Her Private Wish

Lorna Locke

Description

Pursued by two men… Who will claim her…

In 1914, war in Europe feels far away to most of the people in Fleta Jaeger’s social circle—but not to Fleta, whose beloved cousin is studying in England. Fleta attempts to disguise her fear with too much gaiety and drink, but her friends and family begin to worry about her.

Julian Prebensen, Fleta’s father’s favorite employee sees she’s vulnerable and embarks on a scheme to win her for himself—and if her father’s successful shipping company comes with her, all the better. Fleta resists, and her resistance results in her living as a virtual prisoner in her parents’ lavish home.

Grantham Northrup, who has known Fleta since childhood and loved her for years, realizes he must take action to save the woman he loves from a dubious fate. But when Fleta flees with her mother’s jewels, and no one knows where she’s gone, it’s a race between Julian and Grantham to see who will find her first.

This is book two in Lakeside Lovers series and can be enjoyed independently.

Publisher’s Note: This historical romance is intended for adults only and contains elements of suspense, sensual themes, danger, adult themes, possible triggers and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.

Sujets

• Suspenso
• General officer
• General
• Discipline
• Angst
• Romance
• Suspense
• Danger
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Blushing Books Publications
• Date de parution: 17 juin 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781645633037
• Langue: English

Extrait

HER PRIVATE WISH

Lakeside Lovers - Book Two

LORNA LOCKE

Published by Blushing Books An Imprint of ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc. A Virginia Corporation 977 Seminole Trail #233 Charlottesville, VA 22901

©2020 All rights reserved.

No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

Lorna Locke Her Private Wish

EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-303-7 Print ISBN: 978-1-64563-335-8 Audio ISBN: 978-1-64563-336-5 v1

Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Epilogue Lorna Locke Blushing Books Blushing Books Newsletter

Contents

Chapter 1

he party was well underway, the flickering electric lights of which Father was so the T Jaegers’ grand party, a cloudless night felt like Nature herself was christening their proud matching the merry stars above. A starlit night in western Washington, in October, nevertheless, was a rare enough event in itself. Falling on the night of new house. Stars would light the family’s path into an exciting future, full of all the wonders this still-young century had to offer. For Oskar Jaeger, the future glittered with electricity, gadgetry, motorcars, aeroplanes and zeppelins, and a paradise of automation and convenience. Oskar’s boundless, childlike enthusiasm for the wonders of modernity was reflected in the new house being celebrated that night: in addition to electric lights, his favorite feature, the lakeside mansion boasted countless touches both modern and luxurious. Guests marveled at accent windows of colored leaded glass, high ceilings embossed with lovingly detailed botanical motifs, a game room with humidor and walls of deepest red decorated in an Oriental theme, and on and on. The ultimate, however, was the full bathroom boasting not only a massive claw-footed tub but also a stand-up shower. The latest porcelain features and pale pink color scheme elicitedoohs andahhsfrom the Jaegers’ guests. Oskar and Johanne’s fancy bathing apparatus would be the talk of the Lakes District for weeks to come. While she appreciated the innovations her husband prized, Johanne was more enamored with thesiteof their new home. Rau Lake, and several other nearby lakes, had for nearly ten years served as an idyllic summer retreat for the wealthiest residents of the nearby city of Tacoma. But in the previous year or two, more and more members of Johanne’s social circle were pulling up roots in the city and relocating year-round to the Lakes District. Johanne gazed out from the grand balcony and was surprised to feel a single tear trickle down her cheek—the starlight glittering on the surface of Rau Lake simply moved her beyond mere words. Johanne’s closest friend, Isobel Kendris, never suffered from a lack of words. Gesturing broadly with her wine glass, Isobel said, “Truly, Jo, you made the right decision. The city’s simply too…” Isobel bit her lip and considered. “Tooeverything. Out here there is peace, and water, and trees and deer and all of those lovely little details.” Isobel sighed theatrically, took a sip of wine and looked fondly at Johanne. “Yes,” Johanne murmured in agreement. “It was a fine decision.” Johanne was startled out of her dreamy reverie by the sound of glass shattering on the mosaic tile floor of the foyer below. Resigned, Johanne sighed. “Fleta.”

