Excerpt
FALLING FOR THE EARL Chapter One
Bath Assembly Rooms, England, March 1814
Miss Lucy Kershaw turned this way and that before the mirror in the ladies’ withdrawing room. She bit her lips, pinched her cheeks, then smoothed her skirts, satisfied the white muslin trimmed with spring-green satin ribbons compared favorably with the other ladies’ gowns here tonight. She had only completed the final hem yesterday.
Papa had insisted she come, and although she’d finally agreed to make her first appearance among Bath society, she was still concerned about the financial pressure that would place on him. He had been downhearted since his investment in an African goldmine company that had found no trace of gold. So certain of the venture’s success, he’d borrowed heavily from a London cent-per-center to pay for Lucy’s come out. Next week, she was to travel to London for the Season, but that looked doubtful now. She tried to hide her disappointment from her father and was determined to make the most of what Bath offered.
Lucy took a deep breath and ventured into the elegant ballroom, where the chandeliers sprinkled a myriad of sparkling lights over the dancers performing a quadrille. There were some guests here she knew from childhood, but there was always a large influx of people visiting Bath to drink the waters, bathe, and attend the functions. Tonight, the ballroom seemed to buzz with expectations as some important personages had attended. As Lucy moved through the crowd intent on finding her father, two women she knew only by name drifted past her, fanning themselves vigorously in the warm, smoky air.
“Losing money to an adventurer, I could weep,” Mrs. Hoskin, a lady of middle years in a dress of violet satin, said to the lady walking beside her.
“As do I, my dear,” Mrs. Vellacott, a dark-haired widow of a similar age, in gray silk, responded bitterly. “To think we accepted the advice of someone who has barely two pennies to rub together. Had I known Mr. Kershaw lacked breeding and financial competence, I would not have invested in the company he recommended. There was never any chance of discovering gold. I might as well have thrown my twenty pounds into the river!”
“We must warn others not to be taken in by him,” Mrs. Hoskin said bitterly, her tight, fair curls bouncing.
Lucy, furious on her father’s behalf, came up to them. “A broker assured my father of the company’s success,” she said fiercely, standing before the surprised women. “And Papa, although he gained nothing from recommending it to you, would have wanted you both to benefit from the investment.” Seeing a smirk on Mrs. Vellacott’s lips, Lucy propped a gloved hand on her hip and glared at the women. Upset for her father, the lie seemed to come from nowhere. “And I am surprised you don’t know my father is the Marquess of Berwick’s heir. I’m sure you’re aware the Kershaw’s are very wealthy.”
Mrs. Hoskin opened and closed her mouth, seemingly struck dumb. Mrs. Vellacott, her face burning, took her friend’s arm and hurried her away among the milling guests.
“Nasty women,” Lucy muttered.
“Quite so,” said a deep voice behind her.
Lucy spun around.
A tall, exquisitely dressed gentleman bowed before her, a spark of humor in his startlingly light-blue eyes. “I beg your pardon. We have not been properly introduced. Dorchester. How do you do?”
Recognizing the earl by his name, Lucy sank into a curtsey. “Miss Kershaw, my lord.” Mortified to have been caught out in such a blatant lie, Lucy gazed up into the earl’s eyes that searched hers. He seemed so elegant and self-assured that she sank into her slippers. A horrible thought struck her. Was he familiar with the marquess’s family?
She was furious the women would say such distressing things about Papa. If only she’d stopped to think of the repercussions of such a declaration. Papa was a second cousin once removed from Fergus Kershaw, Marquess of Berwick, but their branch of the Kershaw family was the poorer and lesser known one. As Lord Berwick had two sons, there was absolutely no possibility of her father ever inheriting the title.
Lucy dropped her startled gaze to the broad stretch of the earl’s waistcoat embroidered with an intricate pattern in silver thread, the exquisitely cut cobalt-blue tailcoat and crisply tied white cravat at his strong throat, while waiting breathlessly for him to contradict her. She sagged with relief when he showed no such inclination and talked instead about the hot ballroom, and how crowded and smoky it was, and she could only murmur in agreement.
Lucy recalled that the Marquess of Berwick’s estate was located near Carlisle, close to the Scottish border. She imagined the family would not often come to Bath or be rarely seen in London, so perhaps this would go no further. But she still wished she hadn’t said it. On reflection, her father had mused about their connection to their wealthy relatives, but it was a tenuous connection.
Excerpt
The Duke's Masquerade
Ianthe had danced every dance, and her feet hurt. Beneath her chair, she surreptitiously slipped off a shoe and wriggled her toes. There was no sign of Tate, and the unmasking would take place at midnight. She searched for a tall dark-haired gentleman among the crowd of chimney-sweeps and foreign potentates, dancing with queens, shepherdesses, dairy maids, and exotic gypsies.
