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An Illicit Indiscretion
Bronwyn Scott
London, 1835 Dashiell Steen, heir to the Earl of Heathridge, is tired of boring dinner parties and matchmaking mamas. He craves one final adventure before he’s forced to settle down—and finds it with a vivacious beauty escaping from a manor window!Elisabeth Becket’s intelligence and rebellious sprit excite both his mind and his body, stirring a mutual attraction (desire) that neither can resist. But will their illicit encounter last when Elisabeth discovers Dashiell is the unwanted suitor she was trying to escape?



An Illicit Indiscretion
Bronwyn Scott


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
London, 1835
Dashiell Steen, heir to the Earl of Heathridge, is tired of boring dinner parties and matchmaking mamas. He craves one final adventure before he’s forced to settle down—and finds it with a vivacious beauty escaping from a manor window! Elisabeth Becket’s intelligence and rebellious sprit excite both his mind and his body, stirring a mutual attraction that neither can resist. But will their illicit encounter last when she discovers Dashiell is the unwanted suitor she was trying to escape?
Dear Reader,
Merry Christmas! I hope you love Elisabeth and Dashiell’s story. It’s a Christmas story in that it’s a tale of the things we associate with the season; hope and faith and love. Elisabeth gambles everything on her faith that the comet will be there and that her freedom is worth fighting for. Dashiell takes the biggest leap of faith of all in his search for love.
Their story is set around the 1835 return of Halley’s Comet. This return is significant because it is the third consecutive sighting of the comet using Newton and Halley’s calculations for determining its cyclical appearance, proving the reliability for the formula. Halley’s Comet has long been associated with the Christmas Season. Its 1758 return was confirmed Christmas night, 1758 and there’s been long speculation that the comet was the Christmas ‘star’ seen by the Three Wiseman, although that is highly debatable. Many scientists argue the comet’s return would have been twelve years too early to coincide the birth of Christ.
I do need to take a moment and share information about my resources. First, I found a great article from the Manchester Guardian, dated Sept. 1835 and written by a citizen concerning the best way to view the comet. He reported that he had only a mediocre Dolland telescope for viewing. He also reported in the article, the best viewing times and where in the galaxy to spot the comet. I used that information in Elisabeth’s December sightings, even though the position of stars would have shifted between August and December.
The comet did pass perihelion on November 16
and it was lost to the eye for a time. It was ‘re-sighted’ in early January according to some records. This means, Elisabeth’s spotting of it in December is fictionalized by a week or two.
Comet pins were indeed a big rage that year so it was fitting that Dashiell give Elisabeth a comet pin as a gift. I found some lovely pictures of the jewelry on-line.
The advancements made in refractory lenses by 1835 made the study of comets quite scientific. The 1835 sighting allowed for the gathering data until then unknown.
England’s great astronomer, John Hershel, did set up ‘shop’ at the Cape for the duration and regularly reported a stream of visitors coming to take tea and see the comet.
Lastly, in terms of women astronomy, they were few and far between. But there were some. Elisabeth wouldn’t have been an anomaly. For instance, the first woman to discover a comet was Caroline Herschel in 1786 (she was the daughter of the man who discovered the planet, Uranus).
There’s so much more to say, but I’ll leave it at this: Merry Christmas, embrace your dreams.
Stop by my blog for holiday fun at www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com
See you out there!
Bronwyn
Merry Christmas to my three wonders; Ro, Catie and Bronwyn. Your mom loves you. May your joys in life number the stars.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One
London, December 20, 1835
Escaping from one’s room was more difficult in practice than it was in theory. Elisabeth Becket straddled the window-sill of her second storey chamber dressed in a purloined pair of trousers and gingerly felt for a foothold on the trellis just below. She lowered herself out of the window, but not without a healthy dose of trepidation. Her room was exceedingly farther from the ground at this vantage point than it had been that afternoon looking up from the garden. There was a reason people used doors.
But conventional exits wouldn’t help her tonight. Using a door would mean going downstairs to her mother’s dinner party and it would mean meeting the Earl of Heathridge’s heir, who was bound to be as stuffy and traditional as all the other eligible young men she had met in London. She might be the daughter of a politically ambitious viscount, but she was most definitely not traditional. Going out the window proved it.
The thought sustained her for the first third of the way down the trellis.
