Infamous

Praise for Laurel Ames’ previous titles “Would not a broken mainmast put our departure for Europe off even further?” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Epilogue Copyright

Praise for Laurel Ames’ previous titles

Nancy Whiskey

“A spellinding romance guaranteed to quicken hearts everywhere.”

—Rendezvous

Tempted

“A rollicking romp filled with romance and mystery!”

—The Literary Times

Playing to Win

“A truly delightful and humorous tale...”

—The Paperback Forum

Besieged

“Witty dialogue and heartwarming characters combine for a wonderfully old-fashioned tale of true love.”

—Rendezvous

Homeplace

“...the perfect summer read...”

—the Literary Times

Castaway

“This special treasure is on the cutting edge of the genre...”

—Affaire de Coeur

Teller of tales

“...so hauntingly good ..it seems impossible that this is her first published work.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Would not a broken mainmast put our departure for Europe off even further?”

Rose asked astutely.

“Oh, what is another day or two when you are making such a hit in London?” Bennet replied.

“A hit? I am no such thing. I am probably the most talked-about woman in town.”

“Yes, that is what I meant,” Bennet said, staring into her eyes. They reminded him of the sea.

“Do be serious, Mr. Varner,” she said sternly. “You cannot want to be in the company of an infamous woman.”

“My friends call me Bennet.” He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand to study her better.

“What do your enemies call you?”

“I see to it that I have no enemies,” he said with that determined smile of his, and Rose wondered if he did not make them or if he simply eliminated them.

Dear Reader,

It’s June, so start thinking about your summer reading! Whether you’re going to the beach or simply going to relax on the porch, don’t forget to bring along a Harlequin Historical® novel. Since publishing her very first book with us in 1993, Laurel Ames has gone on to write eight books, which critics have described as “hauntingly good,” “cutting edge” and “endearing.” Her latest, Infamous, is a delightful Regency about a dashing nobleman and spy whose silly and snobbish mother and sister do their best to foil a romance between him and the one woman he feels is worth pursuing—a beautiful and smart country heiress who’s hiding secrets of her own.

Tori Phillips returns this month with Midsummer’s Knight, the sequel to Silent Knight. Here, a confirmed bachelor and a wary widow betrothed against their will switch identities with their friends to spy on the other, and fall m love in the process. In Runaway by Carolyn Davidson, a young woman who becomes a fugitive after an act of self-defense is discovered by a kind cowboy, who takes her back to his parents’ Missouri home as his “wife.”

And don’t miss Widow Woman, the first historical title by long-time Silhouette Special Edition® author Patricia McLinn, about a feisty female rancher who must win back the heart of her ex-foreman, the man she once refused to marry and the unknowing father of her child.

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical® novel.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Infamous

Laurel Ames

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAUREL AMES

Although Laurel Ames likes to write stories set in the early nineteenth century, she writes from personal experience. She and her husband live on a farm, complete with five horses, a log spring house, carriage house and a smokehouse made of bricks kilned on the farm. Of her characters, Laurel says, “With the exception of the horses, my characters, both male and female, good and evil, all are me and no one else.”

For Ma and Dad, whose unfailing support

and enthusiasm have encouraged me

to write far more than I ever thought possible.

Chapter One

London, February 1815

“Men are the most arrogant, helpless and stupid creatures on the earth,” Miss Gwen Rose Wall said out loud as she strode along South Audley Street into a brisk head wind, strangling her reticule with both hands. “Especially my brother, Stanley.” Her almost military gait caused her brown wool pelisse to flap open, cooling her heated anger to a becoming flush by the time she found the house number she was seeking on one of the corners. Its generous size, the tripartite Venetian windows and long side portico distinguished Varner House from the other residences on the street. However, it was not this grandeur that daunted Rose from entering, but a series of shouted expostulations in a high-pitched female voice. Though the content of the expletives was shrouded by the stout brick walls of the house, it was clear the woman was neither being attacked nor in pain, but was extremely angry. When the screeches momentarily ceased, Rose shrugged and began to ascend the steps under the portico, thinking that once she paid this duty visit her time in London would be her own, no matter what Stanley said.