The waltz would soon be announced. Ianthe hoped to avoid any gentlemen who looked as if he would approach her for the dance, as they had in numbers all evening. But if Tate didn’t come soon, her mother would insist she stand up with the first man to ask her.
She prayed he would suddenly appear. He was always kind and wouldn’t deliberately disappoint her. He’d never laughed at her like Stephen when she’d escaped her governess and demanded they let her ride with them. And when she left the schoolroom and nervously dressed in her new habit, Tate had invited her along before she’d even had to ask. She’d felt so grown up and very much aware of him atop his big chestnut stallion, controlling the animal easily with powerful hands and thighs. So handsome it made her sigh. And she’d said to herself: one day I shall marry you.
She held up her fan to hide her disappointment from her mother. If only she could forget him. Her mind might consider they would never be together, but her heart wasn’t listening.
“His Grace Duke of Lindsey,” the butler announced in a loud, important voice.
“Tate is here,” her mother said. “I didn’t expect to see him in London.”
Ianthe sat forward in her chair as she looked toward the doorway. She spied a dark head above the crowd of well-wishers surrounding him with a shiver of anticipation.
Tate emerged from the crush dressed in black and white, and a striking black and gold mask. At first, she thought he would miss her, as annoyingly, his gaze flicked over the row of debutantes. But then he saw her and nodded. She quickly slipped her foot into her shoe.
He crossed the floor to her, smiling, his teeth white beneath his mask. This would be his first ball as the Duke of Lindsey. Already there was something different about his walk and the way he carried his shoulders. The responsibility would change him from the carefree man she was accustomed to. She wasn’t sure what she felt about that. She had seen so little of life. Would he seek a more sophisticated woman for his duchess?
He bowed over her mother’s hand and then held hers, while through the slits in his mask, his green eyes studied her, as if taking in every feature. As if he’d never seen her before. Her toes curled in her shoes. Did he approve of her costume? She thought it flattering and had chosen it with him in mind.
“You make a delightful fairy queen, Lady Ianthe. Will you grant me the pleasure of the next dance?”
How formal he was. Not like Tate at all. Ianthe missed his mischievous smile which held the implication that she could never pull the wool over his eyes, because he’d always see through her.
Trembling a little, she rose. She had always wanted this. To dance with Tate at a ball. The debutantes still seated looked on. They must be envious. As Ianthe rested a hand on his arm, she reminded herself not to forget that he did not belong to her. And was unlikely to now. Confused and hurt, she lifted her chin wishing she could see more of his face.
The musicians struck up. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said as he led her through the steps. She felt jittery in his arms, not that soaring delight she’d expected. It was as if he wasn’t Tate at all. How silly. What was wrong with her? Had she put too much store on this one dance?
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Excerpt
The Marquess Takes a Misstep Book #2 Improper Lords
Maddie, aware of the unladylike view she presented, quickly rolled back onto her bottom. Her breath whooshed out as he dismounted from a tall, black thoroughbred. With the reins in his hand, he walked over to her with an easy, confident stride. It made her recall Cathy’s words. Close up, Lord Montford was indeed immaculate and intimidating. She felt at a great disadvantage. What should she do? Scramble to her feet and curtsy? sciplinarian. He invited no one to the house and had no wish to visit their neighbors. Nor did he attend the assemblies or house parties in the district where she might have made some friends.
When news had reached them the Prince of Wales planned a stop in Tunbridge Wells while passing through, she begged Uncle Arthur to take her to see him, but received such a cold scolding for her ridiculous demands that afterward, she kept silent. She could ride her gray mare, Pearl, however, brought to her at her uncle’s estate, from her parents’ stables by her father’s groom, Jack Forest. Jack had been put off along with rest of the servants, except for Henry, their groom, and Jane, Maddy’s lady’s maid, who was still with her.
“I hid Pearl, Lady Madeline,” Jack had told her. “I doubted they’d miss her, and as it turned out, they didn’t.” Jack grinned. “The fellow who came to take the horses to Tattersalls couldn’t count.”
“You are remarkable and very brave, Jack,” Maddie told him, while hoping her uncle wouldn’t discover the mistake and sell Pearl. He hadn’t. It was fortunate that he didn’t care to ride and had no interest in the stables. “I wish there was something I could do to repay you,” she had said to Jack before he left to seek work. “When I have a home of my own, I shall find you. My mother and father would wish it.”
Jack had run his hand along the brim of his hat and smiled, apparently having considered it unlikely she could ever help him.
Uncle Arthur made his displeasure obvious at what he saw as Jack’s betrayal, but couldn’t do anything more to him.
