The Anonymous Miss Addams

The Anonymous Miss Addams
Kasey Michaels

He was London's most eligible–and outrageous–bachelor. But though Pierre Standish didn't give a whit for polite society, he could not deny his father's latest request.To prove himself a true gentleman, Pierre had to perform a random good deed. The task proved unimaginatively easy when, en route to London, Pierre came upon a damsel lying in the road. Her clothes bespoke her an urchin, but although his anonymous Miss Addams had lost her memory, Pierre was certain she was a well-bred lady. A lady whose innocence and plight might just ensnare the ton's most unattainable rogue.

THE PLAN BEGINS TO FORM…

Caroline Addams, not knowing that she had been treated by Pierre to a greater degree of friendliness than almost every other female in England, was also without knowledge of Pierre’s reputation. She only knew that he was extremely handsome, curiously reticent and maddeningly intriguing.

Like many of her sex, she wished she could somehow peel away the world-weary facade Pierre wore and get to know something of the real man that lay beneath the polished exterior. She wanted to see him react—whether in anger or passion she did not know. He was so cool, so controlled, so very perfect. His perfection, she had found, was the most annoying thing about him, and she longed to see him ruffled, on edge.

“Human,” she said aloud, walking into the drawing room. “That’s what I want to see. Some sort of human emotion. I want to see him off his stride. And I want to be the one who causes his dishevelment.”

Kasey Michaels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than sixty books. She has won the Romance Writers of America RITA Award and the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for her historical romances set in the Regency era, and also writes contemporary romances for Silhouette and Harlequin Books.

The Anonymous Miss Addams

Kasey Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Ellen Edwards, who patiently midwifed

the longest labor in publishing history.

Thanks, friend!

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

“AND I SAY she has to die! Damn it, can’t you see? Haven’t you been forever telling me that she has to go? It’s the only way out, for both of us!”

“Not necessarily. You could always marry her,” a female voice suggested. “You’d make a wonderfully handsome groom. And, please, my dearest, don’t swear.”

“Marry her? Marry her! Are you daft? Have you been sipping before noon again? How many times must I tell you? I’d druther shackle m’self to an ox—it would be easier to haul a dumb animal to the altar. Besides, the chit don’t like me, not even above half.”

“Can’t hold that against the girl. You never were so popular as I’d like.”

“That’s nothing to the point! We’re talking about her now. The only answer is to do away with her.”

“All right, be bloodthirsty if you must. Boys will be boys. That leaves only the question—who and how do we handle disposing of the wretched girl?”

“That’s two questions. I don’t know how to do it, but I do know who. I’ve thought this out most carefully. We both do the deed. That way neither of us is apt to cry rope on the other.”

There was a short silence while his co-conspirator weighed his latest suggestion. “You really believe that I’d be so mean-spirited as to lay information against my own—oh, all right. Don’t pout, it makes nasty lines around your mouth. We both do it. Now—how do we do it?”

“An accident. It should look like an accident. The best murders are always made to look like accidents.”

“That does leave out poison, firearms and a rope, doesn’t it? Pity. I do so favor poison. It’s so neat and reliable. A fall, perhaps? From the top of the tower? No, on second thought, that would be too messy. Think of the time we’d have cleaning the cobblestones. I suppose we must find another way.”

“A riding accident, perhaps.”

“That’s brilliant! You were always so creative. A riding accident is perfect! She’s always out and about somewhere on that terrible brute she rides. I’m more than surprised she hasn’t snapped her neck a dozen times already, more’s the pity that she hasn’t. All right, a riding accident it is. Now, when do we do the deed?”

“She reaches her majority the tenth of October. The ninth ought to do it.”

“That’s cutting it a slice too fine, even for such a brilliant mind as yours. Something could go amiss and we wouldn’t have time for a second chance. I would rather do it the first of the month. That way we won’t have to waste any of her lovely money on birthday presents.”

“Yes, why should we throw good money away on—I say! What was that?”