A Wicked Earl she can't Resist
A Steamy Regency Romance
Olivia Bennet
Contents
A Thank You Gift
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: For the Lust of a Rogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Olivia Bennet
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Daring Fantasies of a Noble Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Olivia Bennet
About the Book
Nothing ends a romance faster than a lie...
Miss Emily Fletcher cannot believe her luck when a fire breakout becomes her ticket to salvation. Escaping the clutches of the man her father sold her to, she finds a job as a governess in the employ of the most intriguing Earl.
Duncan Kinsley, the widowed Earl of Sulby, is in desperate need of a new governess after his children chased away yet another one. And the moment he enters the agency, he finds her standing before him and his heart skips a beat.
But when a deal is made, the price must be paid. And Emily is her father’s currency. When the people who are hunting her lock her in a brothel's room, Emily realizes that out of all her mistakes, the worst was wearing that pastel pink gown...
Chapter 1
Emily sat on an old damp crate, reading aloud to the three children who were paying her absolutely no mind. Farmer John Carter paid her three pennies to watch them while their mother was off to market. They were quite the handful and sometimes Emily wondered if it was worth the aggravation.
At the moment, Anthony was trying to climb over his brother Aidan, in order to get to the top of the hay bale while their sister, Judy pulled Aidan’s hair in some misguided attempt to stop Anthony from reaching his goal. All three children had begged her to read them the story of Cinderella. However, at the moment, they did not seem at all impressed with her adventures.
Emily sighed deeply. She really could not blame them. For how was a girl sweeping a hearth supposed to compete with hay bales to push one’s brother off of? Anthony, Aidan, and Judy were only three, four, and six and their ability to pay attention was severely limited. Still, Emily enjoyed reading and Cinderella was one of her favorite fairy tales where good triumphed in the end and evil was vanquished.
She could relate to poor motherless Cinderella as well because she’d only recently lost her own mother. It had been three years since a particularly bad flu had swept through Whitehaven and taken her mother, but some days it felt as fresh as if it happened yesterday. She knew she was barely coping with the loss but was more afraid for her father who seemed to have given up completely. She barely saw him anymore and when she did, he looked haggard, was likely drunk, and barely spoke to her. He spent all his time gambling and he had practically left Emily to fend for herself.
She didn’t know what to do about it. A wave of helplessness swept through her every time she set eyes on him. The villagers made sure she was all right by giving her these menial jobs so that she could earn some money to feed herself.
Whatever money Arthur Fletcher was still making as a shipping merchant was eaten up by his profligate lifestyle. Once he had been a highly successful businessman but after her mother’s death, everything had gone downhill. He barely went down to the docks where he had an office but relied solely on his clerks to keep things running.
Ruthlessly pushing these thoughts away, Emily went back to her story. There was not much she could do for her father and she knew it. All she could do was pray that one day he would find his way back to her and they could be a family again.
“Emily! Emily! Look at me!” Anthony was about to hurl himself off the top of the bales of hay and Emily quickly got to her feet and rushed to him.
When did he even get all the way up there?
“No, no, come down here right now Anthony!” she waved frantically at him even as he grinned at her, wide and mischievous, and then jumped.
She could not hold back her scream of terror as her body froze in shock. She was further shocked when she did not hear the thud which would signal that Anthony had broken every bone in his body. Instead, the sound of laughter filled the barn. She shuffled slowly behind the mountain of hay to find that Anthony was lying in a bed of hay, his eyes alert with mirth as his brother jumped all around him in excitement.
“Oh, lawks, Anthony, never do that to me again,” Emily clutched her heart to try and slow down its frantic pounding. It was useless. She had never been so scared in her life. The sound of baritone laughter from behind her had her whipping around to see Farmer John leaning against the door of the barn.
“Those lads will be your death if you let them, Miss Emily. You must keep your wits about you or else they’ll have you running around chasing your tail.”
Bosom still heaving, hand on her heart, her mouth quirked, “I see that.”
“Come on into the house and have some baked apple.”
Suddenly it was as if a wind had blown past her as three children dashed out of the barn at speed, headed for the house. “Oh!” she exclaimed and then laughed.
