Elusive Desire, page 1
Elusive Desire
An Agents of Desire Short Story
Alyson Chase
Copyright © 2020 by Alyson Chase
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. It will also result in the author not being able to afford the important things in life, like snacks and rent. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Contents
About the Book
Keep in touch with Alyson!
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
Sneak Peak of The Lady Who Knew Too Much
Keep in touch with Alyson!
Also By Alyson Chase
About Alyson Chase
About the Book
Cerise Du Bois is a woman who knows what she wants, and settling down isn’t it. But when inquiry agent Wilberforce comes calling, asking for her help, she’s powerless to resist him.
Wil has never met a woman like Cerise. She’s intriguing, alluring, driven… and he’s the son of a stablemaster. He knows he can’t have anything lasting with her, but that doesn’t stop his heart from wanting.
When a lady disappears and Wil is called in to investigate, the case gives him a chance to spend one more night with Cerise. If only he could convince them both to give love a chance…
ELUSIVE DESIRE is a steamy regency romance short story of approximately 10,000 words. Be warned: it just might set your e-reader on fire!
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Chapter One
London, 1818
The audience applauded. Nobody as loudly or enthusiastically as Wilberforce, but the new cast for the melodrama, A Tale of Mystery, received a good response.
And the leading lady was one step closer on her journey to becoming London’s most illustrious actress.
Wil’s chest squeezed. He was so damn proud of Cerise’s accomplishments, her talent. She deserved every bit of adulation she received. But each jewel she added to her crown took her one step farther from his reach.
And he was thinking like a fool. She’d never been within his reach. He was the son of a stablemaster. She was destined to conquer the world. Or at least London society.
The man beside Wil shifted. “That was good.”
Wil raised an eyebrow. Brogan Duffy was the newest agent at the Bond Agency for Discreet Inquiries and a decidedly taciturn man. Whether from natural inclination or an attempt to hide his Irish brogue, Wil didn’t know. But that three-word sentence from him was positively effusive.
“That it was.” Wil gathered his hat and coat. “Come on. Let’s go see if she’s available.”
They shuffled through the theatre’s crowd, no one seeming particularly eager to leave the warm confines of the theatre. Not when a storm raged outside. “Pardon me, miss, after you.” He waited for the woman to pass then took a step forward. Stopped again. “Ma’am.”
The stately woman inclined her head as she marched forward… and thwacked him in the leg with her parasol.
Wil grimaced and grabbed his left thigh.
“Sir?” Duffy glanced to his injured leg, to his face. There might have been concern in his expression. Or it could have just been curiosity. In either case, Wil didn’t welcome it.
He gripped his hat and threaded his way to the door to backstage. He made sure his limp didn’t show. His weakness didn’t inspire confidence, and as the manager of an inquiry agency, he needed his men to trust in him. He cursed his injury yet again. More than anything, he hated when he saw the pity in Cerise’s eyes whenever she saw his scars.
The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Wil spun, looking for anyone watching him. Only Duffy’s confused gaze met his. Wil slapped his hat against his leg. All night, he’d had the feeling he was being watched. But each time he looked, no one was there.
He blew out his breath and pushed through the back stage door. It was his nerves over seeing Cerise again. He was acting as silly as a school boy.
The stage manager, Mr. Hanover, nodded at them as they headed backstage. When Cerise had been hired by the Sans Pareil theatre, Wil had thought it prudent to investigate her new work surroundings, make sure she was safe. Make sure everyone knew she was to remain so. That any insult to Cerise would be repaid by Wil.
So far, she hadn’t reported any issues. Not that it was likely she’d come to him if she were in trouble. Stubborn didn’t even begin to describe the French beauty.
He strode to her changing room, ignoring the dull ache in his thigh. Her door was slightly ajar, and Wil raised his hand to knock.
Her musical laughter made him pause. A low male voice murmured something indistinct.
Wil’s muscles hardened to blocks. He should turn about. Leave her to finish her conversation.
But if she’d wanted privacy, she should have shut the damn door fully.
He pushed it open.
Cerise sat at her dressing table. She’d changed from her costume and now wore a burgundy gown, the silver stitching and small crystals sewn to the bodice catching the light. Wil hadn’t seen her in over a month, and he drank her in. Dark hair, tawny skin, and curves he knew well enough to see behind closed eyes.
She took his breath away. She’d had that effect on him from the first moment they’d met. She’d shown him and Lord Summerset little regard, more interested in protecting her friend than in making them. And he’d been caught like a fish on a hook. No one else would ever compare.
He was fortunate that Cerise’s friend was now Lady Summerset, ensuring Cerise would always be in his life.
Or maybe that was to his great misfortune. To always be confronted with what would never be his.
Cerise lowered her face to a huge bouquet of flowers, inhaling the scents. “Thank you, Mr. Cooke. Zis is too kind of you.”
