A Scorching Dilemma Read online

  A Scorching Dilemma

  Daniel sped into the clearing, then came to a skidding halt at the water’s edge.

  FAITH’S SHAWL, gown and shoes lay discarded by his feet. His stunned mind grappled with the notion that Faith was in the lake. And she was apparently enjoying herself.

  “Lady Faith,” he shouted, but the call was barely an audible croak. Fear had constricted his throat.

  On spotting him, she waved a wet arm. The happy greeting brought her to the surface and her rounded bosom rose clearly for his inspection. Her gaze followed his stunned stare and she sank lower, her arms covering her upper body.

  But it was too late.

  Faith’s wet muslin shift left nothing to the imagination. Daniel swallowed, his arousal vying with his fear for her safety. “Come out at once.”

  His voice sounded a fraction stronger and less like a chicken being strangled.

  “Why?” Faith gave him a mischievous grin before she swam closer, her bare arms stroking across the water.”

  “My lady, this is hardly a respectable situation.” He pointed at her gown carelessly strewn by his feet. “You are not properly covered.”

  Her sweeping arms kept her afloat with surprising ease. “I still wear my shift, and stays and my petticoats, though those are tied to my side so it will not hinder my legs as I move. . . .”

  “Stop.” It was more an order for himself than her as his unruly mind disrobed Faith of each article she mentioned. Why had he come here? Morton! “My lady, I came to warn you. You must not marry the Duke of Morton.”

  Her humor vanished. “I do not wish to speak of that.” She pushed farther into the lake. “I came to swim, and that is what I intend to do. If you are concerned on my behalf, why do you not join me?”

  Her laughter rang through the clearing, silencing the birds.

  Books by Shereen Vedam

  A Beastly Scandal

  A Season for Giving

  (from One Winter’s Night: A Regency Yuletide Collection)

  Coming Soon

  A Perfect Curse

  A Scorching Dilemma

  by

  Shereen Vedam

  ImaJinn Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  ImaJinn Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-644-4

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-625-3

  ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2015 by Shereen Vedam

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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  Cover design: Deborah Smith

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Simple red apple isolated on white© Didora | Dreamstime.com

  Background © Omela at Shutterstock.com

  Beau Brummell © Christiaan Lloyd at Shutterstock.com

  Empire style historic fashion women silhouettes © Snusmumr at Shutterstock.com

  :Edsa:01:

  Dedication

  For mom.

  Chapter One

  London, May 1794

  THE BLOW CAME from behind—sudden, sharp, and blinding. Stars danced behind his eyes as he fell. Grassy ground met his outstretched arms and the world turned dark.

  Voices. Far away. Quarrelling.

  “Help me, Mama. He is heavy.”

  “He is a little boy and you are a strapping lad. Fill his pockets with rocks, then toss him into the water. He must not be found. Hurry before his papa comes looking for him. There is not a minute that his precious brat does not slip into that one’s thoughts.”

  Before he could make sense of the words, he was flipped over onto his back and his legs were lifted. His head bounced on the ground as he was dragged down a slope. Cold water splashed against his backside, and he came wide-awake. He frantically grabbed the bank, but the muddy soil slipped through his fingers.

  Seconds later, his face sank beneath the surface. He sputtered, thrashed, and kicked out. His right foot connected with his attacker’s chin. His feet were dropped. As he struggled to find his footing on the slippery riverbed, his shoulders were grabbed and he was held underwater. He swallowed stinky, gritty, river water. It scratched his throat and his chest stung as water replaced air.

  All went dark again. He bobbed to the surface, floating on his back. Water sloshed in and out of his ears, and the current tugged.

  “He is floating away. Did you use enough rocks?”

  “I could not find any.” A hand wrapped around his chin and pulled.

  Panic spewed up in his throat like bile. Heat flared in his chest and flames shot up from his hands.

  “Ow! He burned me.”

  “Do not be daft, boy. Look out! He is getting away.”

  A grip jerked at his heavy coat and it slipped off. He was free. . . .

  London, May, 1814

  DANIEL TRENTON rushed into the empty breakfast parlor at daybreak, his blood thrumming with excitement. He had been preparing for this moment for weeks, but now that the day had finally arrived, he had almost slept through it.

  Ever since last spring, Daniel had been employed by Lady Roselyn, serving as her butler at the lady’s Mayfair home, Ravenstock Manor. She was the head of the Rue Alliance, a group of shifters who could change the shape of their faces and bodies at will. Daniel was an exception in that regard—he could only shift his hands into flames.

  Until today. For weeks, he had been secretly trying to shift his entire body. He had come up with the idea after witnessing Lady Roselyn transform herself from female to male so she could investigate a murder.

  He strode up to the empty hearth where the previous day’s soot and rubble had been cleared away and replaced with fresh coal and tinder. Kneeling in front of it, he imagined settling himself over those black pieces. He planned to fool the other alliance members, before revealing himself, hopefully to resounding applause. During practice, he had been able to hold his shift for a good thirty minutes before losing control and changing back to his normal self. But then, he had not had an audience to distract him.

