A Deceptive Bargain: A Regency Spy Romance (The Beckett Files Book 5) Read online

  Laura Beers

  Contents

  More Romance by Laura Beers

  1. England, 1814

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  Text copyright © 2018 by Laura Beers

  Cover art copyright © 2018 by Laura Beers

  Cover art by Blue Water Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, copied, or transmitted without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  More Romance by Laura Beers

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  A Peculiar Courtship

  To Love a Spy

  A Tangled Ruse

  The Baron’s Daughter

  The Unfortunate Debutante

  1

  England, 1814

  Martha rushed eagerly down the long, expansive halls of Chatswich Manor towards the nursery. If there were windows in the hallway, she knew she’d see the sun barely peeking over the horizon, but every morning it was the same routine. She would relieve the nursemaid and take over watching Caroline until Lady Lansdowne rose for the day.

  Her employer and dear friend, Eliza, the Marchioness of Lansdowne, spent most of her day with her child, which made her an oddity to the elite of London society. The ton couldn’t comprehend such loving, devoted parents as Lord and Lady Lansdowne. They doted on their eight-month-old baby, the Lady Caroline Kate Beckett, with a fierceness that she had never seen.

  As she walked into the nursery, Caroline made cooing noises in her crib, expressing her desire to be picked up. Sarah, the nursemaid, started to rise from her chair but stopped when she saw Martha approach.

  “You are late,” Sarah chided gently with a smile. “I’d nearly decided to start her morning routine, but I know how much you love picking Lady Caroline up from the crib.”

  “It is true,” Martha replied, returning her smile as she approached the crib. “It is my favorite part of the day.” Placing her hands on the crib rail, she leaned forward and smiled warmly at the precious child. “How are you this fine morning?”

  In response, Caroline beamed and reached out for Martha. Scooping the baby up in her arms, she hugged her tightly. “I am in love,” she murmured softly, kissing Caroline’s soft cheek.

  A pleasant baritone chuckle came from the doorway. Turning her head, she saw Benedict, the Marquess of Lansdowne, leaning against the wall, dressed in his riding attire. “No matter how hard I try, you always seem to beat me to the nursery in the mornings,” he remarked in a teasing tone.

  She dropped into a polite curtsy. “You made the mistake of going riding, my lord.”

  “Ah, I see where I strayed,” he joked with a twinkle in his eye.

  Walking closer to Lord Lansdowne, she asked, “Would you like to hold your daughter, sir?”

  Benedict gave a slight shake of his head. “I am only teasing you, Martha.” With a sweep of his hand, he indicated she should walk ahead of him. “Although, I daresay my wife will not be as tolerant.”

  Martha laughed, snuggling the infant closer. “If only you were like the other vain and pompous lords and ladies who only see their children in the nursery. Then I would be free to hold Lady Caroline to my heart’s content.”

  As they walked towards Eliza’s bedchamber, Benedict clasped his hands behind his back. He glanced at her, curiosity in his expression. “Have you considered my wife’s request to become her companion? You would have more time to spend with Caroline.”

  “I am happy with my position as Lady Lansdowne’s lady’s maid,” Martha assured him as she shifted Caroline to her other hip, eager to end this futile conversation.

  Turning his gaze straight ahead and keeping his tone neutral, Benedict observed, “You were born into nobility and are worth far more than a lady’s maid.”

  “I may have been born into nobility, but my father was a lowly vicar, making me merely a country bumpkin,” she replied dismissively.

  Stopping in the hall, Benedict turned to face her, his brow furrowed. “We both know your uncle is Lord Waterford, and you are not just a country bumpkin.”

  “Need I remind you that I haven’t seen my uncle in over seven years,” she said, making silly faces at Caroline. She was promptly rewarded with the baby’s giggles. “Besides, that is not my life anymore.”

  Benedict regarded her with a kindness in his eyes that allowed her to feel safe enough to trust his intentions. “My point being, you are Eliza’s friend and confidante. You are completely qualified to act as her companion.”

  “Typically, companions are reserved for unmarried women or widows, and Eliza is neither,” Martha pointed out. “Plus, she has you.” She softened her words with a smile.

  “That is true, but we want to elevate your status in our household, especially since you are Caroline’s godmother.”

  Martha met his gaze, considering her words carefully, being mindful that Lord Lansdowne was still her employer. As she rocked Caroline on her hip, she asserted, “I am grateful for your kind words, but I have no desire to be a companion. I prefer being a lady’s maid, because I enjoy serving Lady Lansdowne.”

  Benedict sighed. “I wish you would open…”

  A feminine voice cut him off. “That is rubbish,” Eliza declared, walking towards them. “You may continue hiding out, but it is time you became my companion.”