A youngish man dashed out, putting on his hat and skipping down the steps so rapidly he collided with Rose. He would have overbalanced her backward had he not caught her in his arms. He stared at her with such a look of surprise and friendliness that Rose stared back, wondering if he recognized her. But his boyish face, creased with laugh lines and alight with a pair of merry blue eyes, was unknown to her. She found herself to be holding his hat, which she must have caught as it tumbled from his head. His long black hair was hanging over his brow now in tempting disarray and she had the most maddening urge to run her hands through it to stroke it back in place.

“Bennet!” shrieked the voice from the open doorway. “You come back in here this instant and explain.... What do you mean by kissing female persons on the front steps?”

A small hatchet-faced woman appeared with her fists clutching a silk shawl closed. Her perfectly black hair seemed unnatural planted on top of a face so seamed with age and frustration.

“I wasn’t kissing her, Mother.” He finally released Rose. “I was running her down in my haste. So sorry, miss—uh miss—?”

Rose cleared her throat and handed him his hat. “Miss Gwen Rose Wall.”

“I am Bennet Varner, and this is my mother, Edith.”

“I know. I mean, I was coming to pay a call on my godmother, Edith Varner.”

“Wall? Wall? I swear I must be godmother to half of England. Who is your mother?”

“Mrs. Eldridge Wall.” When this failed to elicit a spark of recognition, Rose added, “Who was formerly Miss Maryanne Varner, a rather distant cousin of yours, I believe. But I see I have caught you at a bad time. Perhaps another day would do better. I’ll leave my card with you.” Rose flicked this out of her reticule and handed it to Bennet, who accepted it eagerly.

“Nonsense,” Bennet said. “You must come inside. Too cold a day to be standing about on the steps.” He took her arm and pulled her up the remaining steps and through the door past his mother, who was staring at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. “And I’ve given you a fright,” he added.

“But you were going out, and in some haste, as I recall,” Rose protested as she surrendered her pelisse to the butler and tried not to gape at the grand staircase leading to the next floor, which must contain a ballroom, she surmised, to do justice to so much carved and polished oak.

“Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere important.”

“You said you had an appointment,” his mother accused as she followed them into a cheerful morning room where a fire blazed on the hearth and a modish young woman sat petulantly at an escritoire.

“My sister, Harriet Varner. This is Miss Gwen Rose Wall from...”

“Wall,” Rose supplied. “It is near Bristol.” Rose seated herself on the sofa Bennet indicated. He claimed the seat beside her, totally ignoring his mother, who had planted herself on a nearby chair.

Harriet stared at Rose appraisingly and Rose felt the girl to be adding up the cost of her blue wool walking dress and weighing it against her own filmy muslin gown and pearls. Harriet’s was a ridiculous costume for February, even the last day of February, Rose decided. Harriet was pretty enough, her sharp features still softened by the bloom of youth, but she had been ill-advised to crop her hair so short. That sort of wavy, flaxen hair was much better left long rather than attempting to tame the remaining short locks with a curling iron.

“I said, are you making a long stay in London, Miss Wall?”

Rose jumped at the imperious question from Mrs. Varner.

“Only a week or so, until we have arranged passage. I am accompanying my brother and his wife on a...a sort of grand tour.” Rose could not admit to playing nursemaid to a young bride. She was not yet twenty-three herself and only her mother could think such an arrangement suitable.

Bennet jumped up and tugged at the bellpull. The butler burst into the room as though he had been standing with his hand on the doorknob. “Tea, Hardy, and some cakes. Perhaps a suitable wine,” Bennet said, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, I expect you know what we need.”

