by Aileen Fish
“Good afternoon. I should greet your parents. Are these other people your relations?”
“Yes, I’ll introduce you.”
After meeting and greeting everyone, Woodcliffe remained near the duke and duchess, assuming Mercy would return to cards, but she stood at his side. Markham cleared his throat and said, “Sister, we cannot play without a fourth.”
“Oh, yes. Ah…”
The man standing beside the duchess, who Woodcliffe had learned was her uncle, stepped forward. “If no one objects, I’ll sit in for you.”
“Wonderful,” Markham said, giving Mercy a pointed look.
Woodcliffe spoke close to her ear. “He doesn’t appear pleased with my being here.”
“Nonsense. He’s chastising me for neglecting our other guests. But they’re family. You are the guest here.” She sighed and met his gaze briefly before shaking herself from some sort of trance. “Come, let’s take a turn about the room.”
The drawing room wasn’t overly large, but it was decorated in a manner befitting a duke’s home. Large gilt-framed paintings adorned the walls and heavy curtains were tied back to allow in as much of the weak winter light in as possible. The mahogany furnishings had decorating bits of gold trim breaking up the large areas of polished wood. Studying it all as they strolled was intended to keep Woodcliffe’s thoughts from focusing on what he wanted to ask at some point that afternoon, but it didn’t.
“Did you receive many gifts?” he asked.
“Yes, a pretty necklace and matching earrings, and some ruby velvet dancing slippers to match a gown I own, among others. And you?”
“My parents are at their country house, so we haven’t exchanged any.”
“I must admit to being surprised that you didn’t go home for the Christmas season. At least for today.” Mercy gave him a sly glance, then said, “But I am very pleased you stayed in Town.”
“As am I. My family doesn’t have any traditions beyond the church services and giving boxes to the tenant farmers. I won’t be missed.” He could say that without emotion, for he felt none. As a child he’d come home from school for the few weeks’ break, but was generally bored, being a singleton. That was the way his life was. Since he hadn’t known anything else, he hadn’t missed it, and truly didn’t understand why some made such a fuss over the day. Church and a nice supper were enough.
Until today.
“As you see, we enjoy seeing Mama’s brother and our cousins, but we don’t do anything much different to the other times they visit. Since Edward and his wife had children the visits are even more delightful.”
Woodcliffe glanced across the room to where her parents sat. No one took notice of them, nor was anyone at the card table paying them any mind. He led Mercy to the window farthest away from the others. “I have something for you.”
Mercy laughed softly, watching him take the small box from his pocket. She took it from him, pulled the ribbon and lifted the lid. When sunlight hit the watch face, she gasped and took the pocket watch from the box and set the box aside. “It’s beautiful! The stone at the top, it’s heart-shaped.”
Nodding, he said, “Look at the inscription on the back.”
“Tems Nous Joindra. Time will bring us together.” Her gaze met his, a question in her eyes.
“Yes, in time we’ll be together. I cannot ask you to be my wife when I have nothing to offer”
“My dowry is more than enough”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “No. I won’t have it said I married you for money. We’ll wait until I have the income I had until recently. I can’t promise how long it will take…a month, a year…but I want you to know I will have you for my wife.”
Mercy’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, will you?”
“You deny you wish it, too?”
“You know I do.”
“I will ask you properly when I can. Until then, keep this watch close to you. The ruby represents my heart. Every time the hands cross it know I’m thinking of you. Know the time is drawing near when we’ll be together.”
Her eyes glistened and she sniffed. “You put my gift to shame, but I could use it now.”
“Oh?”
“I embroidered a handkerchief for you. It’s upstairs. I wasn’t sure when to give it to you.”
He took his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks. “I should allow you to do this. Your brother will have my neck for being so forward.”
She accepted the cloth from him and held it beneath her nose for a moment. “I will, you know.”
He frowned.
“Wait. I will wait as long as it takes. As long as it takes for you to realize there’s no shame in our living off my income. We’ll be quite comfortable.”
