followed me. Damn you, Golding!’ he snarled. ‘Damn you and your interference to hell.’

‘And you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I didn’t think it was asking too much when I insisted you remain faithful to Miranda—after all I have done for you. If it were not for me, your noble pile would have fallen into ruin and you would be living on the family farm, eking out a meagre living off the land. Instead of that you are living the life of the lord you were born to be and still chasing women.’

‘How did you know where to find me?’

The man didn’t so much as flinch. ‘It wasn’t difficult. You left my sister. She became bored and followed you to London. When she failed to locate you she came to me. I decided to pay a visit to your club where your friends were most accommodating with the truth. What lame excuse did you intend giving your wife for your absence?’ He spoke with an edge of aggression in his voice, which suggested that he was a man used to being answered at once.

‘I would have thought of something.’

‘I don’t doubt it. You’ve become rather good at lying to her. Damn you, Henry, you were about to become a bigamist.’

‘Until you stepped in. You could not have orchestrated your arrival with greater skill or better timing.’

‘I will not ask for an explanation—the situation speaks for itself. But how the hell do you think it would stand up in a court of law? Now I am here and though I am tempted to kill you, the love I bear my sister forbids it. Any wife faced with one sexual scandal after another would have her faith eroded in the man she married. She has just grounds to divorce you for this, but I doubt she will. She has a will of iron and your unacceptable, disgraceful behaviour since your marriage has only hardened her further. She is Lady Seymour of Maple Manor, a member of the peerage and no matter what you do to her she means to keep her place in society. Damn it, man, you have hurt her deeply. I hope you’re proud of yourself.’

He switched his attention to Lydia, bearing down on her like a tidal wave, his thick, dark brown hair, with just a hint of silver at the temples, gleaming in the light of the sun slanting through the windows. Tall, lean of waist with strong muscled shoulders, attired in a dark frock coat and cravat and light trousers, his gaze with a touch of insolence passed over her. His mouth tightened and his eyes, cold and unfriendly, flashed dangerously as he glared at her.

He studied her as Lydia studied him. She felt herself chafing under it.

‘What in God’s name did you think you were doing,’ he exclaimed irately, ‘careering round London with a notorious rake before embarking on this mad escapade?’

Lydia felt a swelling of righteous anger, a powerful surge of emotion to which she had no alternative but to give full rein. After all, she was as much a victim of Henry’s cunning as his sister. Her eyes flashed as a blaze of fury possessed her and added a steely edge to her voice. ‘None of this is my fault,’ she flared, suddenly furious at having some of the blame shoved on to her. ‘I had no idea Henry had a wife—or that he was a notorious rake since I do not inhabit his world.Polite society is outside my normal sphere, sir. Nor did I know his real surname is Seymour. I only know him as Henry Sturgis.’

The man stood with his hands on his hips, his light blue eyes like ice set in a deeply tanned lean face with a strong determined jaw and his voice like steel. ‘I wasn’t accusing you, Miss...?’

‘Brook. Lydia Brook,’ she provided, getting her voice under control and her features into a semblance of their normal expression. ‘And you, sir?’

‘Alexander Golding.’

Lydia faced him, resolute and defiant, her small chin thrust forward. She favoured him with a gaze of biting contempt before dismissing him and looking again at Henry. The words the stranger had spoken lapped round her like a wave threatening to engulf her at any minute. Her head felt suddenly weightless and she had to stiffen her spine to remain upright.

She studied Henry’s face and read what he couldn’t hide. In the space of a moment his expression had changed from the amiable, loving man who had been impatient to make her his wife, to that of a self-seeking, cunning being who was clearly thinking quickly what he could do to turn this situation he had not anticipated to his advantage. With the arrival of his brother-in-law, no longer at ease and in control, beads of perspiration began to dot his brow. She could almost hear the workings of his mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the tightness in her throat to go away. The sun that had shone so brightly had gone out of the day. How gullible she had been to let herself believe after Henry’s passionate kisses and soft persuasive words that he really did want her, for she now realised that his words had been hollow, his passion no different from the passion he might feel towards any woman he was attracted to. The fact that she hadn’t succumbed to his attempts of seduction—indeed, she had adamantly refused to do so without a wedding ring on her finger—had only served to make him want her more and try harder. When she thought she could speak in a normal voice, she opened her eyes and looked at him, trying to stand on her dignity before these strangers.

‘Tell me why you have done this.’ He cast a look at her. She wanted to see it as a look that asked her to understand, but she saw instead the calculation behind it.

‘If only you knew,’ he said, his voice so low that she hardly caught the words. ‘I did want you—’

‘But not as your wife,’ Lydia bit back scornfully, noting that he didn’t look her in the eye.

‘No. I care for you—’

‘You do not ruin someone you care for.’