As her father had no heir, her uncle had full control of Green Oaks, and ruthlessly sold off the estate and everything therein, as he had inherited all but her dowry. Her parents’ effects, including her father’s hunters, were sold with the estate. Maddie’s world had crumbled. With tears in her eyes, she’d wished the staff well, furious with her uncle for letting them go without a character. Some had worked for her father since she was small.
Her one contact with the outside world was her cousin, Cathy, who lived with Maddie’s Aunt Elizabeth in Bath. Cathy wrote almost daily, keeping Maddie up to date with news: those of importance who visited Bath; the latest fashions and news, and a fascinating view of her life in Bath society, which turned Maddie pea green with envy.
As Maddie entered the hall, she found one of Cathy’s letters had arrived in the post. Maddie was up early to search the salver in the hall for a letter addressed to her before her uncle rose from his bed. Hugging it to her, she hurried up to her room to read it.
Have you met the Marquess, Lord Montford yet? Cathy wrote. For him to live so close must be greatly frustrating. You should endeavor to gain a glimpse of this splendid gentleman. Cannot your miserly uncle invite him to tea? You simply must meet him. A friend of mine danced with him at a ball and said he is enormously good company. If one doesn’t wish to pursue him for marriage, that is. Cathy had underlined the words twice. When you do meet him, you must write immediately and tell me everything!
Well, there was nothing to tell. So far, Maddie hadn’t spoken to him and doubted she ever would. Apart from that one glimpse of him over the fence, she knew nothing about him beyond what Cathy told her. Maddie read on as her cousin described the handsome rake, phrased in censorious but slightly awestruck terms.
She smiled at her cousin’s description of Lord Montford and left her room in a hurry to reach the stables before her uncle was down and might decide to prevent her from riding. He seemed to take delight in making her unhappy.
Anger and frustration at her lot tightened her stomach as she galloped Pearl over the fields. A hedge loomed up, one they often took. She gave Pearl’s neck a pat. “Ready girl?” They sailed over as they often did, but this time, as the horse’s hooves cleared the topmost branches, the saddle slipped sideways. Thrown off Pearl, Maddie landed on her bottom on the hard ground. She lay propped on her elbows, stunned, then sat up. She rubbed her sore hip, and pushed back an escaped curl threatening to blind her, seeing her hat atop a bush. Pearl came over and nudged her, and Maddie came up on her knees to run an anxious eye over the horse’s fetlocks. “You’re not hurt, girl? No? Oh, that’s good.” She released a relieved breath.
“You’re lucky she isn’t,” came a deep masculine voice from behind her. “What got into your head to take the mare over that high hedge? You, as well as your horse, might have been killed.”
Maddie, aware of the unladylike view she presented, quickly rolled back onto her bottom. Her breath whooshed out as he dismounted from a tall, black thoroughbred. With the reins in his hand, he walked over to her with an easy, confident stride. It made her recall Cathy’s words. Close up, Lord Montford was indeed immaculate and intimidating. She felt at a great disadvantage. What should she do? Scramble to her feet and curtsey?
“Hardly likely, Lord Montford. Pearl jumps it most days of the week.”
His steely blue eyes regarded her as he bent to offer her his free hand. “Are you hurt?”
She made no move to take his hand, instead gave consideration to how she might rise with grace. “I am perfectly all right, thank you.”
“Nonsense. Take my hand.”
Maddie quickly realized the sense of it and grasped his large hand. How firm his grip was. She rose as elegantly as she could manage, painfully aware of her dishevelment, and quickly released his hand to shake the grass from her skirts. A quick inspection found a smudge of dirt on the back. She ignored it, fearing brushing her bottom might lack grace, and she’d done enough to give him that impression. Reclaiming her hat from an azalea bush, she arranged it on her head, disregarding the state of her hair, which threatened to escape its pins. One wisp hung before her eyes, and she blew it away. It was difficult to appear confident and argue one’s point when one looked like a ragamuffin. But she was prepared to make her point. She disliked how he cast aspersions on her riding, and he was on her uncle’s land.
“We have not been introduced, but are you not my neighbor, Lady Madeline? I believe it was you I saw peeking over the wall on my last visit?”
Drat. An impulse she now regretted. Montford came to Pembury so rarely she’d taken advantage of the moment. “I apologize, sir. My maid was curious.” She shrugged. “I indulged her.” She would never admit to being consumed with curiosity about the rakish marquess of Pembury. Or that Jane held the ladder for Maddie to look over the wall. She had caught sight of him as he strode away along the garden path, and almost slipped off the rung of the ladder when he turned, as if aware he was being watched. He must have spotted her.
THE EARL'S BRAZEN BARGAIN Book #3 Improper Lords
Excerpt
On their way to Beechley Park...