Farmer John smiled at her before gesturing for her to follow. Mood lifting, she thrust the thoughts of her father away and went to eat some dessert.
Emily had just finished tidying up the house for the evening when she heard her father’s key in the lock. There wasn’t much food in the house but she’d left him some porridge warming over the embers of the fire in the kitchen. She hesitated, wondering if she should retire to her room before he came in.
She did not want to see him weaving about, his eyes swollen and bleary with dissolution. She did not want to look into his big, sad eyes and remember the man he used to be when her mother was alive.
So she slipped behind the screen that separated her bed from the rest of the cottage and burrowed under the sheets, still fully dressed. She drew them over her head and concentrated on breathing evenly.
Her father’s heavy tread on the wooden floor was audible even from her nook, but Emily stiffened when she realized that there were two sets of footsteps. “Make yourself at home.”
Her father’s voice sounded grudging and she was tempted to poke her head out and see who he was with. She knew her father did not want her to know anything about his gam
bling. He may have been neglectful, but he had so far managed not to bring his troubles home with him. It seemed that was about to change.
“Thank you, kindly,” a smug voice replied in a low baritone. There was some squeaking as someone no doubt made themselves comfortable on the wooden chair. One of its legs was loose and tended to threaten separation from the bench whenever anyone dared put too much weight on it. She and her father were well aware of that, so she could only assume that it was the stranger sitting in the chair.
Her father shuffled about a bit more in silence which surprised her.
Even if he is inebriated, if he has a guest, shouldn’t Papa be trying to make conversation?
Eventually her father stopped moving and the house fell silent. “I have just one bed that you’re welcome to use.”
The chair squeaked again and then footsteps, a heavier tread than her father’s, walked across to the room, undoubtedly toward her father’s chambers. When their mother was alive, they had lived in much grander quarters, with a guest room for visitors. But since her death, everything had been eaten up by her father’s gambling debts. A door closed and Emily supposed whomever the visitor was had gone to bed. She heard her father sigh before shuffling about a bit and then settling down undoubtedly on the floor of the sitting room.
She closed her eyes tight and prayed for sleep.
Laurence Blackmore awoke feeling refreshed. He did so enjoy these games that he played. He had a perfectly good room at a boarding house but seeing Fletcher’s fear at the thought of inviting the shylock into his home was worth the discomfort of sleeping in this hovel. He knew, thanks to Adrian Hough–Fletcher’s clerk and a man on Blackmore’s extensive payroll–that the man had received a shipment of Chinese silk. A great investment but one which required capital in order to yield maximum gains.
Fletcher had none. Laurence had plenty. They could help each other perhaps. But in order to do that, he needed Fletcher to be in a certain, vulnerable, state of mind. He got up, noting that there was no water or basin to perform his morning ablutions. He sighed, rolling his eyes.
Undoubtedly these bumpkins do their business in an outhouse as if they’re mangy colonials who don’t know any better.
For a moment, he briefly regretted not sleeping at the boarding house. Then he took a deep breath and stepped out of the room, shivering a bit in the cold morning air wafting in through the open door. Fletcher lay sprawled on the floor, fast asleep, so unless he’d left the door open, it must mean there was somebody else in the house. He stepped out, using his cane for balance and stopped short at the sight of a derriere clad in brown muslin.
He cleared his throat and the woman shot up so fast that she stumbled, the clay pot in her hands falling to the ground. She was standing in front of a pump and the water that had undoubtedly been meant for the pot was now splashing on the edges of her dress, making it stick to her body. He looked her up and down, getting stuck on the amber of her eyes, gleaming yellowy in the sunlight with flecks of brown and green floating within their irises.
She should have been unremarkable with her wispy brown hair and unremarkable height. But the contrast of lily-white skin with the deep earthy brown of her hair falling like rain down her back made her seem like a delicate forest nymph brought to life by the sunrise. She stared at him seemingly in wide-eyed terror and he relaxed his features, trying to smile.
“Well…good morrow to you, my dear. And what is your sweet name?”
She made a sound like a mouse squeaking and Laurence had to suppress his laughter.
“I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite hear that.”
“My name is Emily Fletcher.”
