A SINFUL SURRENDER: Spies and Lovers Read online

  A debutante, a disgraced lord, and a dead body. A disaster... or the grimmest meet-cute in Regency London?

  * * *

  Miss Delilah Bancroft has a problem. A sizable and rather bloody one. Namely, a dead man on the library floor. She’d only wished for a moment of solitude out of the glaring eyes of Society. Instead, she’s caught red-handed (unfortunately, literally) by an attractive stranger. Is he her salvation or ruination?

  Marcus, Lord Wyndam has inherited a decrepit castle and a tainted title. During his desperate search for evidence to silence whispers of treason against his father, he stumbles across a woman holding a deadly stiletto over a body. Is she murderer or pawn? What he knows for sure is that she is his only link to the truth. With enemies beating down the door, he spirits her from the scene before she is discovered with blood on her hands—and her pretty white debutante dress—to unearth her part in the grisly plot.

  Delilah proves herself to be a woman of wit and courage as well as beauty, and as the only person who might be able to identify the man behind the plot that ruined his father, Marcus must keep her close. Even if he has to ruin her to do it.

  * * *

  Warning: Contains a lady who longs for adventure, a man of honor who longs for respectability, and a head long rush through London’s ballrooms on the hunt for both. Will they live to love another day?

  A SINFUL SURRENDER

  Spies and Lovers

  Laura Trentham

  Also by Laura Trentham

  Historical Romance

  Spies and Lovers

  An Indecent Invitation Book 1

  A Brazen Bargain, Book 2

  A Reckless Redemption, Book 3

  A Sinful Surrender, Book 4

  A Wicked Wedding, Book 5

  A Daring Deception, Book 6 (Coming Soon)

  * * *

  Contemporary Romance

  Highland, Georgia Novels

  A Highlander Walks Into a Bar, Book 1

  A Highlander in a Pickup, Book 2

  A Highlander is Coming to Town, Book 3

  * * *

  Heart of a Hero Novels

  The Military Wife

  An Everyday Hero

  * * *

  Cottonbloom Novels

  Kiss Me That Way, Book 1

  Then He Kissed Me, Book 2

  Till I Kissed You, Book 3

  * * *

  Christmas in the Cop Car, Novella 3.5

  Light Up the Night, Novella 3.75

  * * *

  Leave the Night On, Book 4

  When the Stars Come Out, Book 5

  Set the Night on Fire, Book 6

  * * *

  Sweet Home Alabama Novels

  Slow and Steady Rush, Book 1

  Caught Up in the Touch, Book 2

  Melting Into You, Book 3

  Contents

  Blurb

  Also by Laura Trentham

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Also by Laura Trentham

  About the Author

  Foreword

  This book reads as a standalone story, however, if you’ve read the first three Spies and Lovers books, you will have met one secondary character, Lord Rafe Drummond. In fact, A Sinful Surrender takes place chronologically at the same time as An Indecent Invitation. Marcus and Delilah attend some of the same functions as Lily and Gray, although their paths do not directly cross.

  If you’ve read A Brazen Bargain, which takes place the fall after An Indecent Invitation and A Sinful Surrender are set, then you’ve already met Marcus and Delilah a few months after the events of A Sinful Surrender.

  I love the entangled storylines of the Spies and Lovers world and how it is expanding!

  Chapter 1

  Miss Bancroft is not hideous, I suppose, but she is only just passable. Don’t you agree? So quiet and… and boring. I’m afraid those novels she’s fond of are rotting her brain. She reminds me of this brown paneling.” Sir Wallace Wainscott rapped the wall.

  Hiding farther down the shadowy hall, Delilah Bancroft felt the vibrations in her cheek as she did her best to disappear into said paneling. Even more mortifying than overhearing something dreadful about oneself would be getting caught doing it. Especially by a man whom her mother had been sure was ready to come up to scratch.

  “But her father has coin and lots of it if the latest on-dit is to be believed. Her wardrobe is certainly ostentatious enough.” Lord Nash sniffed as if Delilah’s white debutante dress carried a certain eau de commonness because her papa’s merchant money had purchased it.

  She ran a hand over the skirt and fisted the muslin. Perhaps the extra flounces and ribbons bordered on extravagance and didn’t suit her, but other girls wore dresses with an equally garish number of fripperies. One unfortunate girl even now pranced around the dance floor with a chartreuse sash that matched her sallow complexion tied in an enormous bow.

  “I overheard Mr. Bancroft boasting about his new ship. Can you imagine?” For the first time, Delilah heard the malicious whine that had garnered her suitor the nickname Whiney Wainscott among the more seasoned ladies.

  She had done her best to catalog Sir Wallace’s finer points—good hygiene, a full set of teeth, and most of his hair—when he’d come to call. A glass was always half-full in her estimation. Although her outlook was most likely a consequence of being the pampered daughter of a wealthy man with no worries over food or having a roof over her head. Her childhood had been full of carefree adventures.

