The Locket [The Rotherham Hall Mysteries] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  The Rotherham Hall Mysteries

  The Locket

  Who is trying to kidnap Lady Alicia Fitzroy and why?

  When the de la Torre triplets, Rafael, Antonio, and Angel, rescued her from a kidnapping attempt, they do not expect to fall in love with her. She cannot understand why she loves three dominant men equally. Her handsome heroes have to foil several attempts to kidnap her before trapping the villain and discovering what he wants from her.

  She is childless by her first marriage and feels she ought not to marry Rafael, the eldest triplet, who needs heirs to ensure the succession. As she struggles with her feelings for them and her fear that she is barren, the triplets come up with a plan to persuade her, one that involves pleasure for all four of them, convincing her, and delivering a happily ever after.

  Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among siblings.

  Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 31,554 words

  THE LOCKET

  The Rotherham Hall Mysteries

  Clair de Lune

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  THE LOCKET

  Copyright © 2012 by Clair de Lune

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-710-0

  First E-book Publication: November 2012

  Cover design by Christine Kirchoff

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of The Locket by Clair de Lune from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Clair de Lune’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. de Lune’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  To my family, with love.

  THE LOCKET

  The Rotherham Hall Mysteries

  CLAIR DE LUNE

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  “This is never going to work.”

  Leaning his broad shoulders against the wall of Lady Beaumont’s ballroom, Rafael de la Torre scanned the throng of young ladies either dancing or seated, all chattering and laughing, and sighed.

  He was twenty-seven years old, tall and lean, immaculately dressed in a black coat of Bath superfine that was moulded to his muscular frame, a grey brocade waistcoat, and starched white linen shirt with moderate points. He had no use for the extremes of fashion that some of the younger men affected, so he could turn his head with relative ease. His white cravat was tied simply, and in its folds nestled a large sapphire pin, matching the signet ring upon his finger. The twin sapphires glowed in the candle-light. His evening britches were black and betrayed the powerful thighs and sculpted calves of the athlete. His raven-black hair shone with blue lights under the candles. His chiseled features, Roman nose, and strong jaw demonstrated that Rafael was of Mediterranean stock. He was a man with a will of iron, used to having his own way. The most striking feature in his handsome face were his large, almost black eyes. They glowed obsidian when angered, but they could sparkle with mischief when he was amused. His eyes were deep set and fringed by long curling lashes, the envy of many a lady. His mobile eyebrows were thick and saturnine, almost, but not quite, meeting over his nose.

  Rafael would have stood out in any gathering, but situated as he was between his two brothers, he and they drew all eyes. To his left was Antonio de la Torre, identical in all but the pin and signet ring. His bore emeralds. To his right Angel de la Torre stood. He was also identical, but his pin and signet ring bore rubies. There were such slight physical differences that none save their mother could tell them apart. Their true differences were not physical, however.

  Rafael had been raised as the eldest son and heir, so he was not only aware of his responsibilites, but he embraced them wholeheartedly. He was a dominant male and born to rule. He was always in charge even of his brothers, and he was cultured as well as intelligent and as shrewd as could be. Antonio was also intelligent, shrewd and cultured, but his was not the burden of the succession. He loved the land and the people on the estate. He made it his business to know them and all their concerns and their difficulties. He did what he could to alleviate the same. He was light-hearted and loved to chat and laugh, but could be as stern as Rafael when the occasion demanded it.

  Angel resembled his brothers in culture and intelligence, but he was less stern, more caring and tender, although he was careful to whom he showed that side of his nature in case it be interpreted as weakness. He was not weak, and the many deals he struck and the bargains over antiques that he drove were witness to that fact.