His smile grew wider and he bowed. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Fletcher. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Laurence Blackmore, at your service.”
She smiled tentatively back. “Pleased to meet you, Sir.”
His eyes dropped to the clay pot, trying not to be too obvious as he mapped her body beneath the thin muslin of her gown. “May I help you with something?”
Her eyes followed his down to the pot and she flushed, her skin warming to an attractive rosy glow. His eyebrows lifted in pleasure. She would make a magnificent addition to his stable. “N-no, I was just getting some water to make porridge.”
Laurence suppressed a moue of distaste.
These provincials eat like pigs.
“Please do not put yourself out on my account. I shall just make use of your facilities and then I shall be on my way. I have a busy day ahead of me.”
She nodded, trying to hide the relief in her eyes. He walked away, thinking hard.
He caught up with Arthur Fletcher once more as he closed the door to his warehouse with a loud sigh. Having the man’s clerk in his pocket was indeed a boon he had not expected.
Difficult to do without money. Thank the devil I have a lot.
He cleared his throat behind Mr. Fletcher and suppressed a laugh as the impoverished merchant jumped. He then whipped around, surprise on his face to behold Laurence once more darkening his door. Laurence stood in front of him, his arms folded.
“Well, well, Mr. Fletcher. Fancy meeting you here.”
Mr. Fletcher huffed, clearly refraining from rolling his eyes. “What do you want now, Blackmore? Was my hospitality not enough for you?”
“Of course it was. My night was exceeding comfortable. My morning, even better,” Laurence smirked, “Your daughter is a vision. Where have you been hiding her?”
Mr. Fletcher ground his teeth his face reddening. His hands fisted and for a moment, he looked as if he was thinking of throwing a punch. Laurence was almost disappointed when he didn’t. He might have relished beating the other man into submission.
“What do you want, Mr. Blackmore?”
Laurence’s mouth turned down in a mock pout, “Now is that any way to speak to a friend?”
“You are not my friend, Mr. Blackmore.”
“Friend, debtor…” the man waved a hand airily, “whatever you wish to call it.” He stopped smiling abruptly and took a step closer, seeking to intimidate, “You are beholden to me and I will thank you to keep a respectful tongue in your mouth.”
Mr. Fletcher took a fearful step back, his behind bumping against the closed door of his office, eyes wide with fear. He lifted a trembling hand in supplication, “F-forgive me. I spoke out of turn. M-may I offer you a cup of tea?”
Laurence inclined his head to the side, “Actually, I should be grateful for your daughter instead. I wish to make her my bride.”
Mr. Fletcher blinked at him as if he did not comprehend his words. “I-I beg your pa-pardon?”
“You heard me Mr. Fletcher. Now, I can see from the…state of your dwellings that you are at the end of your tether. So I shall sweeten this agreement for you. If you give me your daughter, I shall cancel your vowels. You will owe me nothing. In fact, I shall return to you all the money you have already paid–little as it is. You will be able to start a new life.”
He watched Mr. Fletcher’s face pale and fixed him with a determined gaze. “Come Mr. Fletcher, what say you? Your daughter in exchange for clearance of your debt? I happen to know you are cleaned out at the moment.”
And thank you, clerk, for that piece of information!
He watched Mr. Fletcher think about it. He watched with triumph as the man’s shoulders slumped. Mr. Fletcher lifted his chin, looking Laurence in the eye. “Very well then. Give me some time to speak with her.”
Laurence very graciously agreed.
Emily shook her father until he woke up.
“Wha…?” he mumbled blearily, rubbing at his eyes.
“What’s wrong, Father? Why are you asleep on the floor?” she did not know why, but she was so afraid. Her father reeked of whisky and it was barely noon and here he was, passed out on their floor as if he’d barely made it home.
“Aslee…?” he blinked in confusion, looking around like he did not know where he was and then his eyes landed on
her and clouded with despair. “My dear child.”
Emily tensed at his tone. “What’s wrong, Father?”
Her father swallowed and then tried to smile, failing miserably. “I have some happy news for you, my dearest treasure. I have found you a husband.”
A Wicked Earl she can't Resist: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 1