The Electrifying Exploits of the English Three. Elysabeth Williams

      Eliza sat in her drawing room half-dozing, wondering if she would be able to stay awake before her evening caller arrived. The house had been quiet and devoid of hired help for the last few days, since Mr. von Wilstrom had decided he needed their assistance in the country. Eliza knew he’d taken them just to make her angry, and with the specific intent of forcing her to return to him. She knew better, and refused to fall for his trap. She refused to bow to any man, including her husband.

      Patrick von Wilstrom was much older than she, a match made by her parents, who feared her becoming an old maid after years of searching for a perfect mate. The gossip around the city was rampant when she didn’t leave to live with him in the country, but she didn’t care. She’d borne no children and refused to, given her distaste for her husband and his debauchery. His constant gambling and whoring left little to be desired. Besides, he was overbearing and generally rude. Had she not wanted to remain in good graces with her parents, she would have denied him too. However, her father–a duke–had said he would allow them a country and city home if she would just agree–so she did.

      Patrick hated the city now, since he’d been cast out of all known gentlemen’s parlors for defaulting on gambling debts. He escaped to the country not only to force her hand, he also had enemies far and wide throughout the city. At one point, he’d demanded she return to the country residence. Eliza refused. They’d argued about his habits, which ended in Eliza throwing his clothing into the street. Thus, their marriage was reduced to a battle of wills. Patrick would send messages. She would ignore them, or worse. She snickered at the memory of when she’d sent a letter’s ashes tucked into the return envelope. Little did Patrick realize: she was much happier without him than with him. She stayed for her title and London townhouse, and kept him at arm’s length.

      She’d boldly requested a divorce. Her love life remained in limbo even though she tended to attract the general attentions of others...others such as Baron Silas Willoughby.

      She smiled under half-lidded eyes as his name rolled through her mind. Silas was a well-known rake and she felt like testing his boundaries. She didn’t normally seek out company, but found herself drawn to Silas. He managed to keep his reputation spotless in the foreground–while those in the know more than understood his seductive allure. Unmarried by choice, he was the only remaining Willoughby in his family. His title was uncontested and his land was secure. His parents had both lived well and within their means, so when Silas inherited the estate, it secured his finances for life and left him with no reason to marry.

      The baron was the pinnacle of entertainment. Over the seasons he’d built a reputation for holding the most lavish, borderline decadent parties. His home was the place for go to for musicales, formal balls, and gigantic games of whist. Everyone begged for an invitation just to be in his presence. Even now preparations were underway for his annual season’s end ball, which hundreds would attend. He was always in good spirits and charming. To Eliza, it seemed he existed merely to enjoy others’ company.

      Eliza closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and sighed deeply, remembering his cologne and warmth in the hall. She felt something oddly like home while in his presence. Almost on cue, a soft knock sounded on her front door. She rose and opened it, coming eye to eye with her daydream. He tipped his hat and bowed as she motioned him inside.

      “Good of you to come, Baron.”

      “Yes, coming is always good.” He doffed his hat and she took it from him, smirking. He removed his coat and placed it on the rack as he entered the foyer. “Where are your servants, Mrs. von Wilstrom?” Silas looked down the hallway toward the darkened kitchen.

      “The country. Mr. von Wilstrom decided he needed the extra help.”

      “Surely you jest.”

      “That’s one thing I don’t jest about. The man thinks he’s making me miserable. But damn his luck. I can hang a hat and coat, cook, and clean. I obviously don’t need a maid, and prefer to travel alone. It also creates less of a hassle when I do decide to have people over at odd times of the evening.”

      “How terrible,” he mocked, shaking his head.

      “It’s so terrible that you won’t have to worry about being caught in my home after midnight?”

      “No, it’s actually quite preferable. I just find it terrible a husband would leave you to your own devices.”

      Eliza clasped her hands in front of her and shrugged. “I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me, Silas. I always make my way.” Baron Willoughby would never know how true those words were. In her younger days, she’d spent months of rigorous training in India. She was prepared mentally and physically for any situation thrown her way.

      After Eliza had married and settled in the city, Colonel Cuthbert had sought her out at an end of season ball and offered Eliza and her friends an opportunity. He’d tasked Eliza, Miriam and Jillian with spying on a visiting duke, who was quite possibly stealing various art pieces from the home where the ball was hosted. The women apprehended the duke with stolen goods in hand. Scotland Yard was able to put the man in prison for quite a while. Since then, the colonel had called upon the English Three–as he so liked to call them–to perform more complex missions. Eliza was always prepared for adventure and excitement, as long as she was home for tea and whist. However sworn to secrecy, she doubted she’d ever need to tell anyone. Not even the man who stood before her.

      “Would you care for tea, Baron?”

      “Please don’t go through the trouble for me, Eliza.”

      “It would be no trouble, honestly.”

      “Do not make tea.” He took her by the hand and led her to the parlor down the hall. He pulled her into the room. With a quick twist, he tugged the bejeweled clip pinning her hair atop her head. Loosed, her black curls flowed down her back. She sighed and smiled. He ran his fingers through the mass and pulled her face toward him, his hovering lips barely touching hers.

      “You have the most peculiar effect on me, Eliza.”

      “I do not aspire to be peculiar, Baron.”

      “Please call me Silas.”

      “I will call you whatever you wish, good sir.”

      “Don’t taunt me. It could be quite embarrassing.” He chuckled. “What you do to me, though...it’s quite remarkable.”

      “I doubt it’s anything different from what the working ladies down on Old Compton Street could do to you.”

      Silas laughed, caressing her face with his thumb. “I am serious, regardless of your sarcasm.”

      “Oh, I do believe you.”

      “Still the cheeky tart.” He smiled and fell silent, his eyes smoldering.

      “It’s not been so long since you last called me a cheeky tart,