  Even in the morning, Lady Lansdowne looked beautiful in her green wrapper, her auburn hair pulled back into a loose chignon, her olive skin and high cheekbones glowing with good health.

  As she saw her mother approach, Caroline clapped with glee and tried to lunge out of Martha’s arms. Laughing, she handed the baby to Eliza. “We were on our way to wake you.”

  With a loving glance at her husband, Eliza explained, “I can’t sleep without Benedict, and he rose early to go riding… without me.” A small frown came to her lips, but Martha detected no hint of censure in her voice.

  Benedict put his arm over his wife’s shoulder, pulling her close. “You looked so peaceful this morning. I didn’t dare disturb you.” Grinning, he leaned in and whispered, “Besides, I kept you up very late last night.”

  Lowering her gaze, Eliza blushed as her husband kissed her cheek. “Well, I suppose you had a good reason.”

  Watching the undeniable love between Eliza and Benedict, Martha felt overwhelming happiness that these two kindred spirits had found each other. Lowering her gaze to grant them some privacy, Martha knew that she would never feel passion such as theirs. Suppressing the yearning in her hea
rt, she reminded herself that she wasn’t worthy of love, for she was ruined, body and soul. Her innocence had been snatched from her and replaced with distrust and fear.

  “Now,” Eliza’s voice broke through her thoughts, “I thought we could go shopping today in the village.”

  “I am sure Mr. Larson will be pleased to accompany you,” Martha replied, looking up again. “After all, he mentioned he has a passing fancy for bonnet shopping.”

  Benedict chuckled as Eliza said, “I allowed you to be my lady’s maid for two years, but I am in desperate need of a companion now.”

  “No…”

  “…thank you,” Eliza blurted, finishing Martha’s sentence. “I know you are happy being a lady’s maid, but you were born to do so much more.”

  Martha sighed at her friend’s enthusiasm, despite knowing that they were about to have the same conversation they always did. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I have a deep mistrust of men in general. That alone would make me a horrible companion.”

  “You like me,” Benedict teased.

  “I do now. But it took months before I could even speak to you,” Martha reminded him. “Besides you, I only trust Mr. Larson, Lord Jonathon, and Lord Camden. That is not a wide selection of men. You must understand that I have no desire to socialize with men ever again.”

  “Excellent,” Eliza proclaimed with a victorious smile. “A companion is not required to mingle with gentlemen.”

  “I would prefer to play with Lady Caroline all day,” Martha said, watching the baby lunge for her father.

  Benedict lifted Caroline from Eliza’s arms. “This precious rascal already has a nursemaid,” Benedict maintained as he tossed his daughter in the air, her laughter echoing in the hall. “I will entertain this lovely lady up in the nursery while you prepare to break your fast.”

  Eliza arched an eyebrow. “Did you just call our daughter a rascal?”

  “I did,” he admitted, amused. “She managed to win over my heart, just as easily as you did.” Leaning in, he kissed Eliza’s cheek before he turned to walk back to the nursery.

  Eliza looped her arm through hers. “Come, my dear companion.”

  As they walked towards Eliza’s bedchamber, Martha was grateful for this dear friend, who was the one constant in her life. Without Eliza, she would still be at the mercy of those men who only wanted her for one vile purpose. She closed her eyes against a flood of painful emotions. They always came back to haunt her at the most inopportune moments, despite her best effort to keep them buried deep inside.

  Shuddering, the vivid memory of India took her back to a time she would rather forget. The smell of the musty tent, the dry straw on the floor digging into her legs, and the men bartering for her as though she was merely an animal for sale.

  “Martha,” Eliza’s voice came from far away, “you are safe.”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw the concern on Eliza’s face. She offered a weak, reassuring smile before saying, “I know I am safe here at Chatswich Manor, but I am not safe from the memories that plague me. I will never be free of those.”

  “You will be,” Eliza assured her. “It will just take more time.”

  Martha shook her head, not believing her friend’s words. “It has been two years since you saved me, and I still relive those memories as if they were yesterday. I spend most nights in the nursery because I can’t sleep. When I close my eyes, those years of slavery come back to haunt me with such a vengeance that I wish I could slip into oblivion.”

  Reaching out, Eliza hugged her tightly, providing her with much-needed comfort. “You are always welcome to stay here, either as my lady’s maid or as my companion. You will never need to fear for your safety again,” she expressed as she took a step back.

  “Thank you,” Martha murmured.

  “You should really stop thanking me. You thank me every day.”

  Swallowing hard, Martha replied, “I’m afraid I can’t stop. I am still just as grateful as I was the moment Mr. Larson walked me over to you, and you removed my bindings, declaring me free.”

  “If you really want to thank me,” Eliza said deliberately, “then live your life as you see fit. Be happy.”

  Martha smiled broadly. “If that is your wish for me, then please know that I am happy being your lady’s maid at Chatswich Manor. Now, may we drop this companion nonsense?”

