Heart's Desire Read online

  Heart’s Desire

  by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  (Approximate word count is 16,600)

  First published in the Masters of Seduction, an Anthology in 2011

  Original Copyright 2011 © Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Ebook Copyright 2011 © Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Cover Copyright 2012 © Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Ebook ISBN: 9781476205144

  Ebook edition published by D’Alessandro Associates, Inc., August 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, now known or hereafter invented, including but not limited to xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and critical articles.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, occurrences and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  The author and the author alone holds the copyright to this book and has the sole right to establish how this work is distributed. Any scanning, distributing, and/or uploading this book via the Internet or by any other means without the written permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in or encourage the illegal piracy of copyrighted materials. Please purchase only authorized editions of this and other works. This author and authors everywhere appreciate your support in this very important matter.

  Table of Contents

  Visit JacquieD.com

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  Meet the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Dear Reader Letter

  At Last excerpt

  Mine at Midnight excerpt

  Kiss the Cook excerpt

  When Emily Kissed Logan bonus chapter excerpt

  MEET THE AUTHOR

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Jacquie D’Alessandro has written more than thirty books spanning the historical, contemporary romantic comedy and women’s fiction genres. She is a four-time RITA finalist, four-time Maggie Award of Excellence finalist, two-time Daphne du Maurier Award finalist, and both a PRISM Award and National Readers’ Choice Award finalist. She’s the recipient of three Orange Rose Awards, two Golden Quill Awards as well as a Booksellers’ Best Award, a Barclay Gold Award, and a Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for “Best Historical Love and Laughter.” Her books have been published in over 21 languages. Jacquie grew up on Long Island, New York, graduated from Hofstra University and now lives in Georgia with her husband and son.

  Jacquie loves to hear from readers! You can contact her through her website at http://www.jacquied.com or join her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/JacquieDAlessandroReaderPage or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/jacquiedbooks. Jacquie also blogs with the Whine Sisters at http://whinesisters.com. She is currently working on a new series of ebooks in a joint venture with other bestselling authors. Visit http://www.WeDazzleU.com for more details. No matter what genre she’s writing in, all of Jacquie’s books are filled with two of her favorite things--love and laughter.

  HEART’S DESIRE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Halstead, Kent

  June, 1838

  William Lawton swore under his breath as the bell above the shop door jangled, announcing the arrival of a customer. He pulled his attention from the dusty crate he’d just opened and glanced at the mantle clock. Twenty-three minutes past closing time. Damn it all. He should have turned the lock and flipped the carved wooden sign propped in the window to “closed” when he was in the front of the shop a half hour ago, but as neither his grandfather nor his father had ever closed Lawton’s Antiques and Curiosities so much as one minute before six p.m., William had been loath to break with tradition.

  Unfortunately, as often happened when the anticipation of discovering a new treasure had him firmly in its grasp, he’d become completely engrossed in removing the stubborn wooden top of the crate in the back room and forgotten the time. And now, just when he’d finally managed to pry open the damned crate, his curiosity well and truly whetted to examine the contents, he’d have to abandon the project.

  Bloody hell. Everyone in Halstead knew the shop closed at precisely six, which meant this late-arriving customer was no doubt a visitor. Probably one who wanted nothing more than to browse, pump him for information about the village’s history, then depart without making a purchase. Not only would William be forced to make idle conversation when he’d rather be working, but he’d also be late for dinner. As if on cue, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Bloody double hell.

  “That will teach me to lose all sense of time,” he muttered. With impatience scraping at him to return to his task, he brushed the dust off his hands as best he could and strode toward the front of the store. He’d simply tell whoever had entered that they’d have to return the next day, a decision he mentally seconded when a whiff of the meal Mrs. Worthington had prepared for his dinner wafted down from his rooms above the shop. He lifted his chin and took an appreciative sniff. Lamb stew. He could almost taste the savory concoction of meat, potatoes, and vegetables. No one prepared a lamb stew like his long-standing housekeeper, and he’d be damned if he’d allow the meal she’d left him to turn cold while he listened to a bunch of palaver from a tardy stranger.

  Bristling with impatience, not to mention his newly recalled hunger, he crossed the threshold into the front section of the store, pausing in the archway when his gaze fell upon the figure of a woman. She stood in profile to him, her features obscured by both the peacock feather curving around the wide, semicircular brim of her dark blue bonnet and the golden shaft of early evening sunlight spilling through the window panes. A single glance at her fine, cream-colored gown, the fabric printed with small bouquets of flowers, its long sleeves fashionably shirred and puffed, as well as the delicate lace draped over her shoulders marked her as a woman of means. No doubt passing through on her way from London to rusticate at a country estate or one of the resort towns popular with the Quality.

  She leaned over the glass counter, and William heard her quick intake of breath. He barely suppressed the groan that rose in his throat. Something had obviously caught her fancy, the price of which she’d probably wish to haggle over endlessly. Damn it, he really wasn’t fond of cold lamb stew.

