Seducing the Earl
Dangerous Lords Book Two
By
Maggi Andersen
Copyright © 2018 by Maggi Andersen
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
Dangerous Lords Series by Maggi Andersen
The Baron’s Betrothal
Seducing the Earl
The Viscount’s Widowed Lady
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The Marquess Meets His Match
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Code of Honor
Journey to Honor
Heart of Honor
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Love and Honor
Gift of Honor
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The Wishing Well
Isolated Hearts
Sentinel
The Lost Lords Series by Chasity Bowlin
The Lost Lord of Castle Black
The Vanishing of Lord Vale
The Missing Marquess of Althorn
The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh
By Elizabeth Ellen Carter
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Revenge of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series
Shadow of the Corsairs, Heart of the Corsairs Series
Dark Heart
Knight Everlasting Series by Cassidy Cayman
Endearing
Enchanted
Evermore
Midnight Meetings Series by Gina Conkle
Meet a Rogue at Midnight, book 4
Second Chance Series by Jessica Jefferson
Second Chance Marquess
Imperial Season Series by Mary Lancaster
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series by Mary Lancaster
The Wicked Baron
The Wicked Lady
The Wicked Husband
The Wicked Marquis
The Wicked Governess
The Wicked Spy
Highland Loves Series by Melissa Limoges
My Reckless Love
My Steadfast Love
Clash of the Tartans Series by Anna Markland
Kilty Secrets
Kilted at the Altar
Kilty Pleasures
Queen of Thieves Series by Andy Peloquin
Child of the Night Guild
Thief of the Night Guild
Queen of the Night Guild
Dark Gardens Series by Meara Platt
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
Rulers of the Sky Series by Paula Quinn
Scorched
Ember
White Hot
Highlands Forever Series by Violetta Rand
Unbreakable
Undeniable
Viking’s Fury Series by Violetta Rand
Love’s Fury
Desire’s Fury
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Prologue
Linden Hall, Yorkshire
October 1817
The elegant ballroom was filled with guests enjoying the Hunt Ball. Laughter rose in the heated smoky air as decorative ladies mingled with the more soberly dressed gentlemen.
As they danced, Lady Sibella Winborne smiled mischievously at her host, John Haldane, Earl of Strathairn. “This is a splendid ball. I feel I should congratulate you, except I know Eleanor arranged it.”
Strathairn’s gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Come, am I not deserving of a little praise? But yes, my sister excels at these affairs.”
“Eleanor is remarkably efficient. Indeed, a wife could hardly do better.”
Strathairn’s hand tightened at her waist. “Eleanor intends to live in Devon. She dislikes London life since her husband, Lord Gordon passed away. I fear my grouse will now breed unchecked.”
“You do plan to marry at some stage?”
“I accept the need for an heir.” He arched his eyebrows. “Your brother still seeks a husband for you?”
Sibella sighed. “Yes. Chaloner is committed to marrying me off sooner rather than later.”
“Don’t allow him to push you into a marriage not to your liking.”
She lowered her lashes. “I should like very much to choose my husband.”
He grinned. “You will have quite a list to choose from. A man would be lucky to have you.” His matter-of-fact tone belied the warmth of his gaze.
Sibella feared that her hand trembled in his. She studied the tall blond man who led her gracefully over the floor in a waltz. Did he suspect her of encouraging him to propose? She was, in all likelihood, although she knew it to be a lost cause. Hopeless at flirting, she doubted he would fall for it. They had been friends for years. Before the war, John might have married her, but those years away on the Peninsula had changed him. Something held him back from marriage now. She wasn’t sure what it was, but he desired her, she could recognize ardor in a man’s eyes when she saw it, it was just that he didn’t want her enough it seemed.
“It’s desperately sad about Catherine, Harrow’s wife,” she said to change the subject. “The duke is a friend of yours, is he not?”
Strathairn sighed. “Yes. Tragic to lose your wife in childbirth. The babe survived. A daughter.”
“I’ve heard he’s devastated.”
“Dreadfully cast down. Andrew plans to leave England. He has taken up a diplomatic post in Vienna.”
“Are the children to accompany him?”
“No, that would be unsuitable. He is leaving them with his mother and the nursery staff. I believe a governess has been employed for his heir. Young William is now six.”
The dance came to an end. Sibella took John’s proffered arm, and they joined her sister Cordelia.
He bowed. “Viscountess Bathe.”
Cordelia curtsied. “Lord Strathairn.”