  “We’ll see,” Eliza agreed quickly, making it clear that she did not intend to let the matter drop.

  She sat down at the dressing room table, handing Martha the hairbrush. As Martha brushed Eliza’s hair, a loud knock came from the door. “Enter,” Eliza ordered.

  The door opened, and Mr. Larson walked into the room, his usual confident demeanor replaced by an aura of reluctance. “There is a visitor for Miss Martha downstairs.”

  A feeling of dread washed over Martha, and she tensed. Trepidation in her voice, she asked, “Who is the caller?”

  Frowning deeper, Mr. Larson cleared his throat. “He claims that he is your father.”

  Martha gasped, dropping the brush onto the floor. “No, no, no, no…” she muttered in disbelief. Without thinking, she backed up until her legs hit the four-poster bed. “How did he find me?”

  Tentatively, Eliza rose and placed her hands on the back of the chair. “I have a confession,” she stated warily. “Every year since we brought you here, I have sent a letter to your father and mother to let them know you were safe.”

  Eyes wide with disbelief, Martha exclaimed, “Why would you do that? I did not grant you permission to do so!”

  “They are your parents, and I assumed they were worried about you,” Eliza explained.

  Martha scoffed. “I guarantee that they were not. You had no right!” She hesitated, then tentatively asked, “Did they ever write back?”

  Eliza shook her head. “No, they did not. But your father did come all the way to Chatswich Manor to call on you. Perhaps he has a good reason.”

  “I don’t care,” she asserted, pushing away from the bed to pace the room. “Did you ever wonder why I never spoke of my father? My father is a tyrant. He never cared for me.”

  “Maybe time has softened his manner?” Eliza proposed, hopefully.

  Martha stopped pacing, knowing she needed to express her feelings adequately. “I owe you my life, Eliza, and respect you dearly, but you can’t presume to know the complexities of my father. There is a reason I ran away from him. At times, I wondered what was worse,” she hesitated, “living under his thumb or being subjected to slavery.”

  Eliza cast a worried glance towards Mr. Larson. “Surely, it could not have been that bad.”

  “It was,” she assured them, her voice firm.

  Mr. Larson stepped closer, his tone compassionate. “If I may, your father isn’t in a position to hurt you now. Not only are you employed by Lady Lansdowne, but I would never let another person lay a hand on you ever again.”

  “Thank you,” she responded, touched that his expression was so caring and sincere. How she wished she had a father like Mr. Larson, a man who had always treated her with kindness and respect.

  “If it would help, I will escort you downstairs and remain in the room as you meet with your father,” Mr. Larson encouraged.

  Martha ran her hand down her black servant’s frock. “I haven’t agreed to meet with him, yet,” she reminded them, her resolve weakening.

  “But you will,” Eliza stated, knowingly. “Mr. Larson and I have nothing to do all day but convince you to meet with your father.”

  She sighed, knowing it was inevitable. Her friends were just as stubborn as she was. “I will go, assuming both of you will remain in the room with me.”

  “Yes, I would be honored,” Eliza confirmed. “Since you are seeing your father for the first time in years, let’s dress you in one of my gowns.”

  Martha shook her head. “I will meet with him as I am.”

  After she tucked the last pin into her blonde hair, Martha placed her h
and on her stomach, which churned with dread. She stood outside of the drawing room, knowing that only one wall separated her from her father.

  Eliza reached down and grasped her hand. Leaning closer, she whispered, “You can do this.”

  Nodding her head, Martha took a few steps and entered the room, drawing strength from Eliza and Mr. Larson behind her.

  When she walked into the drawing room, her father stood, his eyes narrowing dangerously as they took in her black servant’s frock. “You work as a servant?” he shouted.

  “Father,” she responded with a tip of her head, ignoring his outburst. Gesturing towards her friends, she acknowledged, “May I introduce Lady Lansdowne and Mr. Larson, the steward of Chatswich Manor?”

  With a wave of his hand, her father dismissed them. “I would like a moment alone with my daughter.”

  “I would prefer that they stay,” Martha said, attempting to keep her voice steady.

  Her father’s expression hardened, but he nodded his acceptance.

  Eliza gently nudged her towards the settee, opposite her father. As they sat down, her father kept his steely gaze on her, making her even more uncomfortable. Smoothing out her skirt, she cast a furtive glance at Mr. Larson, who stood back near the wall.

  Taking in a slow, deep breath, Martha turned to face her father, taking a moment to study his features. Time had been kind to him. His handsome looks had not diminished much, although his brown hair had begun to fade. The creases around his mouth had deepened, giving the only real indication of his age. He was impeccably dressed in a very fine, dark blue tailcoat, buff trousers, and Hessian boots.