Johanne’s instincts were confirmed by a peal of shrieking laughter from the foyer—her daughter’s all-too-familiar Champagne-sparkling laughter. Johanne took a deep breath, bristled at a knowing look of sympathy from Isobel and descended the spiral staircase down to the foyer. There was Fleta, hand clasped over her mouth, shaking with laughter and red-faced with drink. At Fleta’s feet glittered the shards that had, moments before, been one of the fine glasses Johanne received thirty years before when she married Oskar. Face tight with control, Johanne spoke. “Fleta, dear? Are you all right?” The circle of party guests gathered around Fleta Jaeger respectfully dispersed, conversations that had been interrupted by the dropping of the wine glass resumed, gazes averted from the minor spectacle unfolding in the foyer. Isobel remained on the balcony. Fleta and her mother were alone, or as alone as the pair could be in a house teeming with merrymakers. Fleta was still chuckling, but the laughter faded when Johanne placed a hand lightly on Fleta’s arm. “Oh Mother,” Fleta said, trying without much success to inject levity into her tone. She looked down at the broken glass and frowned. Her eyes weren’t focusing terribly well. “That glass was a gift from my grandmother. For thirty years we’ve managed to keep the set whole.” Mother shook her head slowly, with great restraint, the only indication of her profound disappointment the flat line of her mouth. Fleta let her head hang like a small child accepting a scolding, or a dog that sensed it was in trouble but didn’t understand why. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry about the glass.” Though no one had called for her, trusted Jaeger family housekeeper Jeanette appeared and silently swept up the shards of glass. A pang of guilt pricked at Fleta’s heart to see Jeanette cleaning up a mess she’d made. She supposed, vaguely, that she should feel even worse about breaking Mother’s wine glass, but her head was all foggy for some reason. She’d feel bad about it later, maybe. Mother’s hand on Fleta’s arm was light as a feather, even as she steered her daughter from the foyer and down the hall. Fleta was wobbly on her feet, teetering on her new high- heeled satin shoes. It must be the high heels making her wobbly. They made her feel so dainty, though, like a ballerina dancing theLa Sylphideen pointe… “Fleta.” Mother’s voice was heavy with disappointment, but not surprise. “Yes, Mother?” Fleta, with some effort, fixed her gaze on Johanne’s face. It was difficult to look Mother in the eye, but it felt important to do so, and so Fleta managed. Oh, but if she could only sit down for a moment, perhaps rest her head on her folded arms and take the tiniest nap… “Fleta!” Now Mother was hissing. Fleta sensed Mother would raise her voice if doing so wouldn’t risk drawing the attention of partygoers. The two of them stood in the hallway just outside Fleta’s lovely new pale-green bedroom. Fleta fought down a childish urge to dash inside, slam the door and lock it, and throw herself on the bed. Mother continued, “Will you do your best to pay attention?” “Y-yes, I’m paying attention!” “I’d so hoped you’d behave yourself tonight. I’d hoped that your better instincts would guide you, that knowing how important tonight is to your father and me would outweigh your fondness for wine and hunger for hilarity.” All delivered with devastating coldness. Mother was furious but, as ever, she delivered her anger in tiny parcels with little fanfare.