Rose smiled at Bennet’s clumsy orders and she thought that Hardy was tempted to do so as well. She had already put Mrs. Varner down as a shrew and she suspected Harriet also gave her brother a hard time. Why else would he have been escaping the house so hastily? He did not strut or put on airs like her brother, but moved quickly and naturally. And he was strong, she thought, the memory of those arms holding her so safely causing her to stare at him raptly. She forced her attention away from him. No matter how much she thought she could like him, she must not, she reminded herself.

“I expect you know the roads are a bit torn up still,” Bennet offered.

“Where?” Rose asked, remembering their recent drive from Bristol.

“Europe.”

“Where in Europe?” she asked, thinking his comment unnecessarily vague. “France?”

“Pretty much all of it. Perhaps I should explain I am in the shipping business, so I have occasion to get news—”

“Not in business,” corrected Harriet. “Bennet has interests, as we all do. He is not directly involved in business.”

“Oh, I see,” Rose said as she watched Bennet roll his eyes heavenward. Rose smiled, for it did not matter to her that Bennet was in trade. Nor did it matter to him, but it obviously caused Harriet some pain and made his mother wring her hands nervously.

The tea tray was brought in and Edith Varner began to serve. “And how is your mother, Miss Wall? She is still...alive, I assume.”

“Yes, of course,” Rose said as Bennet cringed. “She is arranging to move into our house in Bristol, thinking that Stanley and Alice will like to have Wall House to themselves. She wrote to you that the three of us would be stopping in town. But perhaps her letter was misdirected.”

Edith looked guiltily toward the stuffed escritoire, and Rose schooled herself not to glance in that direction.

“It is too bad you are not making a longer stay,” Mrs. Varner said. “Or we might be able to arrange some entertainment for you. As it is...”

“A ball!” Bennet decided.

“A what?” Harriet demanded. “But you just said—”

“How long could it possibly take to arrange? A day or two, no more. I can have my secretary help you. Besides, your birthday is coming up on March third, Harriet. We must celebrate that.”

Bennet ignored his gaping sister and mother to pace about the room and throw out suggestions as to whom to invite, what musicians to engage, as though someone should be taking notes. Rose was glad it was not her responsibility. She liked Bennet quite well as a man, but as a brother or son she thought he might leave much to be desired.

“I shall arrange everything,” Bennet decided, seating himself and taking up his teacup, then turning abruptly to Rose. “Are you sure I did not hurt you when I ran into you?”

“Of course not. I am used to pushing about thousand-pound horses. I do not hurt easily.”

“Ah, you ride. We will go tomorrow. I have a stable full of hacks champing at the bit for exercise.”

“I could not impose in such a way.”

“You would be doing me a favor. What is your hotel? I shall call for you at ten.”

“Greeves Hotel, but I...”

“That is no more than a mile from here. What a happy coincidence.”

“But I do not know what Stanley, my brother, may have planned.”

“I shall bring horses anyway. At least you and I may ride.”

“Bennet,” his mother admonished. “With no chaperon?”

“With a groom, of course,” Bennet added.

“I should be delighted to ride,” Rose said for no other reason than to see Edith Varner’s expression turn sour again.

Bennet looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know the season is just starting, Miss Wall. I would encourage your party to spend a month with us at least to get a proper taste of London before venturing off to foreign parts. Why, you can stay at Varner House.”

This offer brought such sharp gasps from Edith and Harriet that Rose hastened to say, “We simply cannot impose in such a way. It will not be worth the bother of removing from our hotel to here, for I am quite sure Stanley has secured passage for us by now.”

“Oh, I shall speak to him. He should leave that up to me. If you want decent accommodations I will get you staterooms on one of my ships.”

And so it went until the prescribed half hour was up. Then Rose asked if the butler could call a hack for her. Bennet immediately sent round for the carriage and insisted on delivering her to Greeves Hotel himself, giving her a running account about all the buildings they passed as they made their way down Oxford Street.