“You dance very well together,” Cordelia said after the earl left them. “Can’t you get him to propose?”
“Apparently my charms are not sufficient to lure him into matrimony,” Sibella said and puffed at a wisp of hair on her forehead that had escaped her coiffure.
“Well, you’ll have to stop mooning over him,” said her annoyingly pragmatic sister. “And find a husband.”
*
While wandering his ballroom, speaking to guests, Strathairn encountered Sibella’s brother, the Marquess of Brandreth, who had made a beeline for him through the crowd.
“I hope we bag a few more birds tomorrow,” Chaloner said.
Strathairn eyed him. He had something on his mind. “One trusts so. My chef plans a grouse dish flavored with juniper berries for our dinner.”
“Sounds delicious.” Chaloner raised his glass. “I’m willing to rise at the crack of dawn for that.” He took Strathairn’s arm and drew him away into a quiet corner. “I don’t wish to strain a friendship I value, John, but I feel I must offer a word of advice.”
“Oh?” Strathairn had liked Chaloner better before his father died. The man seemed to lose his sense of humor after inheriting the title.
“You are often seen in Sibella’s company. Don’t get too fond of her.”
Faintly irritated, Strathairn glanced over at Sibella in her white muslin, talking earnestly to Mrs. Bickerstaff. “Your sister is intelligent and good company. I enjoy our conversations. Nothing too scandalous about that.”
“I struggle to believe it is just conversation. I may not be privy to the details of the work you perform for the military, but rumors do float about the House of Lords. You must admit that due to those circumstances alone, you would not make her a good husband.”
Chaloner’s determination put him in mind of a robin with a worm. Pointless to argue. With a sigh, Strathairn acknowledged that he only strove to protect his sister from possible hurt. “No need for concern,” he said. “I have no plan to marry your sister, or anyone else for that matter. I do intend to ask Sibella to dance again though. Unless you think my dancing with her will ruin her reputation.”
Chaloner huffed out a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Only among the biddies. I don’t enjoy having to say this to you, Strathairn, but it befalls me as head of the family. Sib has a love of home and hearth. She looks for a husband who will sit by the fire with her at night. That isn’t you, is it?”
“She deserves the best, and no, that isn’t me, Chaloner.”
Chapter One
London Docks, Summer
1818
A gunshot shattered the quiet air. The Earl of Strathairn dropped into a crouch as another ball whistled overhead, followed by a thud as lead bit into the wall above him, showering him with fragments of brick. A bead of sweat trickled into his brow. Hell’s teeth—not the first time he’d been shot at by a long chalk, but he hadn’t expected it to happen tonight. In fact, he’d been sure this was a fool’s errand. The moon sailed free of the clouds. It cast the new dock in silver light, revealing it empty. Where was Nesbit?
Breath held against the stench of low tide, he listened. Nothing but the surge of the swell and the creak of ships moored out in the middle of London Pool waiting to unload their wares. The faint voices of the sailors aboard carried over the water.
When the slap of running feet echoed into the distance, Strathairn gripped his pistol, hunched over, and rushed forward. He leapt over a pile of crates and flattened himself against a wall, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears as he edged around the corner.
Nesbit lay spread-eagled on his back. Strathairn rushed to his stricken friend, fell to his knees, and groaned. Blood seeped from his partner’s head onto the ground. Nesbit’s eyes, a lively brown only moments before, stared blankly up at him. A prickle of foreboding climbed Strathairn’s spine. Had Nesbit been as surprised as he was by this attack, or might he have recognized his killer?
Aware it was futile, he placed his fingers against Nesbit’s throat and searched for a pulse, then cursed effusively under his breath. He’d witnessed the death of too many good men. As bitterness twisted in his gut, he rose to his feet determined not to allow his sadness to weaken him. His mind focused on the business at hand as he moved stealthily through the shadows, sure that whoever committed this dastardly act was gone.
Apart from the scamper of rats, the rest of the dock stood empty and silent. The moonlight picked out something shiny on the ground. Strathairn stooped to pick up a finely wrought gold cravat pin in the shape of an eagle, just like the one Count Forney favored. A familiar restless energy and heightened alertness sent his heart racing.
A calling card? Word had come that Forney was dead. But was he? A flowery scent lingered in the air. Strathairn held the pin to his nose. Parisian, and a lady’s fragrance, if he was any judge.