When Laura joined him for dinner, her conversation centered on the two people she cared for. Frustrated, he could but enjoy looking at her. In a lacy dinner gown of primrose, her dark-blonde hair swept into a careless updo, she was undeniably lovely. He admired her slender arms and dainty hands. Her lissome body, he tried not to think too much about. After dinner, she returned to the sick room, and he saw no more of her until breakfast. He was down in the breakfast room the next morning, although it wasn’t his habit to eat until close to midday. But the maid told him Laura had eaten her breakfast in her bedchamber.
At first, he suspected Laura merely hoped to avoid him, but he came to realize she really cared about the woman and her child. On the next evening at dinner, she seemed more relaxed and talkative. He tried to draw her out, but she avoided any reference to what lay ahead for them. Nor did she flirt with him. That was a novel experience but unsettling. Had he made a mistake in inviting her? He still didn’t know why he’d taken such a chance with a woman he barely knew. It had been purely selfish on his part. Laura’s brother might have found other means to pay his debts, although they were substantial.
Longworth was a fine estate, yet obviously rundown. Peyton was a gambler, Brendan had learned. And he had no patience with such men. Especially considering how his actions had affected his sister’s life. Laura had more mettle than that selfish weakling. She showed more compassion for the two upstairs than her brother would have been capable of.
“Anne Joyce was widowed last year,” Laura said. “It is very sad. She has nowhere to live and must make a home with her aunt. I have feared that I might face a similar fate.”
“Why?” he asked, outraged for her.
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “When we faced financial ruin, I considered casting myself upon my Aunt Gertrude’s good graces.” She smiled, but it failed to reach her eyes. “Aunt Gertrude isn’t an easy person.”
She pushed her meat around the plate with her fork, not attempting to eat it. “Mary is a bright child. She deserves better.”
“Sad, indeed,” he agreed. “That animal on your plate is dead, Laura. There’s no need to kill it again.”
Her blue eyes met his filled with laughter, then he watched them grow shadowed. She ducked her head. Brendan cursed, but he grew hopeful that in time, they might laugh together. Especially as she had opened up to him tonight about herself. It had maddened him to hear it. Her brother needed a good thrashing.
If only they could leave this inferior inn and reach his estate, then this infernally polite wall between them would disappear. Beechley Park was a place made for romance, although it had seen little of it. “Is Mrs. Joyce rallying?”
“Her fever abates.”
“Excellent. We can leave tomorrow.”
Laura’s frown condemned him for such a rash statement. “We cannot leave them yet. Not until Mrs. Joyce is out of bed and able to take care of her daughter. We cannot leave a young girl alone in an inn. Anything could happen.”
Brendan poured her a glass of wine. “And does the doctor know when that might be?”
Laura twisted a curl in her fingers. “He says it’s too early to say.”
Was she being deliberately evasive? “I hope it is soon. In any event, we are to leave on Friday.”
Her fair brows knitted. “So soon?”
He sighed. “Yes. I have urgent matters that cannot wait.”
She chewed her full bottom lip. “Very well. If we must.”
He wished she wouldn’t do that. It was distracting. “I’m glad you agree,” he said solemnly.
Laura took a hasty sip of wine, then put down the glass. “I’ll go up and see if Mrs. Joyce has managed some of the soup. I had the cook prepare it and a coddled egg, especially for her.”
Brendan watched her graceful form cross the dining room. He had been rebuffed, but at least he had won a round. They would depart early on Friday and reach his home by the late afternoon.
The innkeeper brought the bottle of port. He poured Brendan a glass. Brendan took a sip of the smooth, mellow liquid. It was a surprise Laura proved to be so caring. For a moment, having her fussing over him seemed eminently desirable, but only for a moment. He would hate to be seen as a poor thing in need of care. Ridiculous when he’d been caring for himself since a boy, and had needed no one, even when the headaches had begun. He sharply drew his thoughts away from anything which threatened to dredge up the past. The past was buried. Let it remain so.
5 star Goodreads review: "Their waltz was the beginning of their lives intertwining. His brazen bargain was how they learned to see the real person and fell in love. Both characters are lovely with caring dispositions. Except his fears would set them apart. How that was resolved makes this an interesting and enjoyable read."
I received an ARC from Netgalley and leaving my review voluntarily.
Available on pre-order released 14th June.
Excerpt
Ashburnham Hall, near Taunton, Somerset, Spring 1813
Diana descended the stairs, pulling on her riding gloves. She encountered her family’s silver-haired butler in the great hall. “Good morning, Speirs. Has my father risen? He didn’t come down to breakfast.”
“Good morning, my lady. His Grace took breakfast in his studio.” Speirs, always immaculately dressed and correct in all things, cleared his throat. “He has begun a new work.”
Diana nodded, unsurprised by the information and unaffected by what she often found in the studio. Nothing her father did shocked her. But did this mean their trip to London might be delayed? Her ride forgotten, she hurried along the corridor.
She knocked at the door.