‘From the first time I saw you, I wanted you. I couldn’t help myself. I have waited so long for this. I thought my chance to possess you would never come. My desire for you subverted whatever sense of right and wrong—of breeding—I have. It’s not something I am proud of.’

‘No. You should be ashamed. We were to have been married. You deceived me and brought me here to make me your wife. You were to take me to your home in America—your father was ill, you said, which was the reason you didn’t want to wait the requisite three weeks for the banns to be read out in church. None of it was true. What a gullible idiot, what a stupid blind fool I have been. How you must have laughed. What you have done is underhand—despicable. Oh, how dare you? You have treated me abominably.’

‘Lydia—if only you knew—’

‘Knew? Knew what?’ she flared, anger flowing through her veins like liquid fire. ‘That you already had a wife? What did you plan to do with me? Abandon me in Scotland following one night of connubial bliss and return to London flush with your success?’ Seeing this was exactly what he had intended, she gave him a look of profound contempt. ‘You disgust me, Henry. How dare you make me an object of pity and ridicule?’

‘What will you do?’

‘What I have always done—get on with my life. Let’s be honest, Henry. You didn’t love me any more than I love you.’

‘You mean to say you didn’t develop a tendre for me?’ he quipped sarcastically.

‘Your intention was to seduce me and when that failed it only served to make you more determined. Instead of doing the decent thing and walking away you went one step further, playing on my ignorance and vulnerability, and offered me marriage—even though you had no right to do so. You are a liar and a cheat. The worst of it is that I fell for your lies. I didn’t know what you were trying to do to me. Your aim was to diminish me, but I will not be diminished—not by you. Not in any way.’

Knowing he had played with her as a cat plays with a mouse was almost more than Lydia could bear. She looked at him, at his curly fair hair and his lean athletic body. His face was sensuous with heavy-lidded eyes and a full-lipped mouth, which, no doubt, women found appealing. He looked just the same, this man who had shown her kindness and consideration and been attentive to her needs. But now, looking behind his handsome facade, she saw that man did not exist any more, if indeed he ever had. Now she saw a man emotionally devoid of those things. She saw boredom and greed, self-interest and contempt for her as his inferior. He looked at her as he would at some low creature—arrogantly and insolently.

She hated him then. She felt a mixture of rage and humiliation that was so profound she almost believed she would die of it.

‘How could you be?’ Henry retorted, her words having roused his anger. On the attack and uncaring how wounding his words could be, he went on to regale her and those present with her many shortcomings, much to his brother-in-law’s irritation.

‘You, my dear Lydia, would make an amusing bed warmer were you not as cold as the proverbial Ice Maiden and set with wilful thorns. Some might think your virtue admirable—personally, I consider it a damn waste of both time and a beautiful woman. It’s unfortunate since beneath the ice you have spirit and should have proved highly entertaining in a chase—which I was about to experience for myself until my brother-in-law blundered in. Any man who shows an interest in you, you hold at arm’s length until there is the promise of a ring on your finger.’

‘Including you, Henry,’ his brother-in-law said sharply in an attempt to silence him on seeing the young woman’s shocked expression and how she had paled beneath the force of his attack.

Henry lifted his arrogant brows, drawling, ‘Including me. I wanted her—rather badly, as it happens—and was prepared to go to any lengths to possess her.’

‘Even to commit bigamy. You have failed, Henry, which is why you are so ready to point out Miss Brook’s faults to anyone who will listen.’

‘Indeed, I confess to having been afflicted by a strong desire to possess her, but perish the thought that I would actually marry a woman of such low character and without a penny to her name.’

‘Your failure to seduce her will do nothing for your self-esteem when you are back in town and you have to face your acquaintances and admit your failure to win the wager and have to part with the five hundred guineas.’

Lydia stood like a pillar of stone, her mind numb. Her senses and emotions would return when she realised the nightmare she was experiencing now was no nightmare at all, but an extension of reality that would affect the whole of her life. But at the moment she was too traumatised to feel or see beyond it. Henry’s insulting words and the stranger’s revelation hung in the air like a rotten smell. No one had insulted her as much as this and it was more than her pride could bear. She saw it all now.

Dazed and unable to form any coherent thought, she backed away as the implication of what she’d heard rammed home. Her heart began to beat hard with humiliation and wrath. She was appalled and outraged—there was no possible way to deny the awful truth.

Henry had made a wager with his friends to seduce her and, should he win, he would be richer by the sum of five hundred guineas. It was more than her lacerated pride could withstand. Her face glazed with fury. Oh, the humiliation of it. Any tender feelings that might have remained for him were demolished. The discovery of his treachery had destroyed all her illusions.

‘How dare you?’ she said, her voice low and shaking with anger. ‘How dare you do that to me? I do not deserve being made sport of.’