Rose was careful not to mention a liking for bonbons or diamonds, for she feared Bennet would simply stop the carriage to hop out and purchase some. He was a strange man, not at all what one would expect of a London smart. Rose decided he was some sort of cit, with a family aspiring to society. She could almost feel sorry for Edith and Harriet. Almost, but not quite, for she had no doubt that if Bennet had not dragged her into the house, both mother and daughter would have refused to acknowledge her. What of that? She had been snubbed before and was quite used to it. She rather thought she had grown a thick enough skin to carry her through any situation.

Rose had thought Greeves Hotel a rather grand structure with all its rows of windows and wrought-iron railings, until she had seen Varner House. But Bennet had given specific directions to his coachman, so Greeves could not be too pedestrian. Though why she would care what Bennet Varner thought was beyond her.

“At ten tomorrow,” he said, kissing her gloved hand as he helped her down from the open carriage. “I shall hope to meet your brother and his wife.” He was gone then in a flurry of orders to his driver and a spin of carriage wheels. Rose stared after him as she walked up the steps and through the double doors into the lobby. They were on the third floor and the long climb gave Rose time to consider just what Bennet Varner’s game was. Could he be smitten with her? She knew she was pretty, but she did not think about it much since she knew she would never marry. Bennet might be boyish, amusing and sweet in the middle of a crisp February afternoon, but what was he like when drunk? That was what mattered. She shrugged off such thoughts and went to unpack her riding habit and shake out the wrinkles from the dark green velvet. At least she could look forward to a ride the next day.

“Sir, just three more,” the spectacled young man said as he deftly slid documents under the poised pen of Ben-net Varner. Any possible boyishness was wiped from Varner’s face as he perused the papers with a knit brow. He focused his gaze on the contracts and tried to put out of his mind the surprised green eyes of Miss Gwen Rose Wall as he had held her on the steps of his house. Her eyes were more of a blue-green, he decided, picturing them in his mind and causing his secretary to clear his throat to get his attention. Bennet signed a document without reading it at all. That look she had, like a startled doe, her russet hair brushing her shoulders, her pert nose, those eyebrows drawn in concern and those luscious lips...

“Sir? Sir? Are you unwell?”

“Fine, Walters, I’m fine.” Bennet cleared his throat. “Is the Celestine still in port?”

“Yes, due to sail tomorrow.”

“Her departure will be delayed,” Bennet said absently.

“Some special cargo you have engaged?”

“No. She needs her...her mainmast replaced.”

“Her mainmast? It’s the first I have heard of it. I would have thought Captain Cooley—”

“He doesn’t know it yet,” Bennet said firmly.

“But, sir.”

“I feel quite strongly that the mainmast is about to go and I want it replaced. I’m sure you can handle all the necessary arrangements.” The piercing look Bennet shot at Walters sent him scurrying from the room, leaving Bennet to get back to a contemplation of Rose. He must stop her from taking ship for Europe by whatever means he could.

Through the half-open door he watched Walters dispatch a messenger to inform Captain Cooley of his fate, then draft an order for the new mast. Probably they could find one in London, but Bennet would stubbornly insist on his course of action even if Walters had to send to the Highlands for a tree. He meant to delay the Celestine, and with good reason.

Bennet pushed aside the dull paperwork on his desk and thought once again of those blue-green eyes and that burnished hair like fine silk. Resignedly he put on his hat and greatcoat and walked through his secretary’s office without a word, leaving Walters to rehearse in his own mind the Banbury story he would feed to Captain Cooley when the man came storming up from the docks.

“I don’t care if we are distantly related,” Stanley said as his long strides carried him down the hotel stairs the next morning. “You cannot just go off riding alone with a perfect stranger.”

Rose looked up to her brother, a serious young man with brown hair and sincere blue eyes. “I am not going alone. My groom is coming,” she said, glancing at the slight youth who followed silently in their wake.

“Martin is just a boy. What sort of protection would he be?”

“All the protection I need. He is...” Rose’s protest trailed off at a warning look from Martin’s sharp brown eyes.