Her mother would be furious. That particular thought almost made her climb back up. Elisabeth could practically hear her mother’s voice now: What was she doing sneaking off in the dark unchaperoned? London was too dangerous for any woman, but especially for Elisabeth with her head in the clouds. She was not cut out for the real world.
That was where her mother was wrong. She could handle herself if her parents would only give her a chance. She would show them she wasn’t all books and astronomical charts. That thought kept her going the second third.
Thoughts of her mission kept her going the last third. She wasn’t stealing out of her window on a lark, or even for the simple exercising of her freedom. She had more sense than that. A girl didn’t risk her reputation on a whim. She was going to see a once-in-a-lifetime astronomical phenomenon. The comet was on a seventy-six-year orbit. There was no question of waiting. She’d be a hundred when it returned; far too old to be climbing out windows not to mention most likely dead.
Elisabeth took another backwards step on the trellis but didn’t complete it. Her foot met with nothing. She dangled it in the air searching for a hold or for the bottom. Was she there already? She hazarded a downward glance. But in the dark, she couldn’t be certain. Surely the ground was around here somewhere. In the daylight, the gap between the ground and the trellis had seemed minimal as if she could simply step off the trellis with a giant step. There was nothing for it. She couldn’t just stay on the trellis. She’d have to drop.

It was official, Dashiell Steen concluded. He was going to go round the bend if he stayed in the viscount’s drawing room a moment longer. Since he was rather fond of his mind, he’d opted for a breath of fresh air in the garden regardless that it was dark and winter. There wouldn’t be anything to see that one usually expected to see in a garden, like plants.
Dashiell didn’t care if the garden turned out to be weed-choked. He only cared that it was an escape. It didn’t have to be an especially pretty escape at that. He’d only come tonight because his uncle had demanded it. In fact, his uncle had demanded quite a lot in the last few months since Dashiell had become his heir. Dashiell was tired of it and the hypocrisy that followed.
Six months ago, matchmaking mamas hadn’t exactly lined their daughters up to dance with him. His good looks and lack of personal fortune made him persona non grata in that department. Mamas were fearful he’d charm their daughters right into genteel poverty with him. Everyone knew his father was a second son with a mid-rate military career behind him. But then his uncle had come along; heirless after twenty years of marriage, approaching sixty and finally facing facts. He suddenly had need of his nephew. Enough said.
Apparently the prospect of inheriting an earldom guaranteed a man a full dance card and respectability, while erasing a past littered with actresses and opera singers. It also guaranteed a life full of stolid dinner parties that threatened to stifle him. The price of respectability was uncommonly high.
The debacle going on inside Viscount Graybourne’s drawing room right this very moment was a case in point. No, ‘debacle’ wasn’t the right descriptor. It was a farce, a comedy of errors, or in his case, a comedy of heirs. His uncle had an heir to marry off in exchange for a dowry that would cover the earldom’s debt. Graybourne had a daughter who’d been on the marriage mart for four Seasons without success.
Dashiell had shown up to do his duty. The daughter hadn’t. At least not by the time Dashiell had left the room, although Lady Graybourne had assured him endlessly her daughter was looking forward to meeting him.
Dashiell tipped his head back and halted in mid-stretch. Unbelievable.
Either he’d already lost his mind or he might have to rethink the whole ‘nothing to see in a winter garden’ position because clearly there was something to see. Someone was climbing out the window of Graybourne’s town house.
Not just someone, but a female someone. He was something of a connoisseur of derrieres, which happened to be the only two French words he could manage to string together, and there was no possibility that particular piece of anatomy coming down the trellis belonged to a man.
For the first time that evening, he could feel the hints of a smile flirting on the edges of his mouth. A woman who climbed out windows dressed in trousers carried a powerful allure. There were only so many reasons people climbed out of windows. In his experience, honourable intentions weren’t one of them.
It did beg the question who was she? Realistically she might be a light skirt sneaking out after satisfying the Graybourne heir’s woman-in-breeches-fantasy, assuming he had one. In a more exotic context, she might be a pretty thief making off with the Graybourne jewels. The question was worth contemplating for its titillating intrigue alone. It was a sign of how staid his life had become in the past months that he was expending energy over the question at all.