*
Beneath glittering chandeliers, the dancers spun over the floor to the strains of a Handel waltz. Strathairn smiled down at his partner, her slim waist beneath his hand. Lady Sibella Winborne looked like a delicate flower in a gauzy pale gown covered in amber blossom. White ostrich feather plumes adorned her luxuriant dark locks. He enjoyed looking at her. Her serene, oval face lifted and she smiled at him, her mouth wide and full. Too wide for beauty some might say but perfect for kissing. She had inherited her mother’s famous eyes, a delectable mix of blue and green, but her quiet nature lacked the vivacity of her mother in her youth. The dowager was said to have had men fall at her feet. Strathairn admired Sibella’s calm beauty, but she was oh, so much more: practical and intelligent with a delightful sense of humor. Yet still unmarried, which surprised him.
Her blue-green gaze met his. “You arrived late tonight. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I was tied up with business.”
“Parliament?”
“No.”
She tilted her head. “Your horses, then?”
He grinned at her blatant curiosity. “No.”
“You won’t tell me.”
“No.”
Sibella laughed in good humor. “Very well. Might I find you riding in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
“I hope to. Shall I see you there?”
“Yes.” Her delicate brows rose. “If business doesn’t keep you.”
He chuckled. “Precisely.”
The music faded away. Strathairn escorted her back to her chair where her mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Brandreth, sat fanning herself among the other ladies. He bowed with the intention of removing to the gaming rooms. As much as he might wish to dance with Sibella again, it would place them under scrutiny, and faro was an effective release from the tension he always carried with him.
“Don’t rush off, Strathairn,” her sharp-eyed mother said. “We have seen little of you of late. You rarely frequent these affairs.” She waved her fan to encompass the ballroom. “Where have you been hiding?”
“Not hiding, my lady, merely dealing with business.”
Lady Brandreth adjusted the silk shawl over her shoulders. “Did you visit that pile of yours in Yorkshire? I enjoyed the Hunt Ball, but it’s cold as charity in winter up in those parts.”
“Not this time. I miss it. There’s a wild beauty to the dales in winter, quite unlike southern England.”
“I daresay.” Her purple turban wobbled as she nodded. “You are a fine figure of a man, Strathairn, well into your thirties. You should marry and set up your nursery.” She gestured toward her daughter sitting beside her. “Sibella will bear you healthy children. The Brandreths come of good stock, and the Wederells even better.”
“Mama, please!” He caught Sibella’s apologetic gaze with a wry smile. Her plea would have little effect. The marchioness was known to be one of the most colorful and outspoken members of the ton.
The dowager batted her daughter’s protest away with her fan. “I am merely stating a truth, Sibe
lla.”
“Your daughter is a credit to you, Lady Brandreth,” he said. “She has inherited both your beauty and intelligence.”
“Now you are toad-eating.” A roguish smile flitted across Lady Brandreth’s face. “You always were a charmer. Sibella is intelligent. Walk with her on the terrace to discover it for yourself.”
Strathairn bowed. He held out his arm. “I should be delighted.”
Lady Brandreth was a crafty woman. Sibella’s friendship was one of the few reasons he came to these affairs. In the dangerous world in which he played his part, her friendship had become an anchor. Had his resolve to remain single begun to weaken, what happened to Nesbit earlier served only to strengthen it, for the same fate could befall him. He was hardly in a position to enter into a domestic arrangement. Better she marries someone else. She could be hurt if she came to love him.
*
Sibella fumed. Her mother was as subtle as an ox. No one could accuse Strathairn of being a toad-eater. At least he wasn’t offended, for she caught a spark of humor in his eyes.
Sibella had met him in her first season when she’d refused two unsuitable offers of marriage. Now at six-and-twenty, she was in danger of being left on the shelf. No wonder her mother was giving any likely candidate for her hand a push. Unfortunately, Mama didn’t push; she shoved.
Had her father been alive, she would be married now, but he had been dead for five years. Luckily, her mother had been distracted bringing out the last of her three sisters and fussing over her grandchildren. Now that her youngest sister, Maria, was engaged to her childhood sweetheart, an heir to a dukedom, her mother focused her full attention on Sibella. Her luck at being overlooked had run out.
Sibella walked out onto the terrace happy to snatch a little time with the earl. The evening was divine. Braziers glowed like fireflies through the gardens, the sky a deep purple, and the air soft and sweet, like a summer bouquet.
His arm felt strong beneath her gloved fingers. Her mother was right; Strathairn was a fine figure of a man in his black and white evening clothes. He wore them with such elegance, but she preferred him in riding breeches. He was over six feet tall, and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, even though she was quite tall herself.