If onlyjust oncewould throw a real fit, then Fleta could let loose herself. But as Mother long as Mother was, well,Mother about everything it was all but impossible for Fleta to fight for herself. Fleta mumbled an apology that bumbled its way into an explanation, or rather, an excuse. “It’s just that Samantha Matthews told the funniest story—you know how Samantha is, she’s a regular Rose Francis—andeveryone was laughing. It’s a party! People laugh at parties, you know. So Samantha told the funniest story about their driver, Biggins, and her little sister’s pony, and we were all laughing, and, uh, laughing, you know, and I guess my hand just sort of slipped?” “You’re drunk,” Mother hissed. “I am not.” “Fleta.” Mother’s face crumpled like a dropped handkerchief. With sadness a thousand times harder to face than raw anger would have been, she continued, “You can barely stay upright.” “It’s these shoes, Mother, I’m not used to—” “You never lied to me when you were a little girl, you know. Father and I were so proud of what an honest creature you were. Remember when you and your cousins were romping around Aunt Millicent’s drawing room and you knocked over her favorite Chinese vase? We didn’t have to interrogate any of you children, since you came to Aunt Millicent immediately to apologize.” Fleta rolled her eyes. “This is simply melodrama!” She hiccupped once, and then again. She clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified. Mother shook her head. “No arguing. I will not be a party to you ruining this night for your father. He’s given us—he’s givenyou, Fleta, and Richard—everything. Tonight all he wants is to celebrate with our friends, and he shouldn’t have to worry about his only daughter making a drunken spectacle of herself.” Fleta’s mouth opened and shut like a carp. Words deserted her. She blinked, and then hiccupped again. “Come along,” Mother said, easing open the door to Fleta’s bedroom. “You’re going down for the night.” “This is silly,” Fleta protested feebly. Mother sat Fleta on the bed. She pulled off Fleta’s pretty satin shoes, undid the buttons of her gown and gingerly removed it, helped her out of her corset, unpinned her hair, helped her into a flannel nightgown, and tucked her daughter into bed under a green coverlet. All the while, Fleta was dumb and heavy-limbed as a giant doll. After Mother retreated, leaving Fleta in the oppressive darkness of her room, her words echoed in Fleta’s head:drunken spectacle,drunken spectacle,drunken spectacle. As a throbbing headache annihilated conscious thought, Fleta’s final wish for the night was one last glass of Champagne.

Chapter2

t took Johanne Jaeger mere moments to compose herself after tucking Fleta into di I sappearance.Feeding grist into the gossiO mill, she reflected sourly as she paused in bed. As hostess she hated to disappear even briefly, especially if doing so risked drawing more attention to the incident of the broken glass and Fleta’s subsequent front of the hall mirror and tucked a strand of hair back into place. It couldn’t be helped, though.Next time,promised herself, Johanne Ôskar and I will make sure Fleta is either out of the house or… or… or something else. Nothing like this will be allowed to haOOen again, not in our new home. New home, new start. Johanne emerged back into the foyer, where Jeanette’s swift work had ensured it looked like nothing untoward had taken place. She paused to appreciate the artistry of the mosaic that made the foyer floor so beautiful: to complement the botanical theme, Oskar had ordered a vaguely Moorish profusion of curlicues and arabesques and blossoms, vivid blossoms of semiprecious stones. Fortunately, when Fleta broke the wine glass it hadn’t damaged the mosaic.Wouldn’tthathave been the Oerfect coda to the hideous incident? At least with the mosaic unblemished and his elder child’s behavior unwitnessed, by him, Oskar need never know that Fleta had behaved so dreadfully. Her husband would never notice a single wine glass missing, even if Johanne’s own heart would forever feel its absence, and if Johanne could sufficiently control the gossip then her poor husband might live untroubled by knowledge of Fleta’s indiscretion. Well, this specific indiscretion. There was only so much Johanne could do to mitigate her daughter’s apparent commitment to ruining her reputation and, by extension, that of the entire Jaeger family. She had the foyer to herself until a familiar voice, low and smooth as spun sugar, interrupted Johanne’s dark thoughts. “Mrs. Jaeger, I don’t mean to intrude but is Miss Jaeger all right?” Oskar’s most trusted secretary, Julian Prebensen, a rising star at Jaeger Shipping, had his hands clasped at chest level. His gray eyes were damp with concern. Seeing Mr. Prebensen cheered Johanne a little. He was a handsome young man with thick, wavy hair the color of honey and a matching mustache of notable luxuriousness. He always dressed smartly. Johanne and Oskar were in the habit of gently prodding their younger child, Richard, to emulate Mr. Prebensen’s style of dress. Richard, much to his parents’ dismay, was displaying signs of incipient dandiness. He was overly fond of fashion and tended to tread alarmingly close to the line between ‘fashionable’ and ‘frivolous’. If only Richard had the benefit of a big brother like Julian! Johanne smiled sweetly. “Your concern is touching, Mr. Prebensen. Fleta is slightly