Wil’s gaze shot to the man hovering over Cerise. Soft belly. Soft chin. Arse-licking smile. Wil’s shoulders drew toward his ears. Altogether a weak man. One not worthy of Cerise. One she would take a decided pleasure in dominating.
His gut churned. This was why he hated her job. Men felt entitled to look at Cerise as the arsehole now looked at her. As though he were entitled to see beneath her clothes. As though she owed him something just because he paid for a ticket.
It had become an altogether too common argument between them, her job, and one that he knew he’d never win. She loved the stage too much to care about the risk.
Wil cocked a shoulder against the back wall and cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”
Cooke started then turned a frown his way.
Cerise arched an eyebrow, looking as though she’d been expecting him. Which was impossible. When he’d left her bed last, they’d agreed not to see each other again. That their latest intrigue had been another mistake.
But they’d said that before.
“Yes, you’re damned well interrupting.” Cooke tugged at the knot on his snowy white cravat. “Miss DuBois and I were having a conversation. A private one.”
Cerise laid her hand on his arm. “It is fine.” Her gaze flicked to Duffy, standing behind Wil. “These are friends of mine.”
Wil almost snorted. She’d never met his newest agent before, and whatever there was between him and Cerise, it could hardly be termed friendship. But he didn’t correct her. Just inclined his head and stared at the bit of the man’s sleeve where Cerise still laid her hand.
“I don’t care who they are.” Cooke hooked a thumb in his waistcoat and puffed out his chest. “They’ll just have to wait their turn. We have supper reservations.”
Cerise’s fingers clenched briefly. Then she patted his arm before finally, finally, removing her hand from the bastard. “Zis won’t take long. Why don’t you go to Rule’s, and I’ll be along shortly.”
“But—”
Cerise held up her index finger and gave it a gentle wag. “Uh, uh, uh.” She laughed. And even though her smile was directed at another man, Wil still felt warmed straight through. “You can’t be too greedy with my time. Go.” She shooed him off. “And by the time you have ordered champagne, I will have arrived.”
Cooke deflated like a stuck bladder. “All right, if you insist.” He picked his hat from her dressing table and slapped it on his head. “But you promise you won’t be long?”
She made the sign of the cross over her heart. “I promise.”
With a few more grumbles, and a stern glare at Wil that was easily ignored, Cooke stomped out the door.
Duffy closed it behind him. “That one’s brains are in his ballocks.”
Wil could hardly disagree, but he still growled. “Watch your language in front of a lady.”
Cerise laughed. “I’ve heard much worse.” She gave him a pointed look, and the tips of Wil’s ears went hot. But really, dirty words said in the heat of passion didn’t count.
He pushed off the wall. “Cerise, this is the newest employee of the Bond Agency, Brogan Duffy. Duffy, this is Miss DuBois.”
Duffy
“Mr. Duffy.” Cerise turned in her chair to face Wil. “To what do I owe zis visit?”
“We have a new client,” Wil said. “A man looking for his sister. I thought you might be able to help.”
She arched one perfectly-shaped dark brow. “I thought after last time—”
“We only want to ask some questions.” Last time had nearly gotten her killed. He had been an idiot to involve her in the actual investigation. He clenched his hand. An idiot, and a fool.
He’d wanted to be close to her, in any manner he could.
He nodded to Duffy, letting the other man take the lead. It was Duffy’s first assignment as head investigator, and Wil wanted to see what the other man would bring to the agency.
Duffy circled his wide-brimmed hat in his hands and cleared his throat. “We’re looking for a woman of twenty and two years of age. Hair and eyes brown, height, five feet five inches.”
Cerise looked at him expectantly. When Duffy remained silent, she said, “That is it? All of the information you have? Brown hair, brown eyes?”
Duffy shifted. “That was the description.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature framed in a locket. “But perhaps I should have started with this.” He handed the tiny painting to Cerise.
She examined it, frowning. “Zis looks to be of a young girl.”
“It was painted when she was but fifteen.” Duffy shrugged. “It was the only painting the brother had of The Lady Juliana Wickham.”
Cerise lifted it closer to the light. “I still cannot tell her colors. Is her hair Carmelite, cinnamon, or Devonshire Brown? Are her eyes almond-shaped or round? Zis miniature was not done by a master, that is for certain.”
Duffy frowned. “Brown is brown.” He took the painting back, peering down at it. “By all accounts, she’s plain. Average.”
“So not someone I’d be bound to notice.” Cerise sighed, her bosom pressing against the confines of her gown. She gave Wil a look, one he was all too familiar with. A bit of exasperation with a hint of curiosity. “Why are you asking me about zis woman?”
“Lord Snowdon, her brother, said she was a great lover of the theatre.” Wil ignored the way the gas lights flickered across Cerise’s shimmering skin. It must be some type of stage paint that made her glow such, but it reminded Wil of how she looked after an energetic romp between the sheets, dewy and glistening.
He cleared his throat. “I remembered how Lady Summerset took refuge on the stage during her troubles.” Before she’d married Wil’s friend and employer, Lord Summerset. “I thought Lady Juliana might have done the same.”