  The de la Torre triplets were the talk of the season in the haut ton. Everyone knew the romantic story. Rafael, Conde de la Torre y Saavedra had come over from Spain under the aegis of no lesser a personage than Sir Arthur Wellesley, whom he had encountered in Andalusia. He had brought over a string of the family’s thoroughbred horses at Sir Arthur’s request. The elder Rafael had fallen head over ears in love with Penelope, second daughter of the Earl of Rotherham and remained in England to wed her. As Rafael was the second son, his father the Duke had put up only a token resistance to the match, which was a good one by any standards. Rafael and Penelope had set up home on an estate in
Yorkshire and proceeded to breed thoroughbred horses, a set of triplets, and two girls. The children had all grown up in the haut ton and were perfectly at home in any salon or ballroom, but the sons preferred the stables and the stud farm. They usually made an appearance in the season but had never been known to grace so many ballrooms, and gossip was rife. It was rumoured that one or all were seeking a wife, and the attention of every matchmaking mama was riveted upon them the moment they arrived at any event. It was wearing Rafael down. He was bored and restless.

  The young Rafael, the eldest of the triplets, followed his father and immersed himself in breeding and bloodlines. Antonio oversaw the farming of the rest of the land, and Angel made sufficient money to make them very wealthy. He saw to the accounts of farm and stables and the family finances. By investing wisely, he increased their wealth substantially. He had an interest in antiques, especially jewelry, and was instrumental in aquiring snuff boxes for his eldest brother’s collection.

  This season, however, had been different. Their father had announced he wished to retire from running the estate as he and their mother were getting too old to concern themselves with the day-to-day running of the family business. The triplets would be left to manage it in the future, something that to all intents and purposes they were already doing. What they had not expected was that their parents would expect them to take charge of their sisters, and they were appalled at the prospect. Penelope and Susan at twenty and twenty-one were headstrong beauties and ran rings around their parents and their brothers. They were past their first youth and very soon would be considered to be on the shelf, something that bothered them not at all. They would wed, they said,when they found the right gentlemen. Rafael thought they were taking an unconscionably long time about it, but they went their own way, and until their parents’ announcement it had not bothered him greatly.

  Their parents’ solution was what had brought them to London for the season and to their current impasse, just as it was intended to in Rafael’s opinion. His mama had suggested sweetly, in that way she had of suggesting something that at once became law, that what they all needed was a wife.

  Antonio and Angel had agreed that, as Rafael was the heir he did indeed need to marry to secure the succession. He needed to do it quickly now, so that his wife could chaperone his sisters, but in their cases there was plenty of time. They would escort him to town and support him in his endeavours to find a suitable lady. Rafael had been furious.

  “Rolled up horse, foot, and guns by God!” That was the mildest of his comments, but it did not occur to him to say no to his mama. Not many people said no to Lady Penelope, only her lord from time to time, and he was careful to choose the battles he fought with her.

  Here was Rafael then, seeking out the perfect lady. What neither the haut ton nor his parents knew was that the three brothers shared a secret and saw no reason to reveal it and cause a scandal of monumental proportions. That was in some part the reason for his dilemma and the distinct lack of suitable candidates.

  With a jaundiced eye, looking at the simpering misses all so very young and innocent, Rafael could imagine what the reaction would be if he so much as hinted at it to any of them, let alone their dragons of mamas. He shuddered at the thought.

  “I am going out for some fresh air. This room is overpowering,” he announced, making his way towards the windows that led out onto the terrace and hopefully fresher, cooler air. All three left the ballroom together, followed by the eyes of more than one young damsel who ought to have been concentrating on her partner in the dance.

  Once outside they strolled along the terrace and enjoyed the cooler air, free from the over-heated room and the smells of perfume and sweating humanity.

  Antonio stopped, listened, and asked “What was that?”

  They fell silent then heard a muffled curse and the noise of someone or something being dragged along the gravel walk in the garden below. There was another smothered oath.

  “Damnation, the bitch bit me!” A muffled shriek cut off as if someone had placed a large hand over a lady’s mouth, as indeed was the case.

  The three large men raced for the stairs to the garden. In the soft moonlight, three ill-dressed ruffians were struggling with a woman, trying to drag her along the walk and towards the half-open garden gate leading to the street. The brothers launched themselves at the men who, when they saw them approaching, let the lady go. Bellowing, “This ain’t over, bitch!” they ran out of the gate and to the carriage that awaited them. The horses were whipped up, and it was soon lost to sight. It was useless to try and pursue it on foot.