“Come!”
At the gruff reply, she entered her father’s studio. The airy room was in the far corner of the east wing, where morning sunlight spilled in from the tall windows. Canvases stacked around the walls were in various stages of completion. The air was redolent of oil paint, turpentine, and linseed oil. A naked lady lay on a sofa, limbs partially entwined with a sheer fabric that hid little, her long, fair hair spread over the crimson, velvet upholstery. Papa was bent over his palette mixing the paint.
“Good morning, Papa.” Diana turned away from the sight of so much pale flesh.
Her father scratched at his abundant silver locks with the handle of his paintbrush. His dark-blue eyes, a more mature version of her own, scowled at her. “Diana, you know better than to disturb me when I’m working.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Papa. But I wondered if your plans for London have remained unchanged?” A new painting might keep her father here and put her promised trip to the metropolis for the Season on hold. “Shall I order my maid to pack?”
“Eh?” He stood before the easel where he’d sketched the faint outline of a naked lady, spreading thin, pale-blue paint onto the background. “I intend to finish this first. We will go next month. I must attend Prinny’s affair. Impossible to ignore his dinner invitation again—he’ll send his lackeys to annoy me. And he has bought two paintings of mine.”
Despite her initial disappointment, Diana rallied. She was prepared to wait a month, assuming her father kept his word. She longed to visit the bustling metropolis again after being sent home in disgrace after her disastrous—in her father’s estimation—two unsuccessful years on the marriage mart. And her plans for her future were only possible in London.
Papa looked over his shoulder, and his alert gaze focused on her. Her heart galloped. “I am determined to arrange a marriage this Season for you, my girl.” He eyed her riding outfit but turned back to his canvas without comment. Diana breathed more easily. She could rely on his disinterest in women’s fashions. “You’re a good-looking miss with your mother’s delicate features, and your breeding speaks for itself.” He straightened, and after surveying his work, turned back to her. “I am still angry about Lord Amsberry informing me that his son flatly refused to wed you. And that after the marriage settlement was agreed upon and about to be signed.” His forehead creased in a frown. “I don’t know what you did to frighten away the young man, but it shall not happen again. I don’t care how you conduct yourself after you’re married. You can ride around naked if it pleases you and your husband. Married women can get away with a lot. But single women cannot draw too much attention to themselves. This coming Season, I expect you to dress elegantly with gowns provided by the best modistes I will pay for, and to behave in a manner that pleases a gentleman. So be warned.”
“Yes, Papa,” Diana said with false meekness. She trusted him to lose his focus on her once he launched this new painting. It would give her time to pick the man she wished to become her lover. And he would be nothing like the gentleman her father chose. He would be dashing, and handsome, and know how to please a lady.
When Lord Amsberry’s son had visited her, it had been the first time she’d donned the men’s riding clothes. She had met him at the stables, her pistol—one of the set of her father’s dueling pistols she’d begun to carry for her safety—tucked into the waistband of her leather breeches. Her suitor had taken one look and blanched, then suddenly remembered an urgent appointment in Town.
It had been a test, and he had failed it.
Diana left the house and marched to the stables. The staff had grown accustomed to her odd choice of riding attire. And once having experienced the freedom of a man’s clothing, she’d continued to wear them. She felt a good deal safer in them than when she was being hampered by the voluminous skirts of her habit. She thought she looked very smart with her black hat purchased from James Lock, her form-fitting black riding coat, and top boots, especially created for her by George Hoby. Not to mention the superbly comfortable brown leather breeches. Diana wished she could dress this way while riding in Hyde Park. She smiled to herself. That would have the biddies gawping and confirm their suspicions that she was her father’s daughter. She’d heard the gossip. How many suitors had she spurned? Did she wish to marry? It didn’t bother her much because her friends stood by her. And they were the ones who mattered.
Mounted on her roan mare, Artemis, Diana rode across the green meadows dotted with poppies and cornflowers. Warm grass and wildflowers scented the air. Pink dog rose bloomed in the hedgerows, and noisy, nesting birds gathered in the trees. She wished she could ride farther afield but kept within the estate boundary bordering the road, which led to all parts north, all the way to Scotland. How she would like to be journeying on that grand coach, drawn by four splendid thoroughbreds, which came toward her along the road.
Diana swiveled in the saddle at the thunder of horses’ hooves coming fast from the south. The coachman had seen them, too. With a yell, he whipped up his horses, bringing the coach careering nearer to the boundary hedge, which, when she hunkered down, shielded Diana from view.
Within minutes, two masked highwaymen reached them and reined in beside the coach, their guns drawn. The coachman pulled the horses to a stop, while next to him, the groom dithered, scrambling for the rifle stowed at his feet.