  His blood raced as he held out his left hand. The last digit on that hand was half as long as it should have been. But that deformity did not affect his shifting. At a snap of thumb and middle finger, flames shot out of his hand. Transformed, the little nub on his left hand was as handsome as its neighbors.

  White heat then enveloped his arm. Reveling in the shift, he tipped himself into the hearth and burst into a raging fire. He embraced the coals, feeding on their energy to supplement his strength, and prepared to wait.

  The coal boy entered the room first, through the green baize servants’ door, and exclaimed in surprise at the lit hearth. He shrugged, probably assuming someone else must have done this chore for him and left. Other servant
s soon followed to ready the room for the family’s breakfast.

  In his current state, Daniel could no longer “see” or “hear” anyone, but like a bat in a cave, he discerned their presence, identifying each by their shade of light.

  Many alliance members, including Daniel, were from the lower orders. So when Lady Roselyn had generously offered them employment at Ravenstock Manor, all eagerly accepted. All but Daniel.

  Serving others did not come easily to him. He preferred stealthily nicking a purse or stealing a ride on the back of a hackney so the jarvey never noticed. Unfortunately for Daniel, the first requirement of belonging to the Rue Alliance was that all members had to hold a respectable paying position. Mrs. Beaumont, the alliance’s founder, wanted to discourage members from using their talents to gain ill-gotten goods, potentially exposing their secrets to the world. Though their beloved Mrs. Beaumont was now dead and buried, Lady Roselyn, the new head of the alliance, made sure members adhered to that rule.

  Despite needing employment, Daniel had only agreed to work for the lady because he had been intrigued, and if truth be told, slightly infatuated, with the beautiful, reclusive Lady Roselyn. When he had first met her, she had shunned her ton connections, discharged her servants, and spent her days locked away in this mausoleum of a house. The fact that her life had been in imminent danger only added to his fascination. Daniel could never resist a cry for help.

  It had been a good decision. A year ago. Aside from the benefit of a steady income, each member could also practice their extraordinary skills without fear of discovery.

  Because Ravenstock Manor was now the Rue Alliance headquarters, and Daniel wanted to belong there, he tried to fit into his role. To his vast disappointment, he soon discovered that being an actual butler was vastly more difficult than pretending to be one. Even if he could perfect the art of polishing silver—which, according to underbutler Randal, did not involve simply rubbing the cutlery on his sleeve—he lost interest in staying once Lady Roselyn married. Yet, every time he tried to resign, the lady balked. “Only one more week, Daniel, please. Is that too much to ask?”

  It was a game they had been engaged in for months, but he was getting weary of it. For theirs was an arrangement where only Lady Roselyn achieved her objective, in that she kept him at her beck and call for reasons to which only she was privy. She certainly did not need Daniel. Her husband, Sir Phillip, was a Royal Intelligence Officer. Though not a shifter like the rest of those in the alliance, Sir Phillip adored his new wife as much as she did him, and would move heaven and earth to satisfy her slightest whim.

  Meanwhile, Daniel skulked around Ravenstock Manor, and with each passing day, grew lonelier and more disillusioned about his purpose in life.

  Unhappy with this train of thought, Daniel followed the servants’ activities, anxiously awaiting the family’s entrance. How long had he been in this transformed state? His thirty minute limit must be fast approaching.

  The door swung open, sweeping in cool air as Mrs. Weatheringham and her granddaughter, Hope, arrived. Hope walked up to the hearth and stared at Daniel while her grandmother instructed a footman on what to put on their plates. Hope reached toward his flames, her essence brushing him like a moist spring breeze. Daniel instinctively cringed. She had the power to stop anyone’s shift, permanently. Then he hastily stopped his retreat. Had the child noticed?

  Her grandmother called to Hope, her words brushing across the room in a reverberation. Hope hesitated, and then obeyed.

  Daniel relaxed, sliding around the slightly charred lumps of coal. He must not make a mistake like that again or he would lose this game before it played out. Fires did not shrink from a human’s touch, however lethal that touch was.

  The rest of the household’s arrival distracted him. Lady Roselyn came in Sir Phillip’s company, a beautiful orange flame next to her husband’s red-hot heat. Then entered the ever-distracted Miss Nevara Wood. The Rue Alliance’s librarian, with an open book in hand, was a cool shade of blue.

  Sir Phillip spoke in earnest with his audience. He strolled before the hearth and stopped. In his changed state, Daniel was unable to distinguish Sir Phillip’s words. Frustrated at having his view blocked, he shrank, cooling his flames so they stopped warming the knight’s backside.

  Sir Phillip noticed the dying fire and picked up a poker to stir the coals. Daniel skipped out of the cool iron’s way, which stung him at each pass. The poker followed, jabbing. In a flare of temper, Daniel rose up.