The boy moved around the brother and sister, holding the door open. The street in front of Greeves Hotel seemed to be full of riding horses. Bennet dismounted from a fidgeting black brute and tossed his reins carelessly to his groom, an older man who already seemed to have his hands full.

“I brought enough hacks so we could all ride, or you can have your pick of horses.”

Rose introduced the two men, embarrassed by her brother’s stuffiness. Bennet seemed not to notice he was being sized up by Stanley, and pointed out the most dangerous-looking of his beasts as a little fresh if Wall had a notion for a brisk gallop. Rose did not choose the dainty mare that would have been a good mount for Alice, had she the slightest interest in riding, but the strong-boned gelding with the white blaze, who met her gaze with interest. Martin replaced Bennet’s groom as escort and poor Stilton had to lead the mare back to Varner House.

Conversation was brief and confined solely to the points of the horses as they made their way through the noisy streets to Hyde Park. When they reached this landmark Rose knew she must be smiling foolishly as the full expanse of the park broke upon her gaze. “I had not thought there could be so much grass in all of London,” she said to Bennet with delight.

“Oh, the city isn’t all cobbles and paving stones.”

Bennet let Rose set the pace and try out Gallant’s long strides. Rose smiled at Stanley, who cantered at her side on Victor, and he grinned back. The only time they were in perfect accord was when they were on horseback, for they did both love to ride.

Rose glanced back at Bennet and Martin who seemed to have fallen into conversation. Why this should worry her was beyond her. Martin had far more discretion than she. But there was something so disarming about Bennet Varner. His friendliness, she supposed. She would have to be careful.

As Stanley urged Victor into a gallop, Rose fell back slightly, sacrificing a faster run to talk to Bennet. “You keep a fine stable, sir.”

“Call me Bennet I know it’s unfashionable, but everyone does.”

“Who usually exercises your horses?” Rose asked, matching Gallant’s steady trot to the black’s capricious jogging and head tossing as best she could.

“I do, or the grooms. A bit of town training is good for the young ones. Settle down, Chaos,” Bennet said firmly and the black rolled a wary eye at him.

“You train your own horses, then?”

“As much as I can manage. Business keeps me in town a good deal, so I bring my young favorites with me. Your brother is a bruising rider.”

“It is the one thing he does really well. I shall have no fear in placing the breeding stock at Wall into his hands.”

“I take it that task fell to you before?”

“Before he came of age Stanley was at school the better part of the time. Now...”

“Are you meaning to move to your house in Bristol with your mother?”

“I had hoped to stay at Wall and help him, but he does not want my help. And I am certainly no comfort to Alice. I suppose it will have to be Bristol after all.”

“That will be a pure waste of your talents.”

She looked inquiringly at him.

“I mean, unless you marry yourself,” he hastened to add.

“That will not happen,” Rose said, still sorting out what talents he was talking about.

“London is full of men who will fall in love with such a face as yours, even if you have no fortune.”

“As it happens I have just as large a portion as Stanley, from my mother. And therein lies the problem.”

“Problem?” Bennet gave her a blank look. “Beauty and fortune, not to mention a good seat and excellent conversation.”

Rose did not blush at his mention of her seat and cast him a speculative look. “How would I ever know if a man wanted me for my conversation or my face, or even my seat, so long as the money is in the way? No, I will not marry. I feel I can go on quite well myself. And if Bristol is too dull, in a few years I shall be old enough to set up a horse farm for myself.”

“You will never be old enough to do that. And you can be sure of your man if he has an equal or better fortune,” Bennet replied with a satisfied smile.

“Perhaps I prefer to maintain my independence.” Rose eased Gallant into a canter, thinking to interrupt the conversation.

“Perhaps he would let you,” Bennet said, matching Chaos’s stride to Gallant’s and riding dangerously close to her side so as not to have to shout. “Not every man insists on taking control of his wife’s money.”