To her knowledge, there had never been highway robbers in this vicinity. Pistol in hand, she took note of the earl’s crest on the door panel, and, gathering her scattered wits, fired into the air.
The shot sounded deafening in the quiet countryside. The robbers yelled at each other and spun their horses around, staring into the scrub. When they failed to see where the shot had come from, they galloped their horses along the road to the north.
Diana backed Artemis up and jumped the hedge, drawing up beside the vehicle, tucking her dueling pistol back into her breeches, just as the coach door opened and a very tall, sleepy-eyed gentleman jumped onto the ground holding his pistol. “What the devil?” He stared at the groom and coachman on the box and thrust his hands through his rumpled, dark-brown hair, his heavy, dark eyebrows lowered. “That wasn’t a hunter’s shotgun I heard.”
The groom climbed down. “Darndest thing, milord. We were about to be attacked by a pair of highwaymen and this here young, er”—he bent his head to indicate Diana—“woman scared them off.”
The earl—at least she assumed it was he—swiveled and saw her where she’d backed Artemis into the shadows of leafy branches from a stately oak. She’d thought it wise to ride away before he saw her. But it was too late now. Alert, brown eyes took her in from her head to toe, then centered on the pistol tucked in at her waist. A slow grin deepened the lines, which bracketed his mouth as he bowed. “Beaufort, Earl of Ballantine. “Then I must thank you, most profoundly, Miss…?”
He looked so wickedly masculine, she struggled to reply, unwilling to reveal her identity. “Diana, milord.” She steadied Artemis, who sensed the change in her. “I was glad to be of service, as I can see it caught you unawares. Please continue your journey and I’ll continue mine.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t hurry away. I’d like a word with you. If you’ll give me a minute, Miss Diana.” Cleared of any remnants of sleep, his dark-fringed, brown eyes were undoubtedly attractive. His lean face and square jaw, darkened by the shadow of a beard, and his sharply defined cheekbones, gave his face a rugged appeal. Diana took in his fine physique. A very attractive man. A man who, at least in appearance, would fit most women’s dreams. But she also noted the manner with which he shoved the pistol into the back of his trousers and stood with feet planted apart, surveying the scene. Now, very much awake, he looked as if he expected trouble—and seemed well equipped to deal with it, should he find it. And she felt quite pleased to have dealt with it for him.
“Where did the rogues go, Will?” He turned back to his groom, who had jumped down and now shifted his feet, with his chin lowered.
“North, milord.”
“It seems you have no more trouble on your hands,” Diana said, hoping to leave, as Artemis raked the dirt with a hoof.
“Not immediately, at any rate. From where do you hail, Miss Diana?”
His deep voice sent a tingle down her spine. Unnerved, she tightened her grip on the reins. “Over the way.” Diana gestured with her head in a vague direction, eager to be gone. She was vulnerable here alone with this stranger. Not all lords could be trusted. Quite the opposite, she’d heard. “I’ll be in trouble if I don’t return this horse to her master, my lord.” She turned Artemis’s head and nudged her flank.
“So, like Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, you ride into my life and disappear again leaving me mystified?” he called after her. “I remain deep in your debt, Miss Diana, And hope we shall meet again.”
Diana laughed as she steered her horse through the trees. She heard the earl instruct his coachman to continue on to Bath. Turning back, she watched the coach rattle away, the coachman cracking his whip over the dashing horses, the groom grimly clutching his gun.
She wondered if she would see the earl again when she and her father finally arrived in London. While it wouldn’t be wise, after the way they had met, she couldn’t help wishing she might.
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SEDUCING THE EARL Book #2 Dangerous Lords
EXCERPT
Chapter Three
When the family returned to Brandreth Court, their townhouse in St James’s Square, Sibella and Maria took the opportunity to view the Parthenon sculptures at the British museum before embarking on a dizzying round of social events.
They were returning home in a hackney cab when Maria grabbed her arm. “Look, there’s Lord Strathairn.”
“Strathairn?” Sibella’s heart raced as the tall, fair-haired man crossed the road just as their cab drew up behind a town coach.
Maria opened the window. “Lord Strathairn!”
“Maria!” Sibella hissed as her cheeks burned. He turned his head and changed direction, coming to their carriage where they remained stopped in traffic.
With a nod, Strathairn tipped his hat. “Ladies. Have you been shopping in Regent Street?”
“Really, my lord, do you think shopping is all we women do?” Maria asked in a teasing voice.
His smiling gaze sought Sibella’s. “Not at all. But I have two sisters who have made me fully aware of the importance of shopping.”
Maria laughed. “We have been to the museum to view the Elgin Marbles.”
“Ah. Then I apologize. What say you, Lady Sibella? Did you enjoy the museum?”