Woodcliffe shook his head. “I could never face Markham if I agreed to that.” He studied the emotion in her sweet eyes, took in every detail of her smooth complexion and pink, full lips. She was so beautiful, like a porcelain figurine. How had be become so lucky?
“I love you, Mercy. I can’t say when my feelings for you changed, but I cannot spend the rest of my life without you. I will make it happen soon.”
“You had better do so. I love you too much to wait forever. Please hurry.”
Longing to take her into his arms, desperately needing to kiss her, he held himself back given the others present in the room. He sighed in resignation. “Shall we continue our stroll?”
“No.” She gave him an impish grin complete with wrinkled nose. “They cannot complain if we remain talking in plain sight of all and sundry. Allow me what little time we may have together.”
“I promise to steal as many moments such as this that we can. I promise to give you the world as soon as it’s mine to give. You have my heart now. Is that enough?”
“It is. Your heart will always be enough for me.”
His heart swelled and his pride did even more so. He was the luckiest of men. Loving Mercy would completely change him, make him a much better person. He couldn’t wait to see the man her love would allow him to be. He’d never be as perfect as she was, but he’d strive for the rest of his life to be good enough to deserve her.
*****
I hope you enjoyed Mercy and Woodcliffe’s story. You can watch how another wager plays out in Markham’s story, The Miscreant Marquess. Before, I’ve included a sample of the next book in The Wicked Earls’ Club, so read on!
Excerpt: Earl of Edgemore
Earl of Edgemore
* * *
Amanda Mariel
Edgemore
England, 1816
“Bullocks,” Carstine Greer cussed as her ankle twisted beneath her. She dropped to the frozen ground at the side of the road and inhaled sharply at the ensuing pain. Reaching for her hem, she began pulling her skirt up to inspect her injury.
“Ach,” she seethed as she worked to free her foot from the confines of her boot. Every movement sent unpleasant jolts of white-hot pain through her ankle and up her leg. She glared at the offending icy patch that had caused her misery.
Tossing her boot aside, Carstine feathered her fingers over the angry red and swollen skin of her ankle. Despite the pain she knew would follow, Carstine forced herself to wiggle her toes then flex her foot. Good, the bone hadn’t fractured, but she was in a great deal of pain nonetheless. She’d earned herself a nasty sprain to be sure.
She’d wager this would not have happened if her parents had allowed her to remain in Scotland. Why the devil had Mother been so insistent that Carstine come to England? She did not care about English society, nor was she in any hurry to wed. She wasn’t opposed to husband-hunting but saw no reason why she couldn’t do it in the highlands. A braw Scottish man would suit her best, she thought as she put her boot back on with care.
The pounding of horse hoofs pulled her from her misery, and she glanced down the snow-blanketed road. A rider presently raced toward her at break-neck speed. She caught a glimpse of the gentleman as he flew past, the tails of his greatcoat flapping
in the wind, before bringing his mount to a halt then turning back toward her.
She stared unabashedly as the rider made his way back to her. He was tall and muscular beneath his greatcoat with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and curious blue eyes framed in thick lashes. The man sat expertly upon a great chestnut beast of a horse. A fine specimen indeed—both the horse and it’s rider.
Carstine gave a slight grin then nodded as the stranger met her gaze.
The man nodded in return before moving his attention to her ankle. His eyebrows scrunched as he inspected her. “You’re injured.”
“Aye.” She nodded then cringed as she finished pulling her boot on. “I slipped on the ice. It’s a wee sprain. Nothin' too serious.”
The man dismounted. He strolled toward her with long confident strides. “Allow me to assist you home.”
Carstine shook her head. She wasn’t foolish enough to mount a horse with a strange man. Certainly not in a country she wasn’t familiar with. She continued, “I haven’t far tae go. Fox Grove Hall is just around the bend. I can see myself there.”
