Moonstone Obsession Read online

  In the centre of the box in the same peacock blue silk, a shallow padded compartment with lid revealed a lady’s silk kerchief edged with lace and embroidered with the initials SA. Her initials, Selina Ann.

  And as she looked further she realised the monogram was replicated again and again on the silver lids of the bottles and boxes.

  The intriguing, delightful box was not simply a gift for her, but one which had been specifically customised.

  She glanced hesitantly at the unopened envelope then back at the box.

  Near the brass hinges in the box itself, two latches caught Selina’s eye. She released them in turn. The one on the left discharged a front drawer containing a hinged writing slope. The embossed blue leather surface covered a shallow tray with plain white writing paper and envelopes.

  Releasing the right-hand latch caused a small and shallow drawer to spring out from the side. It was lined with silk and designed to secrete jewellery or billets-doux.

  Her examination of the writing and dressing table box complete, Selina turned her attention to the envelope and sighed. She feared the gift was from Viscount Canalissy.

  Oh dear. She adored the box and would hate to have to return it.

  She opened the envelope. The letter inside was in James’ confident hand.

  Dear Selina,

  I neglected to return your handkerchief; I hope you consider this an adequate compensation.

  Don’t let my mother or anyone else intimidate you or make you feel less than who you are. You are their equal and more.

  I hope to be with you in Cornwall within a fortnight, my business here all being well.

  Love,

  James

  Smiling, Selina reread the letter then replaced it in the lid pocket and drew her fingertips across the beautiful bottles and silk.

  The gift was perfect. It was beautiful, practical and elegant, the type of thing she would have chosen for herself had money been no object. She was touched. No other man knew her as well as James did.

  She had forgotten about the kerchief although she well remembered the night of their first kiss and the night two days later following James’ revelation about he and Abigail...

  James had stood and held his hand out for her. Their way lit by moonlight, they walked to the far end of the garden, away from the windows and the light from the house, where he turned her into his arms and kissed her.

  Quick to capitalise on her newfound experience, Selina parted her lips readily to his and allowed her tongue to follow his lead, exploring his mouth as thoroughly as he explored hers.

  His embrace tightened and, as he held her body closer, she was aware of his growing hardness. Selina responded instinctively by pushing closer still, her whole body now pressed against his.

  James’ hands swept up her back to her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. With a moan, Selina threw her head back and he took advantage of the action by trailing hungry kisses across her cheek to her neck.

  The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming, and she reached to twine her own fingers in his lush thick dark hair at his nape.

  A restlessness suffused Selina's body, causing her breasts to ache and warmth to bloom between her legs.

  James' lips left her neck and returned to her mouth for a long, slow teasing kiss while his fingers trailed down her sides to her waist, fleetingly brushing the side of her breasts.

  She wanted more. She shifted to encourage his hands to touch her. He teased the neckline of her dress with his fingertip, revelling in Selina’s instinctive sensuality as, in a whispered moan, she gave voice to her pleasure.

  The sound of a window closing brought Selina back to herself. She looked up to James watching her attentively.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  James responded by giving her a soft warm kiss and stroking her hair. Selina pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

  “I’ll break things off with Abigail as soon as I’m able,” he said, nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek. “But unfortunately that’s not going to be until after she arrives at Padstow. The Prince of Wales took a party to Brighton last week and instead of returning to London, she’s planning to travel from there to Cornwall. And I can’t leave London for another week.”

  James moved to face her and placed her hands in his.

  “I need you to listen to me, Selina.”

  Selina looked at him, surprised by the urgency in his voice.

  “There’s more to my business here than just Pennsylvania and my partnership with William, and I can tell by the look in your eyes that you’ve already guessed that,” he whispered.

  “Certain events do make more sense that way,” she answered with a wry smile. James matched it and kissed her forehead with affection.

  “I can’t tell you more, I wish I could. My life is more complicated than it ought to be and because of it I’m not certain what the future holds or what I can promise you.