Strangely divorced from the conversation, Sibella’s mind still dwelled on their last encounter. Startled, she whipped her gaze away when she discovered herself staring at his mouth, recalling the salty-sweet taste of his kiss. “It was most edifying. Such antiquities are awe-inspiring.”
“Indeed. I confess I have yet to see them.”
“Then you are as negligent as we are, my lord,” Maria said. “Elgin brought them from Greece some time ago.”
He laughed. “I have not seen you riding in Hyde Park of late, Lady Sibella.”
“My mare developed shin splints and must rest.”
“Your brother Vaughn tells me the family celebrated Maria’s birthday at Brandreth Park.”
“Yes, we’ve returned because Mama has persuaded the renowned pianist, Maria Szymanowska, to perform at our musicale later this week.” Sibella placed a hand to her cheek and felt the warmth through her York tan glove. She hoped he wasn’t able to guess how his presence affected her.
The traffic cleared ahead, and their carriage jerked forward. “I trust we’ll see you again soon, my lord?” Maria cast a quick glance at her. “Although we leave for York next week. Mama intends to visit our brother Bartholomew, who is the vicar there.”
“I’m about to travel north myself,” Strathairn said.
“We plan to attend the York assembly on Saturday. I do hope you’ll come. It’s a remarkably dull affair.” Maria stared at Sibella. “Don’t you agree, Sib?”
“Yes, it certainly can be,” Sibella said.
“I look forward to seeing you there,” Strathairn called as the carriage moved forward. At a shout from a drayman, he dodged a wagon and ran to the pavement.
Maria turned to her. “Well!”
Sibella raised her eyebrows, attempting a casual pose. “Well, what?”
“You are in a brown study. I’m sure Strathairn was enthralled by your scintillating repartee.”
“Oh, do stop, Maria.”
“What on earth is the matter with you? You two generally talk for ages. Had you nothing to say to him?”
“He kissed me.”
Maria’s eyes changed from owlish to accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me? And when was this?”
“I’m sorry, dearest. It was of no consequence. At Lady Gladwin’s ball. You remained at home that night with a sore throat, remember?”
Maria stared at her. “Of no consequence? Are you mad? Where?”
“On the lips.”
Marie huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Where at Lady Gladwin’s, you goose. Surely not in the ballroom.”
“In the garden. We went for a stroll.” She eyed her sister. “Everyone was out that evening. It was so pleasantly warm.”
Maria sniggered. “Well indeed! I’ve long suspected his feelings for you ran deeper than he would admit to.”
Sibella shook her head, heat rushing to every part of her body. “That’s just it. He made light of it afterwards. It was just an impulse which meant nothing to him.”
“Oh. The wretch!”
She gave a choked, desperate laugh. “He doesn’t want to marry me, Maria.”
“Many men think they do not. They must be persuaded.”
“As you persuaded Harry?”
Maria stroked her throat with a dreamy smile. “No.”
“Exactly. I shan’t spend my time longing for a man who doesn’t want me.”
Maria sighed. “Oh, Sib. I pray you will find true love, as I did with Harry. I do believe you will in time.”
Sibella gazed out the window, barely aware of the vehicles and pedestrians in the busy street, fighting against her feelings, her throat tight, tears threatening. Annoyed, she said firmly, “A woman can fall in love more than once, I imagine.”
“I don’t believe I could.”
“Mama has her eye on Lord Coombe,” Sibella said.
“Mama has her eye on any titled unmarried male under the age of forty-five,” Maria said.
Sibella nodded. “Coombe appears respectable enough.”
Maria rubbed her brow. “Perhaps you might fall in love with him? When you get to know him.”
“Perhaps.” If only she could forget Strathairn’s kiss. As the prospect of seeing him again in York lightened her heart, she sat back, frowned, and crossed her arms. She would not yearn after him anymore.
***
While dressing for a recital her mother was holding, the door opened, and her parent walked in.
“You may leave, Sarah,” Mama said to Sibella’s maid.
The girl bobbed and left the room.
Sibella turned from studying her reflection in the Cheval mirror. She fiddled with a sleeve. “Is there something you wish me to do for you, Mama?” She knew as she asked it, there would only be one thing her mother wanted. St James’s Square ran as well as the Swiss Long-case clock in the entry hall.
“You’re wearing the muslin?”
“Don’t you approve?”
“Why not the white crepe with the embroidery and gold fringe?”
“It’s a little too decorative for this evening, don’t you think?”
“A lady should always wear what suits her best.” She sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. “But that is not what I wish to discuss with you, Sibella.”
Sibella took the gown from the clothes press and placed it on the bed. She eyed her mother. “Yes?”
“Is it your wish to remain a spinster and comfort me in my dotage?”
She laughed. “Oh, Mama. How dramatic you are. Of course not.”
“Good. Tonight, I wish you to give Lord Coombe your full attention.”