unwell. She’s prone to sick headaches, you know, and I think she risked a glass of Champagne tonight and it was too much for her constitution.” The lie about Fleta being prone to sick headaches tumbled from her mother’s tongue without hesitation; the Jaegers were so used to curating little stories and scenarios to explain away Fleta’s drinking – and the consequences of said drinking – that Johanne rarely even noticed when she was doing it. Julian nodded solemnly. “Poor girl! My mother suffers those megrims herself: headaches, nasty ones, and then she’s plagued by spells of low spirits. Melancholia, you might call it. I hate to think that Miss Jaeger might fall prey to the same.” A tiny flicker of guilt at the lie animated Johanne. She took Julian’s proffered arm and let him steer her back to the party. A little too gaily she assured him her daughter was fine. “It’s nothing so bad as that, dear Mr. Prebensen. Perhaps it’s more the excitement of the evening than anything.” He patted her hand as they entered the parlor, where party guests laughed and talked and drank their wine. They parted, and Julian said, “I hope so. I had hoped she and I would have a chance to chat this evening, so I admit my disappointment is tinged with selfishness.” Johanne’s eyes lit up. “Then I am sorry indeed that Fleta took ill!” Julian laughed politely. He was refinement personified, exactly the kind of man Johanne and Oskar hoped their daughter might marry—and the kind Fleta’s recent behavior was most likely to drive away. Johanne’s resolve, that Fleta would renounce drink and begin comporting herself in a manner consistent with her class and breeding, intensified. Soon, both Julian Prebensen and Johanne Jaeger were swallowed back up by the party. Meanwhile, Fleta fell into a fitful sleep full of nightmares: machine guns, rifles and bayonets, the stomping of soldiers’ boots, the helpless screams of countless innocents. She would sleep, though badly, until morning.

Chapter3

twas bifficult to enjoy a party after your sweet frienb was hauleb away By an angry I mother for the crime of getting tipsy anb Breaking a wine glass. Of course, if Fleta hab enbureb a proper scolbing from Johanne, it was no more than she beserveb. Samantha Matthews Broobeb over her own glass of purplish claret, torn Between sympathy anb annoyance. She’b cringeb when Fleta’s raucous laughter turneb into bropping a glass, followeb By more laughter, followeb By the harrowing appearance of harb-eyeb Johanne. Now, with her frienb sleeping it off anb Mrs. Jaeger apparently happy to rejoin the party as if nothing hab happeneb, Samantha was left alone to stew in her thoughts. Alone for a moment perhaps, But not for long. Julian PreBensen, some frienb or associate of Fleta’s father, loomeb up out of nowhere. Reflexively, Samantha gaspeb. PreBensen appeareb milbly amuseb By Samantha’s startlement. “Parbon me, Miss Matthews. I bibn’t mean to intrube upon your Brown stuby.” His hay-coloreb mustache twitcheb as if he was fighting a smirk. Samantha straighteneb her Back anb took a brink of claret. “No apology necessary.” PreBensen hesitateb as if he expecteb Samantha to continue talking. When it was clear she bibn’t have anything to abb, he pickeb Back up. “May I ask you a sensitive question?” Samantha tappeb the tip of her finger against her glass.Mayhe? What woulb Be the social cost of the cut birect, if Samantha simply walkeb away without entertaining Julian PreBensen’s ‘sensitive’ question? Inwarbly she sigheb. Outwarbly, she purseb her lips into something resemBling a smile. He took this as assent. In a low voice bripping with concern, PreBensen askeb, “Is Miss Jaeger really all right?” Samantha stiffeneb. What Business was it of his? “As far as I know, yes. She’s proBaBly asleep now.” row creaseb with the profounbest worry, he presseb. “ut, ah, this is a belicate question.” In a whisper, PreBensen askeb, “How much bib the young laby have to brink tonight?” This line of inquiry, from this man in particular, was more than Samantha was willing to Bear. With as much politeness as she coulb muster, Samantha answereb, “I can’t say I was keeping track, Mr. PreBensen, anb I bon’t consiber it any of my Business. If you’ll excuse me, I neeb to catch my Brother aBout something.” She flasheb PreBensen an insincere grin anb strobe away as gracefully as she coulb manage given the tumult of rage, worry anb confusion roiling in her guts.