My Wicked Little Lies

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Authors: Victoria Alexander

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My Wicked Little Lies
Sinful Family Secrets [2]
Victoria Alexander
Kensington (2012)
Rating:
****
About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Victoria Alexander was an award-winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. She turned to writing full time and has never looked back. Victoria grew up traveling the country as an Air Force brat and is now settled in a very old house in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two allegedly grown children and two bearded collies. She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, procrastination is an art form, and it’s never too soon to panic.

WICKED DESIRE
“Marriage, to the right woman, is the beginning of a life of love.”
She raised a brow. “My, you are romantic tonight.”
“Casanova would be envious.” He pulled her into his arms. “If he had seen you tonight, he might well have changed his mind about marriage. And considered me a very lucky man.”
“Then we are well matched.” She gazed up at him. “For I am a very lucky woman.” She paused. “Although I have been remiss in not making certain you know how very much I love you.”
“I have been remiss in that myself.”
She smiled into his blue eyes. “You are my hero, Adrian Hadley-Attwater.” Evelyn slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down to hers. “My knight,” she murmured against his lips ...
Books by Victoria Alexander
THE PERFECT MISTRESS
 
HIS MISTRESS BY CHRISTMAS
 
MY WICKED LITTLE LIES
 
 
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
My Wicked Little Lies
V
ICTORIA
A
LEXANDER
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
This book is dedicated with great affection and
gratitude to Joan Wright.
You welcomed me into your family all those years
ago and became much more than a relative;
you became a cherished friend.
I don’t say it enough—thank you!
Prologue
My Dear Sir,
I am at once eager and filled with regret to write this missive to you as it shall be my last. No doubt, Sir Maxwell has informed you of my decision to leave my position. In truth, I never thought this day would come. I never imagined leaving this life which has been, in most ways, quite remarkable and, in all ways, extraordinary. And yet, I have grown tired of excitement and weary of secrets.
I have lived these past five years in service to my queen and my country. While I admit, it may well be selfish, the time has now come to live in service to myself, as it were. I long for nothing more than that which most women want. A husband, a family, and a place in the world where one knows one belongs.
I have met a wonderful man and I shall spend the rest of my days trying to make him happy. Which is not the least bit daunting as he has pledged to do the same for me. It sounds dreadfully ordinary, doesn’t it? And yet, I have never been so eager and, yes, excited.
I have always thought those who say they have no regrets seek either to deceive others or to deceive themselves. Yet, as I cast my thoughts back upon these last years, I find few regrets. If I knew at the beginning what I know now, I daresay, I would have chosen the same path although perhaps I would have been more clever. Or possibly not. Regardless, it has been a grand adventure.
As this is my last communiqué, I feel I can be completely candid. I have only one true regret, Sir. I wish we had met, just once, face-to-face. I confess, I have often thought of that, wondered if I would know you the moment I saw you. Or recognize the sound of your voice. Silly, of course, as I have never seen you nor heard you. But through the years I feel I have come to know you although, in truth, I know nothing about you at all. I have imagined, in the late hours of the night, a meeting between us. The gaze of your eyes, wise and, no doubt, seductive, meeting mine. The corners of your mouth curving upward in amusement. The sound of your laughter. I have imagined the feel of your hand around mine as we danced across a crowded ballroom floor.
But who knows? You are a man of many secrets. Perhaps we have danced together. Perhaps you were the short, balding gentleman I danced with at the French ambassador’s ball. Or were you the flirtatious Italian count who compared my eyes to the stars in the heavens? I shall never know and that is, no doubt, for the best.
I sit here now with a smile upon my face. I fear I have let my fancy take f light in this final note. Odd, that finality brings such freedom. But one does wonder about the road not taken, the quest not pursued, the last chapter of the book left unread.
You have my gratitude, Sir, for all you have taught me, for your guidance and friendship.
Travel safe, my dear Sir.
With
love,
Eve
He stared at the note for a long moment. The hand so familiar, the words so final. But then that was the way of endings and beginnings, at once sad and exciting. Still, one needed to put the past behind before one could turn toward the future.
He drew a deep breath and picked up his pen.
My Dearest Eve,
Your note brought a smile to my face but then your notes often have. I shall miss them. As this last exchange seems to be one of confessions, I have some of my own.
You have astounded me through these years with your cleverness and your courage. I look upon you with great pride. Your decision to leave is a true loss to your country and yet no one can fault you for your choice. You have given much and it is time, past time perhaps, for you to resume the life you should always have lived. You have well earned it.
I, too, have wondered at what magic might have been found in a meeting between us. Without the barrier of position or paper. Was there fire that simmered beneath the surface of our words, or was that no more than the nature of the work we have accomplished together? No more than my own inevitable desire for a woman whose presence has filled my life even as necessity dictated she be no more than the faintest hint of perfume wafted from a page lifted to my face. Ah, Eve, the thoughts I have had.
He paused and stared at the words he had written. What was the point? There was no real need to respond. And to tell her of his feelings now might well do more harm than good. Perhaps there would come a day...
He sighed and placed his unwritten note on top of hers, folded them, and slipped them into his waistcoat pocket. He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. There was much to accomplish and little time left.
Endings and beginnings ... such was the stuff of life.
Part One
Lies of Omission
Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.
—Charles Dickens,
Great Expectations
Chapter 1
Two years later, February 1886 ...
 