  Sir Phillip leaped back in alarm. Now he had their attention! Drawing energy from the coals, Daniel, half thrilled but also half exhausted from holding his shift so long, expanded until he filled the large hearth, enjoying the frightening spectacle he had created.

  Excitement rang like church bells clanging in alarm. People ran around the room and shouts crested in waves of energy. Someone yanked Sir Phillip aside. With his way forward clear, Daniel leaped out of the hearth, transforming into his natural human shape. As his feet touched the floor, water splashed across his face.

  “Trenton,” Sir Phillip said. “How did you—?”

  Daniel stood dripping, his limbs trembling and disappointment weighing heavy on his shoulders.

  Beside him, Miss Wood placed an empty bucket down.

  He glared at her for ruining his surprise. Not to mention almost killing him. What if he had not transformed before the water fell over his flames?

  She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and eyed him up and down. “You are covered in streaks of soot, sir.”

  Grasping at what little dignity he had left, Daniel ignored her and addressed the assembled group. “I have been developing my talent.”

  “And you have done exceedingly well,” Lady Roselyn said. She looked lovely this morning, as she did every day. Her blue gown sliced into the dull room like the glimpse of a clear sky on a cloudy day. “Will you join us for breakfast, Daniel?”

  He eyed the delicacies on the sideboard with greed. His shift had lasted longer than he had intended. As a result, he was spent . . . and famished.

  “But he is our butler,” Sir Phillip said. In case the matter was still uncertain, he added, “Butlers do not join the household for breakfast.”

  “Yes, dear, but Daniel is an exception,” his wife said. “Exception” was the lady’s favorite excuse for Daniel whenever he and Sir Phillip clashed over matters of station “Now, what were you saying about the Prince Regent?”

  Her husband rolled his eyes but acquiesced. He was obviously growing accustomed to the unusual household his wife ran.

  “I am not sure what he wants. I hope he has a new assignment. It has been quiet since our return from Spain.”

  As their conversation developed, Daniel’s interest in remaining in this room withered. Everyone had already forgotten his incredible shift. Shivering with cold, he decided it would be best if he changed out of his wet clothes and then stopped by the kitchen to steal something to eat.

  Miss Wood strode by him to take her place at the table. Every dark strand of her hair was in place and pulled tightly to the back of her head in an intricate knot. “I plan to visit Hatchard’s Bookstore in Piccadilly this morning.” Excitement flushed her pale features. “I have been corresponding with the owner, who advised me yesterday that he may have acquired a book that I have been searching for. I have hopes it has information on the Rue Alliance’s origins.”

  “Take someone with you,” Sir Phillip said as Daniel’s hand touched the doorknob. “After what happened to Mrs. Beaumont, it is best not to travel about Town alone, even in daylight.”

  “I can accompany her,” Daniel said. Anything to get away from this house. And a bit of fresh air might help clear his thoughts.

  “Thank you, Mr. Trenton, but I intend to take my time. You would be bored within moments of our arrival. Besides . . .”

  �
�Besides, what?”

  “Besides, you are as filthy as a chimney sweep. I wish to leave soon and it would take you hours to clean up. As it is, you are leaving black footprints all over the floor.”

  “I shall be ready in a trice. Do not leave without me.”

  AN HOUR LATER, Daniel Trenton, his legs trembling because he had not had a chance to eat anything before leaving the house, leaned against a lamppost on Bond Street outside Hatchard’s Bookshop. He braced one foot against the post so he would be less likely to disgrace himself and fall over.

  Across the street, a hawker shouted, “Strawberries, all ripe, all ripe, my last dozen baskets.”

  Daniel abandoned his post to run to that source of much-needed sustenance. He handed over his last coin for a basket of red dimpled fruit and returned to duty.

  The clip clop of hoofs, the jingling of carriage harnesses, and the stench of a cart transporting fish, all faded away in the pleasure of consuming the sweet fruit. With his limbs no longer unsteady, he stood up straight.

  Yet, while his body rejoiced at his returning strength, his discontent remained. Was this to be his life then? Doing odd jobs for Lady Roselyn? Even saying he was gainfully “employed” was as much of a stretch as saying he was a competent butler, since, once the lady had married, Daniel had steadfastly refused to accept her wages. In essence, taking her blunt would have been tantamount to accepting Sir Phillip’s charity, and Daniel had no taste for that.

  Yet, if anyone discovered he was not being “paid,” he might be drummed out of the Rue Alliance. That could be why Lady Roselyn kept their monetary arrangement quiet.

  As for Sir Phillip, every glance he took at his “butler” was laced with mistrust. Daniel suspected that the man was well aware of his early infatuation with his wife. Though his loyalty to the lady never wavered, he had long outgrown his cub affection for her. Still, Sir Phillip seemed to be holding Daniel’s fondness for Lady Roselyn against him.