  He moistened his lips to voice a greeting, one he hoped wouldn’t sound overly insincere, and stepped forward. The floorboard beneath his boot creaked. The woman quickly straightened and turned toward him. Their gazes met.

  And everything in William froze. His limbs. His breath. His heart. Recognition slammed him like a battering ram to his gut. He hadn’t seen her in two years. Two years, three weeks, and seventeen days, his inner voice whispered. Not that he kept account of the time. Certainly not. He’d known she would someday visit Halstead again, but he hadn’t dreamed that today would be the day. A bolt of panic struck him. He wasn’t prepared for this. For her.

  Yet really, there was no preparation that could adequately shore up his defenses against her. God knew he’d been trying for the last decade. One would think that ten years was enough time to exorcise her from his mind. He’d tried valiantly. And failed utterly.

  He blinked to see if she was just a figment of his vivid imagination, but she remai
ned, her eyes, the unforgettable shade of aquamarines, riveted on him. Still, he wasn’t truly certain she was real until her lips parted and she said, “Hello, William.”

  Hello, William. Two words. That’s all it took to damn near knock him off his feet. The sound of her voice swamped him with memories, recollections that both haunted his days and invaded his dreams. Thoughts that no amount of work or alcohol or travel could fade. A tremor rippled through him—part desire, part dread. For as much as he desperately wanted Callie Albright here, he just as strongly didn’t want her anywhere near him.

  Bloody hell, how many times had he imagined seeing her again? More than he could count. Yet not even one of those fantasies had included his being caught so unaware. Or looking as if he’d been dragged behind a carriage—streaked with dust, his shirt sleeves rolled back, his trousers wrinkled. No, in all his imaginings, he’d been calm and suave, cool and controlled. The very opposite of how he felt right now. Which only proved that life tended not to go the way one planned. Which, of course, he’d discovered long ago. A lesson learned the hard way. At the hands of the woman standing before him.

  As he’d done countless times before, he forced aside the impossible heat and want she inspired and donned the mask of polite friendship he’d adopted around her years ago. Made himself draw a slow, calming breath. Then speak.

  “Hello, Callie.”

  It wasn’t much as far as greetings went, but it was all he could manage. At his words, she broke into a smile, a lifting of her full lips that dented a pair of shallow dimples in her cheeks. Her smile had enchanted him from the first time he’d seen it, when she’d been a mere four years old and he a manly six. She stepped toward him, and as if in a dream, he felt himself move. In a heartbeat, the distance between them was erased. She reached out, and even as his mind screamed at him not to touch her, their hands met. Her gloves didn’t stop her warmth from enveloping his palms, infusing him with a heat ridiculously, infuriatingly intense for such a casual touch. But then, his feelings for her had always been ridiculous. Infuriating. Far too intense.

  And utterly hopeless.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Callie said, squeezing his hands. “You look well.” Her gaze dropped, taking in his disheveled appearance, and heat raced up his neck. Damn it, he was actually blushing. A scowl pulled down his brows, one that deepened when her musical laugh rang out. “Not only well, but just as I imaged—jacketless, with your sleeves rolled up, and sprinkled with dust.”

  God knew she looked well. And just as he imagined. Perfectly turned out in a gown he supposed was the latest fashion, trimmed in a combination of ivory and pale blue that accentuated both her porcelain complexion and her amazing eyes. Glossy chestnut curls peeked out from her bonnet, framing a face that quickened his pulse every time he gazed upon it. Pert nose, plush lips, and those dimples that danced with her every smile, coaxing him and everyone else who was fortunate enough to find themselves in her company to grin in return.

  Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the archway that led to the back room. Then she looked at him again, and he felt the impact of that clear, blue-green gaze right down to the soles of his feet. “I’m guessing I’ve interrupted you from unearthing another treasure.”

  He had to swallow twice to locate his voice, a fact that genuinely irked him. Normally he wouldn’t consider himself inarticulate, but something about her could, in the blink of an eye, strip him of his finesse. Turn him into either a slack-jawed mute or, even worse, a babbling fool. Yet, in spite of that, he’d never enjoyed anyone’s company more than hers.

  “I was unpacking a new shipment.” Then, just to prove that he could do so, he slipped his hands from hers. And only proved that it took less than a single second for him to miss her touch. “What are you doing here?”

  He hadn’t meant for the question to sound quite so abrupt, and his insides squeezed at the flash of what looked like hurt that flickered in her eyes. Then she smiled, that teasing grin that made her eyes sparkle with mirth, and damned if every thought didn’t drain from his head.

  “By here do you mean Halstead, or your shop?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  “I’m traveling with Aunt Olivia to London. We’re staying at Albright Cottage overnight before continuing to Town tomorrow.”