“
Y
ou’re quite mad to suggest such a thing. And madder yet to think I would consider it. You do realize that, don’t you?” Evelyn Hadley-Attwater, the Countess of Waterston, rose to her feet and glared down at the man behind the desk. The man she had once thought of with the affection one felt for an annoying brother. The man she’d planned never again to see under these circumstances. “I won’t do it. And I cannot believe you have the nerve to ask me in the first place.”
Sir Maxwell Osgood studied her over the rim of a pipe, the smoke drifting about his head like a veil of accusation. It was most annoying.
“When did you start smoking a pipe?”
“I thought you preferred a pipe to cigars,” he said mildly.
“You look ridiculous.” She reached over his desk, plucked the pipe from his mouth, and dropped it into a saucer obviously being used for ashes. “And I prefer to breathe air that hasn’t been previously inhaled.”
“Doesn’t your husband smoke cigars?”
“Never in my presence.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do understand there is nothing you can say to change my mind?”
He smiled, a slow seductive smile that had no doubt made any number of women swoon at his feet and fall into his bed. Evelyn had never been among them. She heaved a reluctant sigh and sank back into her chair. “If you’re trying to charm me, it will not work.”
His smile widened to a grin. “To my eternal regret.”
“I fully intended never to see you again.”
“Allow me to point out we have seen one another.”
“Oh, certainly at the occasional social event, where we treat each other with nothing more than polite cordiality. It’s not the least bit significant and can scarcely be avoided. I had no intention of ever being here again.” She gestured at the room around them, a room so unremarkable as to be startling. It could well be the office of any midlevel government bureaucrat. Anyone stumbling in here unawares would find nothing whatsoever to indicate that the business of the Department of Domestic and International Affairs was not primarily concerned with treaties of trade between the more far-flung reaches of the empire and other countries. And indeed, on the first floor of the building, for the most part, it was. She met his gaze directly. “And even less intention of having anything whatsoever to do with you.”
“My God, Evelyn.” He clapped his hand over his heart in a dramatic manner. “You wound me deeply. Deeply and irrevocably.”
“I doubt that.” She snorted in disbelief. “And it’s Lady Waterston.”
“I thought we were friends.” A hurt note sounded in his voice.
She ignored it. “Of a sort, yes, I suppose we were. But everything is different now. My life is different and I will not risk that.”
He studied her for a moment, the look in his eyes abruptly serious. “His life may well be at risk.”
Her heart caught. She ignored that, too. It really wasn’t any of her concern. Still... “You said a file had been stolen.”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Exactly how important is this file?”
“The file consists of documents that reveal the very structure of this organization and the true identities of those involved in its governance and activities.” He shook his head. “That information would jeopardize the safety of every person listed as well as the safety of their families. Who knows to what lengths those we have pursued through the years would go in seeking revenge.”
She drew her brows together. So like Max to dole out pertinent details a little at a time. “You should have mentioned the importance of this file in the beginning. From what you have said thus far, I had the impression this was no more important than bureaucratic—” A thought struck her and her heart froze. “Am I on that list?”
“No,” he said simply.
Relief coursed through her, replaced at once by suspicion. “Why not?”
“The only reference to you is to
Eve
and that is minimal. When you left the agency, all records regarding your true identity were expunged.” He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Obviously this was a point of some annoyance. “At Sir’s orders.”