  “The one thing I am certain of is I want you, Selina. However—”

  She silenced him with a kiss.

  “I’m attached as your grandmother’s companion until the end of the summer. You’ll be host and I’ll be a minor guest amongst your titled company,” she began. “You might feel differently about me before the summer is over.”

  James shook his head and drew breath to speak. Selina touched his lips to still them.

  “You make this harder than it need be,” she complained hoarsely as he kissed her fingers and played his tongue over them.

  James stopped his tease and enfolded her into his arms.

  “Let’s agree not to talk of any future between us until then,” she nodded, to convince herself as well as him. “And if we still do not see how there might be a future for us by the end of summer, then we agree to go our separate ways for good.”

  “Selina…” he groaned.

  “It’s the only promise I’ll make you,” she warned.

  “Then it will have to do,” James reluctantly agreed.

  Chapter Ten

  5 July

  London

  Jackson followed James into the Marylebone Club just after half past nine in the evening.

  It was certainly a league or two above the Black Boar Arms, several leagues in fact, and if a group of spies were to have clandestine meetings, then this was a much better location.

  This night, the two were dressed as respectable young men about town. They were shown to a curtained-off room with a decent sized green baize table. The cards and counters were already in place for the card games which were to be the cover for the meeting.

  The gathering had been called by Prime Minister William Pitt, but this time he would not be attending in person. He had arranged to send a trusted secretary, Sir Percy Blakeney, in his stead.

  In all, over the next ten minutes, three additional men joined them at the table. As much for enjoyment, as to establish their cover, the game began. One chair was left empty for Sir Percy's arrival.

  Sir Percy's entry some thirty minutes later was heralded by the sound of a man loudly greeting other patrons as he approached. Then the curtain swept aside and his first impression was of a vibrant silk frock coat of duck egg blue, a caramel and cream striped satin waistcoat, and a white shirt with froths of lace protruding from the cuff and collar.

  Blakeney did not so much walk as glide into the room before collapsing indolently into his chair.

  He was no older than thirty, tall and slender, with a sparkling wit and a handsome face that had attracted many in court over the past ten years. Despite his widely vaunted success with some of the bored married court ladies, unkind and unwarranted gossip suggested that he relished his unattached state rather too much and preferred the company of men. Pitt in particular.

  So there had been eyebrows raised when, in a whirlwind romance of just a few months, Sir Percy had married the celebrated French actress Marguerite St Just who had sought asylum in England rather than return to troubled Paris with her comp
any.

  “So, so glad you didn’t wait the game on my account, dear chaps,” Sir Percy announced loudly to the table.

  James was the first to stand and shake the hand of their tardy guest.

  “I’m looking forward to replenishing my purse before I leave for Cornwall, Percy.”

  “Aha! You might find that easier said than done, James. I don’t recall losing last time we played! It's good to see you again.”

  Percy gave an almost imperceptible raising of one eyebrow at the last of his greeting to James, a subtle acknowledgement of a change in their relationship as occasional fellow gamblers from overlapping social circles to newly identified co-conspirators.

  Sir Percy was, without a doubt, the contact in the envelope of information given James by Pitt at the opera.

  The dandy acknowledged the other men at the table with a nod and, with a flourish of his wrist, he summoned the footman waiting patiently by the curtain, and ordered champagne for all.

  After the sixth round of cards, the footman had been instructed to refill glasses, refresh napkins and replenish the whisky decanter, and his further services were dismissed. Another round was dealt.

  Then, during a quiet moment, and as if sensing the impatience of the American seated to his right, Sir Percy suddenly dropped the affected voice of the dandy and addressed the group in a low voice designed to carry no further than the table.

  “William sends his regrets,” he said as he shuffled the deck and dealt. “He's playing Rumplestiltskin and trying to turn straw into gold.”

  The joke was met with a sardonic chuckle from the men.