Whoever she was, she was in a bit of trouble. Dashiell watched her foot hover in the air searching for purchase. She wasn’t sure how far from the ground she was and the trellis had run out. She was up high enough to twist an ankle on landing. It was time to step in.
‘Excuse me, miss, might I be of assistance?’
Perhaps it was the surprise of hearing an unexpected voice that caused the accident. Perhaps she’d already decided to drop anyway. Whatever the reason, his mysterious miss lost her grip and fell right on top of him, taking them both to the ground in a highly provocative and, may he add, accurate representation of his favorite position for intercourse: woman-on-top.

Chapter Two
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ The glorious woman on top of him hissed in whispered outrage. The spill of light from the upper window showed her to advantage, all curves and golden hair in her anger.
Dashiell chuckled at her misplaced chagrin. ‘What am I doing? You’re the one climbing out windows.’ Not to mention sitting astride a strange man. He was rather surprised she hadn’t moved yet. Instead she clapped a hand over his mouth, her breasts rather erotically teasing his chest as she leaned forward. Oh, this was quite promising indeed. In spite of the cold earth at his back, Dashiell could feel the beginnings of an arousal coming to life.
‘Hush! Keep your voice down. Do you want everyone to hear you?’ Her gaze anxiously quartered the garden for any sign they’d been heard.
Her nerves were an affirmation of sorts. She wasn’t quite innocent if she worried over discovery. Good. Innocent girls were not nearly as fun. He didn’t want her innocent. He just wanted her. His body was making that very clear at the moment.
She removed her hand and stood up, brushing her hands on her trousers. ‘It’s safe. No one heard you.’ Then she did something no gently bred young woman had done for the past six months, and quite frankly no woman had done since he was sixteen—she walked away. She flat out ignored him.
She strode to the base of a tree and bent over to retrieve something she’d apparently left. He followed her. He’d not been wrong about her derriere. Nor had he been wrong about her motives. Whatever they were, they were premeditated and that spoke of trouble.
‘That’s it? You’re just going to leave?’ Dashiell leaned against the tree, casually blocking her exit. She’d have to deliberately step around him.
‘Yes. Were you expecting something else?’
‘How about thank you? I did save you from a potentially injurious fall, one that could have prevented you from leaving altogether.’
‘Saved me? Hah!’ She gave a magnificent toss of her hair. You caused it. I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t startled me. I had decided to drop but then you called out and I dropped a bit prematurely.’
She tried to move past him towards the back gate. But Dashiell wasn’t ready to let her go. He was having far too much fun and this adventurous miss wasn’t nearly as annoyed as she pretended to be.
‘Where are you going?’
‘It’s none of your business really. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ She slung the retrieved satchel over one shoulder and tried again to pass. This time Dashiell let her, falling into step beside her. He had no intentions of letting her go that easily. Intriguing women were a rare commodity given his current circumstances.
‘Are you walking? If you are, might I offer you a ride? My coach is parked on the street.’ It was an impulsive offer. She might be a dangerous criminal, although he doubted it. She didn’t seem the type but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a petty thief. To be honest, all signs did point in that direction. Giving her a ride could make him an accomplice.
Dashiell shrugged off the risk. He was Heathridge’s heir for goodness’ sake. No one was going to accuse him of anything. As for her, he couldn’t say. She might be accused of plenty. He knew nothing about her. But wasn’t that the point? If he knew, he wouldn’t be offering.
His little thief stretched up and struggled to reach the latch. Dashiell reached over her and slipped the latch with ease, catching the scent of lavender on her skin. His little thief was clean and somewhat unpracticed. Not being able to reach the latch could have been potentially dangerous if she’d been chased. Surely a thief who premeditated leaving satchels in yards would have given more thought to her escape route.
‘You don’t know where I am going.’ She countered with another saucy toss of her head when he followed her through the gate. He’d wager those glossy tresses would be the shade of butter-cream in full-light. He felt his groin tighten at the prospect of those golden waves spread across a pillow.
‘Destination doesn’t matter. It’s either go with you or go back in there.’ It was a quickly derived conclusion based on the acquaintance of moments but it was the truth. She was clever, daring and she held the distinction of being the first woman he’d met in months that had no inkling of who he was. Of course, she was entirely unsuitable for anything more than a short adventure. This would be it, Dashiell decided in a flash of insight. She would be his last adventure before he settled down and did his uncle’s bidding.