Her heart jumped at the code name of the agent she had worked with for five long years. A man she never met in person, who communicated with her only by written word. Who guided her, issued her orders, and yes, on occasion, saved her. A man who had once invaded her dreams late in the night and had made her ache for something she—they—would never know. But that was a long time ago and those dreams, that man, were firmly in the past, and there she intended to keep them. That she would react to his name was only natural and not at all important. There was only one man who filled her dreams now. The same man who filled her life and her heart. She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“He wished to protect you and seemed to think it was only fair to do so. Although ...” Max huffed. “It had never been done before and, I daresay, will never be done again.”
“I see.” She paused. Sir’s actions were as thoughtful as they were unexpected. Not that they changed anything. “He has my gratitude, of course. Regardless, this is no longer any concern of mine.”
He raised a brow. “No?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I would have thought, given the many times he saved your delightful derrière—”
“I beg your pardon!”
He chuckled. “Forgive me, my dear, old habits and all.” He sobered. “Now then, Evelyn—”
“Lady Waterston,” she said firmly.
He sighed. “Yes, of course,
Lady Waterston
.”
“Thank you,” she said under her breath although she needn’t have thanked him. She was now Lady Waterston, Countess of Waterston, and had been since her marriage two years ago to Adrian Hadley-Attwater, the Earl of Waterston, and very possibly the dearest man in the world.
“Forgive me,
Lady Waterston
.” He eyed his pipe longingly. “It’s not always easy to remember how very much the world has changed since you were last in this room.”
“Not merely the world, Sir Maxwell.” She pinned him with a firm look. “I have changed as well. I am no longer the helpless young woman who was forced into the employ of this agency.”
“I don’t recall you being forced.” He chuckled. “Nor do I remember you ever being helpless.”
“I was young and foolish.”
“You were young but you were never foolish.”
She tried and failed to hide a small smile of satisfaction. She had once prided herself on never allowing her feelings—her weaknesses really—to show to him or anyone else. Even now, secure in her position in the world and in the heart of her husband, she remained reticent to display undue emotion. “Perhaps
foolish
is the wrong word.”
“Perhaps.” His gaze met hers, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “You do realize that putting this in the form of a request was little more than a courtesy.”
She had suspected as much. Still, she had hoped. “You can’t seriously expect me to return to my previous position.”
“I not only expect it, Lady Waterston, but you really have no choice.”
“Nonsense. Of course I have a choice.” She stood once more and crossed the room to gaze out the window that overlooked a small, private park. In spite of the fact that she had been here on no more than a handful of occasions, for nearly five years this imposing, yet nondescript, mansion on this small square in Mayfair had been the center of her world. And this man, and his superiors, most notably Sir, had ruled that world. But she had met Adrian at very nearly the same time she had grown weary of deceit and treachery, even in the name of the queen, and had left it all behind. Or thought she had. She drew a deep breath. “I have no intention of returning to this.”
“Perhaps, given the critical nature of the situation, if we brought the matter to the attention of Lord Waterston. . .”
The threat hung in the air. So much for friendship.
“Blackmail, Max? Tell my husband about my past if I don’t do as you wish?”
“
Blackmail
is an ugly word.” He shook his head.
“And yet accurate?”
He ignored her. “There’s more to it than I have said thus far.”
“There would have to be, wouldn’t there?” On the far side of the park, a small boy, bundled against the cold, played with a dog under the watchful eyes of a nanny. Her heart twisted and she sighed. There probably was no choice. “Go on.”
“There have been threats in recent months—”
She turned toward him. “What kind of threats?”
“Those of exposure primarily. Vague, little more than rumors, but threats nonetheless.” He drew a deep breath. “As you are well aware, this agency operates under a veil of secrecy.”