Cerise shook her head and sighed.
The back of Wil’s neck went hot. Yes, it was a farfetched idea, but they didn’t have many other avenues to investigate.
He swallowed. And he’d wanted to see Cerise again. Being without her for so long made him… itchy.
“Well, no one like her has been employed at zis theatre in the past month.” Cerise turned and plucked up a pair of cream gloves from her dressing table. She slid them on her hands. “I’m afraid I cannot help.”
Duffy slapped his thigh. “Right.” He blew out his cheeks. “Another trail cold.”
“There are more theatres in London.” Wil eyed Cerise’s enticing frame, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t like her preparing for another man. But voicing his displeasure would get him nothing. Instead, he took a different tack. “Would you like us to drop you at Rule’s? I’m sure your suitor is most anxious for your arrival.”
She stood and examined her reflection. “Yes, I’m certain he is, too.” She pinched her cheeks, raising a bloom of color, then reached for her wrap.
Wil stepped forward and helped her settle it over her shoulders. His fingers lingered on her arms. “Have you known Cooke long?”
Her gaze locked with his in the dressing mirror. “Mr. Cooke has been attending my performances for the past three weeks. He has been most attentive.”
Wil’s chest tightened. Of course he’d been. “A man like that should be rewarded for his perseverance. Let’s get you to the restaurant. Duffy, call the carriage. Miss DuBois and I will be right out.”
She waited until Duffy’s footsteps faded. “You seem in quite a hurry to be rid of me zis evening.”
“Nonsense.” Placing his palm on the small of her back, he guided her from the room. Ridding himself of Cerise’s company was the opposite of what he wanted. But he knew Cerise, knew how her mind worked. And if he wanted her to abandon that idiot Cooke…. “But I’m certain you wouldn’t want to accompany us to all the top theatres in town. We’ll only be talking with the actors and producers. It will be fairly tedious, I’m certain.”
She stopped at the door that exited out the side of the theatre. “You will be going to Covent Garden?”
“Of course.” Wil held the door open. The rain had stopped, leaving thick beads of water to drip from the buildings. “It’s our next stop. It was Lady Juliana’s favorite. I think she’d run to familiar territory.”
“And you’ll be speaking to the manager?”
Wil nodded. He fought to keep the smile from his face. He had her, right on the edge of his hook.
She nibbled on her bottom lip, and Wil’s throat went dry. Those teeth had scored most of his body. There was no way he was letting that mouth near that pompous git, Cooke. Not tonight.
Cerise tilted her chin up. “Perhaps it would be best if I accompany you on your inquiries. Theatre folk are a close-knit group, not eager to talk with outsiders. I will be able to gather more information.” Yes, along with the information on future roles. Cerise was an outstanding actress, and part of that was because she charmed the right people into giving her a chance.
“Are you certain? I hear Rule’s serves a fine meat pie.”
“Wilberforce, a young woman is missing.” She sniffed, and watched the agency’s carriage as it rolled to a stop before them. “How could I enjoy such a meal when there is a chance I could help find the poor thing?”
Duffy hopped out of the carriage and pulled the steps down. Cerise marched forward and allowed him to assist her into the coach.
Wil let the smile he’d been holding back loose. It might only be for this one night, but he had Cerise back where he wanted. By his side.
For now, it was enough.
Chapter Two
The blasted man was insufferable. Just when she’d thought she’d go through one whole day without thinking of him, he appeared in her dressing room.
She sniffed, which turned out to be a mistake. Wil’s scent filled her nose, the mix of cedar and man sending sharp quivers to her belly.
She should have sat next to Mr. Duffy. Though that man was bluntly handsome, his appearance didn’t stir her.
Wil shifted in the carriage beside her, his leg brushing against hers, and a shiver sneaked down her spine.
It was only because she was heading to Covent Garden that her body tingled so. Not because she was again in Wilberforce’s company. Her run in A Tale of Mystery was drawing to an end, and she wanted nothing more than to become one of the Theatre Royal’s newest actors.
And though she’d never admit it, the idea of assisting Wil with another case was thrilling. Her last adventure as an agent of discreet inquiry had heated her blood almost as much as treading the boards during a performance.
“Why did the girl leave her home?” she asked, the mystery hooking her under the ribcage.
“The brother didn’t know.” Duffy crossed one ankle on top of the opposite knee. “He noticed no upheavals or disappointments in his sister’s life before her leaving.”
“Could she have been taken?”
Wil shook his head. “Her rooms were undisturbed, but a maid discovered her traveling bag missing. Everything indicates Lady Juliana leaving on her own in the middle of the night.”
Hmm. If the woman hadn’t been taken, wasn’t running away, perhaps she was running towards something. Or someone. “An elopement?”
Duffy shook his head. “The brother sent men to Scotland. They found no evidence of a marriage. Besides, he insists she wasn’t familiar with any unattached men.”