“But…”
Her mother rose and motioned with her hand to silence her. “Please make yourself agreeable to him.” She stepped forward to rest a hand on Sibella’s shoulder. “I gave the man you have a penchant for, ample opportunity to declare himself, did I not? I even went against Chaloner’s wishes because I want to see you happy.”
Sibella flushed. “Strathairn and I are merely friends.”
“Fiddlesticks! I have eyes in my head! He chose not to propose marriage to you. That’s the end of it. You might find Lord Coombe quite acceptable if you give him a chance.”
A heavy sigh escaped Sibella’s lips. Her head seemed to agree with her mother’s good sense, but her heart refused to bend. “Very well. I’ll try.”
“Good.” She touched Sibella’s cheek with a soft glove. “You are more than ready to set up your own household.”
***
The drawing room and dining room doors had been thrown open to enlarge the space for the evening’s entertainment. A visiting Polish composer and pianist, Maria Szymanowska, was to perform several piano concert etudes and nocturnes. What her mother did to entice the woman to Brandreth House was a mystery, for her performances to date were before royalty. But nothing her mother did surprised Sibella, which made her decidedly nervous.
After fortifying themselves with champagne and an array of tasty foods, the guests took their places. Sibella sat in the back row near the door to the conservatory. Lord Coombe, immaculate in his dark evening clothes and spotless linen, chose the seat beside her. With her mother’s words ringing in her ears, she greeted him with a polite smile.
“I have been looking forward to this. She performs in the stile brillant, I believe. Everyone raves about her.”
Sibella applied her fan, the room had grown too warm. “You’re very fond of music, my lord?”
“Certainly, surely everyone is?”
She thought of the interminable evenings spent at home performing with her sisters. “Some more than others, perhaps.” She studied his unremarkable profile, annoyed that she failed to find fault with it. If his chin receded, her mother would be concerned about his progeny. Men with weak chins lacked character, she often said. “You might enjoy attending my sister Cordelia’s musical evenings. She plays the harp and her husband, Viscount Barthe, the cello.”
“Indeed, I would. Do you play an instrument, Lady Sibella?”
“The pianoforte, rather badly, I’m afraid.” She offered a regretful smile. “My mother says there’s no excuse for it after years of excellent tutelage, but I prefer to ride and potter about in the garden.”
“I see.”
Did he look disappointed? She had no time to dwell on it, for Madam Szymanowska had taken her seat at the piano and a hush came over the room.
Even Coombe beside her failed to distract her from the virtuoso performance. When Madam finished the last piece and the enthusiastic clapping died away to be replaced with the buzz of conversation, she rose with the rest of the guests.
Lord Coombe held out his arm. “Would you join me in a promenade of the terrace? The rain seems to have held off.”
“How pleasant.” She took his arm. Where were her sisters when she needed them? Maria was in close conversation with Harry and Cordelia, and her husband stood among the guests clustered around Madam Szymanowska in rapt attention. No help in that direction. Sibella saw no way out of it.
They followed other couples outside. After being shut up in close quarters with a crowd of overly perfumed people, the night air, although hardly equal to the country, was at least reviving. Clouds hung low, hiding the moon. The braziers along the wall were a halo of light enticing moths to a fiery death.
Sibella slipped her hand from his arm and rested it on the balustrade.
“You seem a steady, thoughtful person, Lady Sibella. I admire that.”
He made her sound dull. “I suppose I am,” she said, with an inexplicable stab of disappointment.
“One can rely upon you never to lose your head and do something silly, or not quite the thing.”
“I doubt that I would.” It was clearly her downfall to be made this way. Had John kissed her to cheer her up, or horror of horrors, because he felt sorry for her?
She turned toward Lord Coombe, whose eyes were not far above hers. In the dark, he might have been anyone. He was a perfectly presentable man. If he kissed her, would it be out of pity? Or might she stir desire in him? She suffered a sudden need to find out. “Shall we stroll through the Square, my lord?”
He cleared his throat. “I believe it’s about to rain.”
“Yes, it does.” She had to admit he was right. She placed a hand to her throat. “Let’s not risk a dousing. Shall we go inside?”
She found his brown eyes unfathomable as he tucked her arm into his. “A wise decision, Lady Sibella.”
Sibella found herself disappointed more by his response than her uncharacteristic impulse. Lord Coombe would not seek to steal a kiss in the moonlight, as Strathairn had done. Coombe would wait until all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed on the marriage settlement before taking such a liberty. He appeared to be a highly moral and principled person. Most women would be happy with such a man.
Why was she not most women?
OTHER BOOKS IN THE DANGEROUS LORDS SERIES
The Baron's Betrothal
Seducing the Earl
The Viscount's Widowed Lady
Governess to the Duke's Heir
Eleanor Fitzherbert's Christmas Miracle
Beth