She gasped in mock surprise. “You mean the Department of Domestic and International Affairs is not primarily concerned with trade?”
“Now is not the time for sarcasm.”
She cast him her sweetest smile and retook her seat. “I thought it was the perfect time.”
“As I was saying, this is an agency that cannot function openly. If this file was made public, if it was in the wrong hands, everything we do, everything we have ever done, would be cast in the direst of lights. We have not always followed what many would see as proper procedures. Indeed, we have often operated outside the strict confines of the law in the pursuit of the security interests of this country. The repercussions of exposure could bring down the government itself, especially given the volatile nature of the current political climate. At the very least, our effectiveness would be at an end.”
He paused. “As for the personal cost, the gentlemen who have headed this organization have done so at risk to themselves and their reputations. The only thing they have received in return, aside from the knowledge that they have provided an invaluable service to their country, is the assurance that their connection to this agency will never be public.” He shook his head. “These men are from well-known families, they hold hereditary titles and are respected members of Parliament. Some have had the confidence of the queen herself. Exposure would wreak havoc at all levels of government.”
“I understand that.” Impatience sounded in her voice. “But none of it explains why you have demanded my presence. Why am I here?”
“Because you are the only one I can trust,” he said staunchly.
“Nonsense. You have other agents, far more competent than I, that can certainly handle a minor task like the recovering of a file.” She scoffed. “If I am the only one you can trust, then you have far greater problems than a mere missing file.”
“And indeed I do.” He paused as if debating his next words. “I suspect the theft of the file was arranged by someone within this organization. The file was requested by the foreign office, or so I was led to believe.” He blew an annoyed breath. “Given multiple layers of bureaucracy, it’s difficult to uncover specifically who requested it without revealing that it has been stolen.”
She chose her words with care. “It seems to me, if one is concerned with secrecy, putting this kind of information into a single file is rather, well, stupid.”
“In hindsight perhaps,” he said sharply. “Do not forget this is still a governmental department, and when one’s superiors make a request, one complies without question.”
She raised a brow. “My, my, we are sensitive about—” A thought struck her and she gasped. “It was stolen from you, wasn’t it?”
He huffed. “That’s neither here nor there at the moment.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” She tried and failed to hide a grin.
“It’s not amusing,” he snapped. “I would trust no one else with something of this importance and whoever arranged the theft knew that.” He glared at her. “I was set upon by thugs and rendered unconscious by the use of chloroform.” He shuddered. “Nasty stuff.”
“And when you woke up?”
“When I woke up, the file was gone and I was ...”
“You were?”
He hesitated.
“Don’t stop now. If I am to be involved in this, I need to know all of it.”
“Very well,” he snapped. “I woke up naked in a most disreputable brothel.”
She choked back a laugh. “As opposed to a reputable brothel?”
He ignored her. “It was most awkward.”
“Because you have never been in a brothel before?” she said sweetly.
“One does not purchase what one has always had for free.”
She stared at him, then laughed. “You have certainly not changed.”
“Unfortunately, I have,” he said under his breath. “Lady Waterston.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “Because you are no longer an agent and because your real name is not included in the records here, you can act without suspicion. If you noticed, I asked you here on a day when few people are in these offices. Those that are have been sent on errands. All to preserve your privacy.” He paused. “In truth, what I need from you is fairly minimal.”

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