“Nonsense,” he said, then met her gaze with a confident smile. “Blake Fox, Earl of Edgemore at your service.” He gave a sweeping bow. “You must be Lady Minerva’s new maid?”
Carstine narrowed her eyes on him. The man did bear a striking resemblance to Lady Minerva. His coloring was fairer, but the almond shape of his eyes and high cheekbones were precisely the same. She cleared her throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet ye, my lord, though I fear ye are mistaken about Lady Minerva.”
“None sense.” He waved his hand. “My sister would have my hide if I left her maid out in the snow, and injured at that. Come along.” He reached his hand out to her.
Maid? The word echoed in her mind, and Carstine narrowed her eyes. Whatever would make him think she was a servant? She glanced down at her wet skirt and muddied boots. She may be a bit misshapen, but she was no maid.
“Don’t be stubborn.” Lord Edgemore wiggled his fingers impatiently. “Come, I’ll help you onto the horse.”
“Nae.” Carstine shook her head. “I’ll not be ridin' with ye.”
“But of course you will. You are in my sister’s employment and, therefore, my responsibility.” He took a step closer, the crisp breeze stirring his greatcoat. “I know you Scotts are used to the cold, but you’ll freeze if you stay out much longer.” He captured her arm and nudged her to stand. “Don’t be insolent.”
Carstine’s cheeks flamed with angry heat. She jerked away, then pushed to her feet. “I told ye already. It’s nothin'. Yer assistance is not needed.” He’d insulted her, and she could not help but be upset. And what did being Scottish have to do with anything? Did he think her to be less than him because of her heritage? Is that why he instantly decided she was a servant?
It was on the tip of Carstine's tongue to correct his misguided beliefs. However, the thought of watching his smugness crumble once they were properly introduced proved too tempting, and she swallowed back her words.
He deserved his comeuppance and the embarrassment that was sure to follow, and she would delight in every uncomfortable moment it. A smile stretched her lips as she imagined the look that would no doubt overtake his handsome face. She was a wicked lass, indeed.
Carstine squealed as the earl lifted her off her feet and swung her onto his saddle. She glared at him, her chin notched defiantly. “I’ll not be ridin’ with ye.” She began lowering herself from the horses back, sliding toward the edge of the saddle. “Ye canna force me.”
Lord Edgemore reached up, taking hold of her waist and holding her in place. “I dare say I do not understand your objection. Nor do I care. I’ll not leave you here to freeze, nor will I allow you to further your injury by walking on that ankle. You will ride.”
“Nae—”
“That is an order.” He pushed her more firmly onto the saddle. “And I warn you now; I’ll brook no further insubordination.”
Carstine huffed an irritated sigh. “Then ye will guide the horse,” she tossed the reins down at him. “As ye walk.”
Satisfaction flooded her as Lord Edgemore took the reins and began leading the horse toward Fox Grove Hall. The highhanded, smug lord may have insulted her, but at least in this, she’d got the best of him. And the knowledge that there was more to come vastly improved her mood. Carstine turned her attention to the countryside as she relaxed in the saddle.
She would soon have the full measure of her revenge.
* * *
Wicked Earls Club PrologueBook 0
Earl of Sussex by Tammy Andresen Book 1
Earl of Westcliff by Meara Platt Book 2
Earl of Wainthorpe by Collette Cameron Book 3
Earl of Sunderland by Aubrey Wynne Book 4
Earl of Basingstoke by Aileen FishBook 5
Earl of Weston by Anna St. ClaireBook 6
Earl of Davenport by Maggie DallenBook 7
Earl of Grayson by Amanda MarielBook 8
Earl of Benton by Madeline MartinBook 9
Earl of Pembroke by Lauren SmithBook 10
Earl of St. Seville by Christina McKnightBook 11
Earl of Dryden by Tammy AndresenBook 12
Earl of Kent by Lauren SmithBook 13
Earl of Kinross by Meara PlattBook 14
Earl of Bergen by Anna St. ClaireBook 15
Earl of Charm by Maggie DallenBook 16
Earl of Woodcliffe by Aileen FishBook 17
Earl of Edgemore by Amanda MarielBook 18
Earl of Oakhurst by Madeline MartinBook 19
Earl of Darby by Aubrey WynneBook 20
Earl of Scarborough by Collette CameronBook 21
Excerpt: The Rake Takes a Wife
Aileen Fish
The Rake Takes a Wife
Fall, 1816, Hambledon, Hampshire
* * *
“Yes, I will accept your offer.”