Decision made, Dashiell felt a wide smile spread across his face. He’d committed. The game was thoroughly engaged. Now, he just had to convince her. He jerked his head back towards the house. ‘Frankly, given my choices, you seem like a lot more fun.’ He gave her a smouldering look that had yet to meet with any successful resistance.
The blond haired temptress eyed him with a touch of cynical contemplation but she was smiling. She was going to give in. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘Only the pretty ones.’ Dashiell winked and held open the gate with a gallant gesture. ‘After you, miss. My carriage awaits.’

Elisabeth settled across from her unlooked for companion, her satchel on the seat beside her, It’s either go with you or go back in there. Those words had resolved her internal debate; those words and the fact that a very handsome man—even in the dim light she could tell he had looks aplenty-had said them to her, to Elisabeth Becket the social anomaly who’d managed to avoid a successful match in four Seasons despite her father’s dowry and her own good looks.
Such an occurrence was nearly as rare as her comet. Of course, he didn’t know who she was. That might have changed everything. But more than the words, he’d seemed genuine beneath his flirtatious flattery and impulsive offer. Lord knew he’d certainly been genuine beneath his clothes. The body she’d landed on had been lean muscle and sculpted planes beneath those evening clothes.
The import of what she was doing settled her: She was getting into a carriage and driving off with one of her mother’s dinner guests. There was a special peril in that. It relieved her to know she wasn’t riding off into the night with a complete stranger. He had made the Graybourne guest list, after all. But she was riding off with someone she might encounter in polite circles later and that brought a whole new danger to this escapade.

She should be more appalled at what she was doing, but the truth was, she wanted to go with him.
‘Was the party that bad?’ Elisabeth asked once they were under way. ‘Or are you accustomed to doing this often?’
It was hard to decide who was crazier: she for accepting a ride or him for offering one. Maybe they both were. For all he knew, she was going to Scotland. For all she knew, he might be a ravager of women, her mother’s guest list notwithstanding.
The man across from her stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. ‘It wasn’t bad so much as it was boring.’ He gave a sigh that spoke volumes and in that moment Elisabeth felt she’d found a kindred soul. Then he gave voice to the very thoughts that had filled her own mind. ‘Every night, it’s always the same. I was in the mood for something different.’ He favoured her with a thoughtful smile that said he found her delightfully different. Plenty of men had found her different in the past, but not delightfully so.
Lord, he was handsome with that smile. She could rule out ‘ravager.’ Ravagers were supposed to have bad teeth and poor hygiene habits. He looked like the seducing sort. From the light of the carriage lamps, it was blatantly clear he could have whoever’s company he desired without ravaging. Her stranger was striking: dark-haired, classically featured with a sharp nose that looked like it had come straight from a Roman coin.
The carriage hit a rut in the road. Elisabeth reached for a hand strap, acutely aware of his gaze upon her and the silence that filled the coach.
‘I suppose introductions are in order before we go much farther. I’m Dashiell.’ He drawled in easy tones that suggested he was not nearly as unnerved by their situation as she was.
‘Elisabeth,’ she replied in firm tones, hoping to convey a confidence to his. First names only would be best. She didn’t want this seductive almost-stranger finding her when the adventure was all over. It would be her ruin if word got out.
‘Now that’s established, let’s move on to our next item of business. Where are we going, Elisabeth?’ He was smiling again.
Probably to perdition. But he clearly didn’t care. What kind of man walked out of a dinner party given by the prime minister’s premier cabinet member and simply didn’t return?
‘You can drop me off in Greenwich.’ Elisabeth managed, a sense of caution reasserting itself. ‘I can find my way from there.’ The less he knew the better. This was all a game to him, something to break up his ennui. But it couldn’t be a game to her. She was just beginning to understand the risks she was taking if he discovered who she was.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You were planning to walk to Greenwich in the dark of night?’
‘If I had to.’ She hoped her defiance covered her uncertainty. She hadn’t known exactly how she was getting to Greenwich. She’d only known she was going. ‘I could have taken a hansom cab.’
The eyebrow went up again in doubt. ‘Dressed like that? I don’t think a driver would have believed you could pay the fare all the way to Greenwich.’
She hadn’t thought of that but she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Handsome-And-Apparently-A-Touch-High-Handed he might have a point.