  For most of her life, she’d not faced significant hardships, but now they piled up, threatening to crush her. Her illness two years earlier had come on the heels of the death of her brother fighting on the Peninsula. Entering the marriage mart hadn’t been the fun distraction she had expected. It was riddled with unexpected pitfalls and proved difficult to navigate.

  “The Bancrofts’ connection to Lady Casterly—and their vulgar money—are the only reasons they aren’t given the cut direct.” A bronze statue of a rearing horse on a pedestal blocked her ability to see his expression, but Lord Nash’s tone dripped with disdain.

  “Miss Bancroft will have a sizable dowry settled upon her.” An opportunistic lilt in Sir Wallace’s voice turned the statement into a half question, as if he were seeking Lord Nash’s approval.

  “Common coin is still common.” Lord Nash’s attitude tarnished the sense of muted welcome she had received from the ton under Lady Casterly’s wing. How many lords and ladies tittered behind their cheroots and fans at her ostentatious frocks and common coin?

  Beneath the tears that burned up her nose and blurred her vision was a feeling she had a hard time quantifying. Yes, Sir Wallace and Lord Nash’s opinions hurt her terribly. Embarrassment was rife that she had mistakenly assumed the ton’s acceptance of her family into their ranks was genuine. But another feeling trumped her hurt and embarrassment.

  She was mad. No, not mad. She was furious. At the two gentlemen—although neither man qualified for the moniker in her eyes anymore—for discussing her in such a manner. At herself for being a question and answer away from accepting a lifetime in purgatory with Sir Wallace. And at her mother for convincing Delilah that Sir Wallace was the best she could expe
ct.

  Delilah quelled the urge to march over and plant a facer square on Sir Wallace’s aristocratic nose. It would be ruinous to her reputation and was exactly the kind of impulsiveness her mother had worked diligently to smother out of her with tonics and compresses. After all, her impulsive behavior was what had landed her at death’s door, and she had no wish to put herself or her mother through any more trauma, physical or social.

  With the discussion shifting to gaming losses and horseflesh, Sir Wallace and Lord Nash retreated to the far end of the hallway where the stairway descended. Delilah remained pressed against the wall for a few breaths, hoping the two men would return to the party, but they tarried.

  She’d been searching for the retiring room before coming across the two men. Now the thought of smiling and making polite, meaningless conversation with her mother or any of the ladies was untenable. Yet neither could she lurk in the hallway for Sir Wallace or some other gentleman to discover and mock.

  If she were as brown and bland as Sir Wallace intimated, no one would notice her. She slid away from the men with her hands flat against the wall. Could she escape down the servants’ stairway, feign tiredness, and beg to go home? A new novel awaited her on her bedside table. Adventure between the covers of a book was as close as she’d come in recent memory to true excitement. She’d arrived in London with hope she’d broaden her world, but if Sir Wallace and his ilk were the inhabitants, she’d rather retreat to her bedchamber alone.

  Her fingers brushed a metal latch inset into the wall. She pulled, and a door swung open with nary a squeak. She backed into the room, closed the door, and turned. It was a small library, intimate, welcoming, and most importantly, empty. Four braces of lit candles cast wavering circles of light around the room. Books covered two walls, and the air held the scent of beeswax and parchment.

  She examined the door she’d entered through. It was flush with the wall, and if she hadn’t felt the latch, she might have overlooked it. Which meant, with luck, anyone in the hallway would overlook it as well. She could gather her wits and confidence in private.

  Most debutantes would be devastated by being categorized as barely passable, but Delilah had long ago accepted her brown hair and freckled complexion didn’t incite the composition of love poems. She was unfashionably hardy-looking compared to the blond-haired, pale-skinned, delicate English roses in vogue with Society. But she’d received compliments on her eyes, rich chocolate with shards of amber, and her smile had been referred to as beguiling once or twice.

  Quiet? She would admit to veering toward silence, especially when expected to converse on inanities like the rise and fall of bodice lines or horseflesh. She didn’t care for riding and preferred to get around the countryside on her own two feet.

  But boring? That stung like a patch of nettles. And she knew of which she spoke. She had endured her fair share of scrapes as a child wandering the hills and woods around their village of Stoney Pudholme. The villagers had called her wild, most of the time indulgently, sometimes less so. Her last ill-fated adventure had quelled her wildness. She’d been as boring as a crypt mouse since her illness, no matter that she felt back to her hale, healthy self.

  A half-full decanter of what she could only assume was illegally procured brandy from France sat beside four glasses on the sideboard, candlelight sparking off the crystal. She wrangled with her conscience only a moment before pouring herself a finger of liquor, anger at herself and all Society burning hot in her chest.

  She tossed the brandy back like a shot. While it wasn’t her first experience with liquor—her beloved brother had indulged her curiosity more than once, and her father allowed her the occasional glass of after-dinner port—she’d never experienced the river of fire she’d ignited with her rashness.

  She coughed until her eyes watered. The blaze subsided and took on the feel of a warm bath in her belly. She straightened, wiped her eyes, and poured herself another finger. This time she sipped and savored her small rebellion.