Miss Barbara Hallewell sighed as she whispered her favorite words, then she stabbed herself with the needle in her hands. Drat. She poked her finger in her mouth to stem the bleeding.
That would teach her to let herself fall into the familiar fantasy. The man she dreamed of was tall and handsome, broad-shouldered, and he stood straight with pride. He had no face, though, which was a problem. Not quite as big a problem as having no name and no chance of ever appearing, but she’d dearly love to know what color his eyes were and how thick was his hair.
Never had she imagined whether that man would be wealthy or common since that minor detail was unimportant. Everything about him was unimportant now. All the joy of romantic fantasies had left her long ago. Marriage was simply a means to provide a living for Mama and her. The income Papa had left them upon his death needed supplementing by their sewing, and even then, they might run out of coal at the end of the quarter.
How different life had become without Papa. Barbara’s gowns were several years old, but she never entertained or went to assemblies beyond the village, so fancy fabrics and the latest patterns weren’t necessary. They’d let most of the staff go. Life was peaceful, though, and she was grateful for what she had.
The jingle of a harness on the street interrupted Barbara’s thoughts.
“Is that a carriage?” Mama asked.
“Who would call here in a carriage? I’m certain it drove on past us.” She continued to sew until someone knocked on the door. Maizy, their housekeeper, bustled by to answer it. After a brief, muffled conversation Maizy entered the salon. “Mr. Jonas Tatum wishes to speak to you, ma’am.”
Mama set her needlework into a basket beside her. “Show him in. Barbara, straighten your hair and take off that apron.”
“He’s not here to see me. He’s Gilbert’s friend. I pray he doesn’t bear bad news.” Her chest tightened when she feared this man brought news of her brother who was fighting with the cavalry. Still, she made herself as neat as possible in the short time it took him to enter the salon and rose to greet him.
“Mrs. Hallewell, Miss Hallewell. How do you do?”
“We are well.” Mama motioned to a chair before sitting. “Won’t you sit?”
In his buff breeches, gold waistcoat and brown tailcoat, Mr. Tatum could be a handsome young dandy on morning calls. When he caught Barbara’s gaze, his smile melted the icicles hanging from her neglected heart, but his words were a splash of cold water. “You are more lovely than I remember.”
Had he imagined she looked like an overworked servant? Admittedly her brown hair didn’t glow with gold strands in the sunlight, and her eyes looked more like a storm at sea than a violet posy, but she’d never been called haggard. She waited to see if he caught his slight.
He coughed and ducked his head. “Ah, forgive me. I meant ‘even more lovely.’”
“Thank you.”
With chagrin written all over his features, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His thick black hair fell in a wave over his left eye. Those pale blue eyes gleamed with intensity, intelligence. His full lips curved in a gentle smile.
Barbara chewed her lip and fought to hide her disappointment. How she wished his smile betrayed excitement, a bit of anticipation of spending time with her, however brief. Sitting silently, she listened as he and Mama exchanged polite conversation. Clenching her teeth to keep from blurting, Why are you here? she asked, “Is something amiss with Gilbert? Is that why you’ve come?”
Mr. Tatum’s eyes widened. “No. Forgive me for allowing you to think that. I wrote him to ask his permission to call on you.”
Her heart raced. There was only one reason he needed permission to call. She’d only met him twice, and the last time was two years ago. They’d barely spoken to each other, so he couldn’t have formed an attachment in such brief visits. He couldn’t be there to propose to her, regardless of how much she wished it was so.