‘No matter, it’s all worked out perfectly, don’t you think?’ Dashiell said expansively. ‘I’ve escaped a tedious dinner engagement with eighteen other guests and you have simply escaped.’ He fixed her with a look that warned her she wouldn’t like the next thing to come out of his mouth. ‘By the way, Elisabeth, what were you escaping from?’
Elisabeth reconsidered her earlier preference. First names might preserve anonymity but using them also took away all formality. The sound of her name on his lips was positively intimate in the confines of a carriage at night. This was a man who could turn a woman’s head with little or no effort. She had to be careful or he’d be coaxing all of her secrets out of her.
‘I’d prefer to keep that information to myself.’ She sounded so prim, so very much like…her mother. Elisabeth fought the urge to cringe. Here she was in a carriage with a dashing stranger who hadn’t decided she was a bluestocking freak yet, and she sounded like a governess.
‘I’d prefer to know a little bit more about the company I keep. Surely you’re just a teeny bit curious about me, too. It’s an hour to Greenwich so I have a proposition for you.’
A proposition.
A deliciously wicked tremor skittered down her spine. This man wasn’t suitable company at all, and to think he’d made her mother’s guest list. What had her mother been thinking? Maybe thoughts hadn’t had anything to do with it. She was testament enough that good judgement seemed to fly right out of the equation when faced with the handsome charmer sitting across from her. For all of her carefully laid plans to see the comet, she’d jettisoned them rather quickly at his offer of a ride.
Of course, accepting the ride was only good logic. She could defend her choice to some extent. It stood to reason it would be a faster, more direct option than finding her way on her own. But now, the logic was starting to shift.
‘What kind of proposition?’ Elisabeth crossed her legs in a nonchalant gesture and hoped she sounded more sophisticated than she felt.
‘A game of Consequences. I’ll ask you a truth and you can decide to answer it or not.’
‘And the consequence for not answering?’ Elisabeth asked just a little bit breathless at the possibilities. This carriage ride was fast becoming something more than expedient transport. It was becoming freedom, a chance to be someone else besides Viscount Graybourne’s daughter. For a brief while she could be free from the confines of a life that stifled much of the person she actually was. Meeting Dashiell-The-Handsome-Stranger was becoming a once in a lifetime opportunity just like the comet and she was going to seize it.
He gave her a wide smile and she knew, just knew, he was going to say something outrageous. ‘Kisses, Elisabeth. We’ll play for kisses.’
That delicious tremor made a return journey down her spine. Why not? If anyone found out she’d been alone in a closed carriage with a man, no one would care what they’d done in it. The sin was already committed if they played for kisses or not. She might as well go the distance. In the last twenty minutes she’d committed almost every sin known to debutantes. It seemed a very short fall to include this one to the list.
Elisabeth smiled. ‘Ask your first question.’

Chapter Three
‘What colour are your eyes.’ The question caught her by surprise. She hadn’t expected it to be so simple. But perhaps that was his strategy: lull her into complacency and edge gradually towards what he really wanted to know.
‘My eyes are brown.’
Dashiell shook his head, a disarming grin on his face. ‘No, they’re not.’
‘I beg your pardon? I should think I’d know what colour my eyes are.’
Dashiell chuckled. ‘A woman who climbs out windows cannot merely have brown eyes. Whisky perhaps, sherry, cognac eyes maybe.’
‘Are you suggesting she must be a drunkard to climb out the window?’
‘No, she must be unique. Anyone can have brown eyes. Only a few can have eyes the colour of aged port.’
After four Seasons, she should be immune to such flattery. More than that, she should know such flattery for what it was: empty words. But it was too tempting to play Dashiell’s game and far too much fun. More than that, a very curious part of her wanted to see where it would lead.
‘Unique is so very close to odd, we must be careful,’ Elisabeth ventured. She was flirting boldly now, far more boldly than she’d flirted with the young men of London. She tried to ignore the skittering sensation settling in her stomach. He was studying her intently, his eyes roving her face, resting on her lips in a manner that made her feel utterly feminine and powerful. Perhaps she’d decline the next question simply to explore his unspoken invitation. She ran her tongue over her lips, her mouth having gone dry at the prospect of her audacity. ‘Ask me another question.’

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