  “The situation, as it stands gentlemen, is this. His Majesty's illness appears to have grown no worse, thank God, but he has become fixated on financing the court of Louis to the tune of £700,000 in gold.”

  Sir Andrew ffoulkes snorted softly. “Pitt had better start spinning that straw then,” he said, rolling one of his counters between his fingers. “Between paying off the debts of the Prince of Wales, the gold the Foxites are filching, and now this mad scheme, the nation will be bankrupt before this year’s elections are over.”

  “It would teach Charles Fox right if he opens the cupboards of the Exchequer and finds them bare,” remarked Sir Philip Glynde.

  “Nevertheless,” interrupted Sir Percy, “His Majesty appears to believe the answer to the stolen gold financing the revolutionaries is to send more gold to the Royalists. The first consignment of £50,000 is leaving in six weeks time and, to confound any Frenchie spies here in London, it'll be going from Bristol.

  “The shipment will go to Gibraltar where Louis’ royalists will secure the gold and deliver it to Tuileries Palace where he is being held with Marie Antoinette and the dauphin.

  “That this mission is a success is imperative, gentlemen. This is, perhaps, a last opportunity to stabilise France and forestall war. It is also gold we can ill afford to lose or, worse still, see fund the revolutionaries abroad and at home.”

  Blakeney slugged back a mouthful of whisky with the ease of a hardened drinker and cleared his throat.

  “Under the napkins by your drinks,” said Sir Percy, “each of you will find an envelope with an assignment. Read it, learn it, destroy it.”

  * * *

  10 July

  Selena studied the view across Padstow Strand and added sharp grey lines to her painting, copying the sweep of the stone wall that marked the small town’s harbour. Then she began sketching in the people. Before her there was a man pushing a cart, a young courting couple walking along the promenade, two soldiers in full uniform, and a group of fisherman sitting cross-legged in a group mending their nets.

  The role as a lady’s companion was far easier than Selina had imagined. Lady Margaret appeared a rather independent woman and, with the arrival four days earlier of Lady Mary with her granddaughter, the honourable Edith Waldren, Selina found herself at leisure most days.

  The first day had been spent in part with Lady Margaret and another of the guests at Penventen Hall, Comte Alexandre Charlemont, a suave man of about thirty and a recent arrival from France who had befriended Lady Christina during the London Season.

  In the morning the three walked the grounds. They explored the gardens, the hedge maze, and the bordering woodlands, and ventured to a lookout at the edge of the property which boasted a magnificent view down to the river.

  Selina found she enjoyed the older woman’s company, but it was an awkward lunch during which Lady Christina, though polite, seemed cool and distant. Shortly afterwards, Lady Margaret announced that she was still tired from her journey and would rest for the afternoon.

  The second day marked the arrival of Edith and her grandmother. Edith was pretty little thing, a good three inches shorter than Selina, with porcelain skin, exquisite blonde hair and vivid green eyes. Selina was pleased to find that, unlike some of the other well-to-do young women she had met in London, Edith wasn’t a snob.

  In fact, if Edith had a fault at all it was that she seemed much younger than her nineteen years and a hopelessly naïve romantic. No wonder the grandmother kept a close eye on the girl, Selina thought.

  Now, as Selina sketched, she spotted Edith having managed to evade her chaperone. The girl was a vision in a pale tangerine dress trimmed in caramel coloured ribbons, holding earnest conversation with a uniformed officer who didn’t seem much older than the girl herself.

  Then she spotted Selina and rushed to her with the young man trailing along behind.

  “Oh! You’re an artist! I should have guessed you were very clever,” she gushed. “I never had any such skill. My cows look like boxes with horns and my sheep look like clouds with legs. Let me take a look. You don’t mind, do you? They say artists hate anyone looking at their work until it’s complete, but you’re not like that are you?”

  Selina stifled a grin and shook her head in response as Edith skipped around the easel to stand at her shoulder.