  The lady had sunk down onto one of the stone benches that flanked the gravel walk at intervals. She sat shivering, her chest heaving with her head in her hands. Angel closed the gate, and they all three stood around her.

  “Thank you so much, sirs,” she murmured. “I do not know what would have become of me had you not come to my rescue.” She shuddered. Rafael looked at her, frankly appraising her form and face, and liked what he saw. She was no simpering miss, and now, instead of indulging in a fit of the vapours as she had every right to do, she sat trying to compose herself. She had dark hair gathered in a knot on top of her head from which some curls had escaped in the struggle. The lovely arrangement of her hair was crowned with a scrap of lace, a cap. So she was no unmarried miss. Her eyes were large and brown with gold flecks and wide set under delicate, arched brows. Her nose was small and turned up slightly, but her mouth was too generous to be fashionable. Her lips were plump and rosy, but her little chin showed determination. Her neck was long and slender, and what skin could be seen was like porcelain. Her cheeks were like little rosy apples. She was of medium height and shapely, even a little on the plump side. Her breasts were large and firm, and her legs long and shapely. Her dress was fashionable, made of amber silk. It clung in all the correct places and it was low cut, but decorously so. Rafael was captivated. He could see she was not in the first flush of youth either and guessed her age to be twenty-five.

  “Do you know those men?” Rafael asked.

  He had taken her hand in his and was gently caressing the backs of her fingers in a soothing way. She did not notice or did not care to remove her hand just yet.

  “No, indeed. I have no idea what they wanted with me. They said he had paid them well to take me to him.”

  “Who? Did they name the man?” Rafael asked.

  “No. They did, however, say it was not over.”

  “I am sure that was just a remark to overset you, as they had failed in their attempt to take you tonight. They will hardly have the temerity to try again now that you are on your guard.”

  Rafael said it, in an attempt to settle her feelings and not to worry her. He had seen the men and did not think they were the usual common thieves. They had known where to wait for her and had known enough to have the carriage waiting for them outside the garden gate. Presumably they had been prepared to wait for a long time as, from what they had said, it could be deduced that she and no other lady was their object. That said they would likely try again.

  He noticed she had managed to tidy her hair, and he stood to escort her back to the ballroom. His brothers had scoured the garden and now returned to report nothing to be seen or heard.

  He then introduced himself, and his brothers, and all three made a formal bow.

  “I am Lady Alicia Fitzroy and honoured to make your acquaintance.” She dropped them a curtsey.

  “We will escort you back to your husband.”

  “Oh, but I do not have a husband. I am a widow and here in town staying with my aunt, Lady Gwendoline Ware, in Grosvenor Square.”

  Rafael’s erection grew harder at that. She was a widow and she was available.

  They had by now gained the terrace and the French doors to the ballroom. The three men escorted her to the sofa on which Lady Gwendoline sat chatting to other chaperones. They saw no need to make the incident the object of gossip and left it to her to mention it to her aun
t or not as she saw fit.

  Lady Gwendoline was in alt. She had seen her niece approaching with the de la Torre triplets and fully intended to make them known to her two daughters. She would never pass up such an opportunity, Rafael thought cynically, and indeed she waved imperiously, summoning her daughters.

  “This is my elder daughter, Anna, and her sister Beatrice.”

  As he had expected they simpered and giggled, and he felt the lead weight of boredom descend to his stomach. He and his brothers were too well bred to let their boredom show, however, so they chatted for a short while to the girls.

  The musicians struck up a waltz, and the girls’ partners arrived to claim them. Lady Alicia held out her hand to Rafael, but he took it in his and said,

  “Will you do me the honour of waltzing with me?”

  She blushed and consented. Antonio and Angel went off in search of refreshments, and he whirled her into the dance. She was light on her feet and a natural dancer. He held her close and heard her breath hitch. She was as affected by their closeness as he was. Her skirts flirted with his thighs as he whirled her into the turn, and one of his rock-hard thighs parted hers. Then they were out of the turn and not quite so close. He saw she was breathless, and her breasts heaved more than could be explained by the exercise of the dance, and he smiled.

  “You dance very well, Lady Alicia.”

  “You make it easy, sir. You dance so well yourself,” she replied.