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Desire Never Dies
By Jenna Petersen Avon Copyright © 2006 Jenna Petersen
All right reserved. ISBN: 978-0-06-113808-9
Chapter One London, 1813
The crash jolted Anastasia Whittig out of her concentration. She blinked, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose as she looked at the ceiling with pursed lips. What in the world were the servants doing up there, teaching each other to dance? She hated interruptions, especially when she was so dratted close to finding the key to this latest invention.
Glaring at the stairs that lead from her secret workroom to the main floor above, she returned her attention to her efforts.
The second crash made her jump. It was followed by more pounding feet and, to Ana's surprise, the door above her stairway flew open. Normally, the servants knew better than to invade her private area, so for them to open her door, without even knocking, was an indication that something serious was afoot.
A maid came down two steps. Her cap was crooked and her eyes wide and wild. Ana cocked her head.
"What in the world is it, Mary? I'm in the middle of-"
The girl panted, fear painted across her face in pale colors. "Lady Allington, my lady, she-she-"
The bottle of kerosene in Ana's hand slipped free, hitting the floor with a crash that she hardly heard above the sudden rush of blood roaring in her ears. Lady Allington was her best friend, Emily Redgrave, mistress of the house they shared. She was also a spy.
Just like Anastasia.
Emily had been out that night on a case. There would only be one reason for Mary's terror, for her intrusion. Something had gone terribly wrong.
"Where is she?" Ana cried as she ran for the stairs. She stumbled as she grasped the banister to pull herself up. Panic rose in her chest, choking her, making it hard to breathe as she followed the girl through the kitchen.
"She came in through the back, Lady Whittig," the girl panted. "And we carried her to the parlor."
"Carried her?" Ana repeated in shock. "Oh my God."
Mary burst through the parlor closest to the back of the house. Ana shoved past her to see a circle of sobbing, trembling servants surrounding the settee. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she stopped in horror at what she beheld.
Emily lay on the couch, eyes shut. Her skin was pale, her brow sweaty, and even the stir of the noisy staff didn't wake her as she rested in unnatural slumber. Another maid knelt over her, pressing a dishrag against her side. Ana could already see blood seeping through the cloth.
She dropped down beside her friend. "Let me see, Hester."
The girl darted a glance in her direction and then pulled the cloth away. Ana recoiled. Emily's torn gown revealed a large wound. The fabric was soaked in blood and edged with the remnants of gunpowder. She had been shot.
Grabbing the towel from Hester's shaking hands, Ana returned it to its place and pressed to ebb the flow of Emily's blood.
Nausea washed over her, fear froze her, but Ana shook it off. Now was not the time to get the vapors. The servants looked to her for what steps to take next. The next few decisions she made could save her friend's life ... or ensure it bled out on the settee in the parlor.
She measured her tone carefully. The household was already hysterical enough, there was no need to make the situation any worse. She turned to one of the men in the group. "Robert, ride as fast as you can to Dr. Adam Wexler's. You know the way. Tell him we need him. If he is with company, do not tell him anything else. Once you are alone with him, inform him Lady Emily was shot."
Her driver nodded. "Yes, my lady, I'll be back as quickly as I can."
She turned to Benson, their butler. He was pale, his eyes fixed on Emily. He might be a stodgy fellow who disapproved of female spies, but he was loyal to a fault. All their servants had to be in order to keep their secret safe.
"Benson, listen to me," she said softly, drawing his attention. "Fetch Henderson and tell him to get Charles Isley. Make sure he tells Charlie nothing except that it is an emergency. Have him come to the back and be sure no one sees his entrance so late at night or it will arouse suspicion."
Benson bowed as he moved for the door. "Yes, my lady."
"The rest of you, prepare Lady Allington's room for her convalescence." She choked, hoping her injured friend would survive to have one. But it gave the servants something to do besides stare as Emily bled. Keeping them busy was a kindness. One she couldn't grant herself. "Make her room as comfortable as you can. And please," she added for the benefit of those who weren't already aware of her secret life, "do not speak of this. Your indiscretion could endanger her ladyship even more."
The servants nodded and began to leave, whispering in fear as they departed. Ana could only pray for their silence as she returned her attention to Emily.
"Emily," she whispered, pushing a tangled lock of sweaty blonde hair away from her friend's eyes as she fought back tears. Her mind spun, taking her to places she didn't want to remember. Taking her to her own husband's bedside over five years ago. He had also died from a bullet, a hunting accident on their country estate. He'd been hurt so badly, nothing could save him.
She shook her head. No. She would not lose someone she loved again. She would not lose Emily. She pressed the cloth against Emily's wound harder and her friend let out a little cry. Ana leaned close.
"I'm here. You're safe now." She bit back a sob. Emily wouldn't want to hear her crying. "You are home."
Emily groaned as her eyes opened, a shocking bright blue even when clouded with pain. "Alone?" she coughed.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Desire Never Dies by Jenna Petersen Copyright © 2006 by Jenna Petersen. Excerpted by permission.
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