  “Oh that’s marvellous!” Edith enthused. “I know you’re not finished yet but I can see it’s going to be wonderful.” She turned to the patient young soldier. “Come over here and see what a gifted artist Miss Selina is.”

  The young man—tall, broad shouldered, and a lieutenant by the decoration on his uniform—dutifully complied.

  “It’s a very nice painting, Miss,” he agreed.

  “Oh!” said Edith. So much of what she said began with that single exclamation. “How rude of me! Miss Selina Rosewall, please allow me to introduce Lieutenant Roger Walsh.”

  “At your service,” he saluted.

  “A pleasure to meet you Lieutenant,” acknowledged Selina. “Are you based in Padstow?”

  “Temporarily, Miss. I’m with a platoon based in Newquay but my squad is in Padstow until the end of the summer on official business.”

  Roger looked at Edith and his tone softened.

  “I really have to go Miss Edith. I’m still on duty.”

  “Oh Roger, I will see you again won’t I? My heart will be broken if I do not.”

  Before the young man could address the issue of Edith's potential distress, a voice called from across the square so sharply that it captured the attention of a number of passersby.

  “Lieutenant!”

  Walsh snapped to attention as a colonel strode towards them. He was an imposing man whose dark brown hair was peppered with grey hair at the temples. Selina guessed that he was in his early forties.

  “Sir!”

  “Your duties, lieutenant,” he warned. His no-nonsense voice tempered nonetheless, with an edge of amusement.

  “Sir, yes Sir!”

  Lieutenant Walsh saluted, hastily bowed to the two ladies, and marched off along The Strand before disappearing around the corner into Mill Road.

  The man bowed to the ladies and introduced himself as Colonel Martin Pickering at their service, before he followed in the direction of his lieutenant.

  Edith offered a huge sigh and collapsed to sit on the stone wall beside Selina.<
br />
  “I believe I’m in love,” the girl said wistfully.

  “With someone you’ve known for five minutes?” Selina enquired, quite amused.

  “With some people you know immediately,” she avowed. “I shall be Mrs Robert Walsh by the end of the summer.”

  “Roger,” said Selina.

  Edith peered at her questioningly.

  “Pardon?”

  “His name is Lieutenant Roger Walsh,” said Selina.

  * * *

  After the promising start to the week, it was fitting that it rained, Selina decided, coinciding as it did with the arrival of Lady Abigail and her friend Lady Catherine, and that of Edgar Elkerton, the second son of a wealthy industrialist who was developing some small renown as a geologist and naturalist.

  With their arrival, a depressing drizzle settled in that was to last three days, and with it, the atmosphere at Penventen Hall changed. What had been a comfortable camaraderie between the guests earlier in the week turned grim.

  The already cool relationship between Lady Margaret and Lady Christina was now an ill-disguised hostility made all the more shocking to Selina when she learned that Lady Margaret was actually Lady Christina’s mother. Lady Mary had the good sense to make herself scarce when the two women started launching barbs at one another.

  Edith’s lovelorn sighs and hand-wringing were not at all helped by Comte Alexandre encouraging the matter by reading the already tragic mademoiselle pages and pages of French romantic poetry.

  Selina’s initial delight in having someone to speak French with had now settled into an unshakable ennui, birthed by her inability to finish her painting of the Padstow quayside and exacerbated by the awful characters behaving horridly to each other in a novel the Comte had thought she might enjoy, Les Liaisons Dangereux.

  On the second day of rain, Selina abandoned the book and gave in to Edith’s cajoling to paint her portrait as a gift for Lieutenant Walsh.

  After spending an hour with Edith—the most time the flighty girl could be persuaded to sit—Selina spent the rest of the morning walking up and down the hundred foot long gallery and conservatory. After nearly a mile of such walking and watching the unrelenting rain from the windows, Selina sensed that she was no longer alone in the room.