  “How are Pamela and Marshall?” he asked, referring to Callie’s older sister and her physician husband who lived with their two children in the sprawling cottage where Callie had spent her early years. “I haven’t seen them in quite some time.”

  Something that looked like sadness ghosted over her features but was gone so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it. “I’ve not seen them myself since I last visited Halstead two years ago, although Pamela’s letters report that all is well. They are in London with the children, staying with Hayley and Stephen and their brood. My brothers are there as well.”

  “So you’ll all be together soon.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, something that William assumed would have thrilled her given how much she loved her family. Yet he detected something in her voice… something he couldn’t name other than to know it didn’t sound happy.

  It suddenly struck him that perhaps some tragedy had befallen her since he’d last seen her. Whenever he thought of her, which was far more frequently than he cared to admit, he always imagined her happy. Smiling. Carefree. Enchanting those around her. Yet now he detected unmistakable traces of sadness in her eyes. Why? What was troubling her?

  “Do I not pass muster, William?”

  Her words jerked him from his thoughts and rushed another wave of heat up his neck. “Of course you do. You look… ” Exquisite. Perfect. And heartbreakingly sad. And it’s taking everything in me not to snatch you into my arms and never let you go. “Lovely. Forgive me. I’m just amazed to see you.”

  Her dimples flashed. “Well, I couldn’t very well come to Halstead and not stop by your shop. Not only to see if I can find a treasure but also to see you.” She reached out and gently touched his arm. “My very dear friend.”

  William looked down at her gloved fingers resting on his dusty forearm. Warmth spread through him as if he’d just stepped into a shaft of golden sunlight, the same sensation he experienced whenever she touched him, starting with the very first time, when he’d accompanied his father to Albright Cottage to deliver an antique sextant Callie’s sea captain father had purchased. While his father and Captain Albright had chatted in the drawing room, William had been drawn to the French windows that led to a stone terrace. And there he’d seen her, a laughing sprite, spinning in circles, bathed in sunlight, her arms wrapped around a doll that was nearly as big as she was.

  He’d watched, fascinated by her giddy exuberance. At his home above the antique store, where he lived with his father, there’d been little laughter since his mother’s death two years prior. He had watched the little girl with envy, wanting more than anything to join her on the terrace and laugh. To have a friend. Suddenly, she had stopped spinning and spied him watching her. She’d smiled, creasing dimples in her flushed cheeks, then skipped toward him.

  “Hi, I’m Callie, and this is Miss Josephine Chilton-Jones,” she said, thrusting her doll toward him. “You’re William, Mr. Lawton’s son,” she then announced, as if he didn’t know. “Papa said you were coming today and that one day soon he’d bring me to your shop because I love treasures. Me and Miss Josephine are about to have a tea party. Want to come?”

  The manly six-year-old in him had instantly rebelled at the notion of a tea party. With a girl. A baby, really. Why, she couldn’t be more than four. And her doll. Ridiculous. And incomprehensible that he was tempted beyond all measure to accept. Before he could voice his refusal, she smiled and grabbed his hand. “Come on, William,” she urged, tugging him onto the terrace. “Our cook, Pierre, makes the best biscuits ever!”

  Warmth and a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt since his mother’s death had surged through him when her small hand had wrapped around his a
nd he’d allowed himself to be pulled into the sunshine that was Callie. That day he’d found a friend—one he’d treasured and loved like a sister… until he was old enough to realize that the love he felt for her had grown into something more. Something deeper. Something distinctly unbrotherly.

  A love rendered utterly hopeless given their vastly different circumstances.

  They’d started out in the same stratum of society, but when Callie’s oldest sister, Hayley, had married the Marquess of Glenfield, she’d been elevated into a world so far above William’s that he might as well have fallen into an abyss. And the gulf had only grown wider several years later when, upon the death of Hayley’s father-in-law, her husband became the Duke of Moreland. The idea of a lowly shopkeeper being good enough for the sister of a duchess was laughable. Yet the mere thought of her being with anyone else ate at William like acid. Torturing him. Making him wish for impossible things. Such as a title. Or the sort of wealth that would allow him to court her. The woman he’d loved for nearly his entire life. Would love until his last breath.

  A woman who, because of what and who she was, and what and who he wasn’t, would never—could never—be his.

  The sound of her voice yanked him from his brown study. His gaze shot upward, away from the far-too-disturbing sight of her hand touching him, and met her beautiful eyes, which were filled with unmistakable expectation. Bloody hell, clearly she’d said something that required a response.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said Aunt Olivia wished to be remembered to you. Our travels today tired her or she would have accompanied me here.” Concern filled her eyes. “Are you all right, William? You look… flushed.”

  “I’m fine.” He stepped back and fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. “It’s merely warm in here.”

  She looked uncertain, no doubt because it wasn’t the least bit warm in the shop—indeed, it had been unseasonably cool all week. Then her expression cleared. “Aunt Olivia and I were hoping you could join us for dinner this evening. Are you free?”