  A high-backed settee faced an ornate fireplace. The fire behind the grate had burned down to glowing coals. She sank onto the cushions and slipped her fan off her wrist. The names of her dance partners for the evening were scribbled along each rib. More than half were empty. Sir Wallace would be looking to claim his second dance of the evening soon. He could cool his heels and wonder where she was, because she was unavailable. A laugh of evil-tinged glee escaped at the picture she painted.

  The solitude washed over her and banked her anger like the remains of the fire. Yet she wasn’t at peace. Expectation crept through the room with each tick of the clock on the mantel. The lit candles and brandy made her wonder if the room would be used for an assignation this night.

  The hairs on the back of her neck quivered and sent a shiver down her spine. She whipped around, but no one had sneaked in on her unawares. Shaking her head, she resettled herself on the cushion, but her senses remained on alert and her back refused to bend.

  Delilah should have outgrown such nonsense. Her imagination had been the bane of her mother’s existence. Her romp on the moors with only her daydreams as company had led to getting stuck in a mire for hours in the rain. A chest infection had taken root and had nearly finished her off, but she’d survived. Instead, it had been her honorable, brave, rule-following brother who had died on a battlefield in Portugal.

  She quaffed the remaining liquor, plunked the glass on top of a leather-bound book lying on the mantel, and meandered to a set of windows flanked by heavy, dark curtains. She unlatched one side and pushed the pane open a few inches, breathing in coal-tinged night air. She missed Stoney Pudholme. London was dirty, raucous, and less welcoming than she’d thought.

  The back garden appeared smaller from the second floor. A couple stealing a kiss behind tall shrubbery settled a melancholy sadness in her chest. Would she ever experience a loving embrace, or was she destined to marry a toad like Sir Wallace, not for love, but because it furthered her parents’ ambitions?

  She deserved one more tot to bolster her courage before returning to face a ballroom that secretly viewed her and her family with contempt. As she reached for her glass, a noise made her freeze. The latch of the hidden door jiggled.

  She had a breath to decide what to do. Unable to tolerate the thought of being caught and giving an explanation, she tucked herself behind the brocade curtains. The rustle of a person entering the room rushed through the silence with the force of a flood. Her heart hammered through her veins and echoed in her head.

  The embarrassment at Sir Wallace’s assessment of her boringness would pale in comparison to her humiliation if she were caught hiding behind a set of curtains. Why hadn’t she tittered an excuse and slipped away instead of acting like she was guilty of some misdeed? Her stomach gnawed on a stew of nerves. If luck shone upon her, whoever had entered would exit none the wiser to her existence.

  She pressed her back against the wall and tried to control her trembling knees. The sliver of moonlight from the window on her right did nothing to illuminate what was going on beyond the curtain. She closed her eyes and reached out with her other senses.

  Papers crinkled. Was the person reading? A book snapped shut. Delilah started. The curtains wavered, and she ceased breathing, expecting to be exposed.

  “Damnation, where did he put it?” a male voice muttered. More papery noises. She grew light-headed and allowed herself shallow breaths.

  The door snicked shut. Had the man left? No. A second set of footsteps.

  “What are you doing here?” the first man whispered.

  “Have you found it?” The raspy voice of the second man was edged with impatience.

  “Do you suppose I’d be ransacking Harrington’s bookshelf if I’d found it?” More rustling followed. “Well? This would go faster if you helped.”

  The curtains fluttered as one of the men passed within inches of her. On the stirred air, the scent of expensive cologne tickled her nose—spicy and masculine. The noise increased, an
d the thumps of books hitting the floor matched the uneven pounding of her heart.

  She prayed they’d find whatever blasted book they were seeking and leave so she could rejoin the ball. She would be missed soon, if she hadn’t been already. Her mother would worry herself into a fit of vapors. Lady Casterly, on the other hand, might well organize a search party, which would be even worse.

  “I found it.” While the first man’s voice was low, it vibrated with triumph.

  Delilah let out a slow breath of relief. It would all be over in a moment.

  “Excellent. Hand it over.” The second man’s accent resonated with an upper-crust education and a penchant for intimidation. In other words, like most of the gentlemen of the ton.

  “Hawkins has been after this information for a year.”

  “Give it to me, Quinton. I’ll make sure he gets it. You can trust me.”

  Delilah shook her head slightly and bit the inside of her mouth until she tasted blood. Don’t trust him, Quinton!

  “I was tasked with this mission. I will see it done.” Something that might have been suspicion hitched Quinton’s voice, but she could also hear his uncertainty.

  “I’ll ask once more. The book, if you please.” A threat lurked behind the man’s politesse.

  “I’m duty bound to deliver the information to Hawkins.”

  “Your loyalty will be your downfall. I’m rather sorry for this.” The man’s voice was cold and distant and didn’t sound sorry in the least. Like a mouse sensing the flight of a hawk overhead, Delilah pressed into the wall, seeking a protection the unforgiving wood could not offer. Danger permeated the room.