A Wicked Earl's Widow

by Aubrey Wynne

  A Wicked Earl’s Widow

  Aubrey Wynne

  Plato Publishing

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Once Upon a Widow Regency

  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

  Epilogue

  Rhapsody and Rebellion

  About the Author

  Follow Aubrey Wynne

  Also by Aubrey Wynne

  Regency Romance

  Medieval Romance

  Title page

  The Wicked Earl’s Widow

  By

  Aubrey Wynne

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Aubrey Wynne. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

  reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage

  and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief

  quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  ISBN-13: 978-1-946560-09-4

  * * *

  ISBN-10: 1-946560-09-X

  * * *

  Editing by The Editing Hall

  Cover Art by Taylor Sullivan, Imagination Uncovered

  Formatting by Anessa Books

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, a huge thank you to my most dedicated readers: Renate Pennington, Debbie Kolins, Sharon Martin, Deb Jones Diem, Rebecca Cobb Jones, Pauline Frost, and Nancy Pennick. To my assistant, Nicole Ulery, who has been my right-hand woman and partner in crazy, my deepest thanks.

  * * *

  To my mom and sister, who support me and fix all my goofy plot ideas and read everything. I couldn’t publish a book without them. And my husband, who patiently goes without a wife for weeks at a time when she crawls into the writing cave.

  Once Upon a Widow Regency

  A Wicked Earl’s Widow (Once Upon a Widow #2)

  * * *

  Eliza is forced into marriage with no idea her life will change for the better. Married less than a year, her unwilling rake of a husband is surprisingly kind to her—until his sudden death. The widowed Countess of Sunderland remains under her in-laws’ protection to raise her newborn daughter. But her abusive father is on the brink of financial ruin and has plans for another wedding.

  Nathaniel, Viscount of Pendleton, gains his title at the age of 12. His kindly but shrewd estate manager becomes father and mentor, instilling in the boy an astute sense of responsibility and compassion for his tenants. Fifteen years later, his family urges him to visit London and seek a wife. The ideal doesn’t appeal to him, but his sense of duty tells him it is the next logical step.

  Lord Pendleton stumbles upon Eliza on the road, defending an elderly woman against ruffians. After rescuing the exquisite damsel in distress, he finds himself smitten. But Nate soon realizes he must discover the dark secrets of her past to truly save the woman he loves.

  Chapter One

  Mid April 1818

  Falsbury Estate

  Lincolnshire, England

  * * *

  Eliza rubbed the polished marble set in the stone wall, one gloved hand tracing her husband’s name. A tear rolled down her cheek as Althea clutched at her skirts, the toddler pulling and fidgeting in the quiet mausoleum.

  Here lies the body of

  Carson Roker, Earl of Sunderland

  Son of Allan Roker, Marquess of Falsbury

  16 June 1815

  Aged 31 years

  * * *

  The Lord hath given him rest from all his enemies. 11 Samuel 7:1

  * * *

  “Oh, how I miss your laughter and strength. I envy the fact your demon no longer chases you, but mine is close on our heels.” The chill of the surrounding limestone seeped into her bones. “How shall I keep him at bay?”

  She sniffled and bent down to touch her daughter’s plump cheeks. The tiny face turned up, two matching dimples peeking out from the corners of her mouth as she smiled.

  “Can you see how beautiful your little girl grows each day, Carson? Your mother says she has your coloring and my eyes, your boundless energy and my common sense. A perfect combination, yes?”

  Althea tugged impatiently at her skirts again. “Mama, go now.” One chubby finger pointed toward the small garden behind the mausoleum. The stained glass at the end of the building shed a pastel rainbow over the budding flowers and short rock wall.

  “Yes, my sweet, you may play.”

  The girl ran toward the back exit then stopped. Her small feet hopped on the reflecting kaleidoscope of colors, the sun’s rays gleaming through the painted glass.

  “Yewow,” she said and hopped again to another color. “Gween.” Another hop. “Bwue.”

  “Very good. Only two, and you know all your colors.” She brushed back the glossy midnight curls that rebelled against the confinements of hat and ribbons. The lacey plum bonnet matched the girl’s sparkling eyes.

  “I pick fowers.”

  “Yes, go pick some flowers. Not too many and only those that have bloomed.”

  Eliza sat heavily on the bench across from Carson’s epitaph. Althea squealed in delight at the yellow blossoms clinging to the locked gate. One of these days, the enclosure would not be tall enough to hold her precocious daughter.

  The monthly visits were a comforting ritual. At first, she’d come to be alone and grieve. To mourn the death of her husband taken after a year of marriage, leaving behind a pregnant widow. To mourn the affection she’d dreamed of all her young life, only to have it snatched away so quickly. To mourn the father who would never hold his child, and the child who would never know the man her father had become.

  Theirs had been an arranged marriage. A duty for Carson, the Earl of Sunderland, a twin who had tried to pass his responsibilities on to his brother. An escape for Lady Eliza, daughter of the Marquess of Landonshire, from a brutal father and a lonely childhood. Her father had not cared about the roguish character of his future son-in-law. His priority was increasing his wealth and improving the family connection.

  Carson’s reputation as a rake had not been exaggerated. Yet Eliza had sensed a generous but vulnerable heart in her husband, cleverly disguised by sarcasm and alcohol. The wedding night had been brief and perfunctory. The groom had been gentle but distant. She had seen little of her husband during the days following until…

  She smiled, remembering the first gift he’d given her. A bouquet of flowers he’d picked at dawn as he stumbled home after one month of marriage. He had knocked at her door, one hand behind his back, smelling of alcohol and the clubs. After mumbling an apology for missing the previous night’s obligations, he’d handed her a bouquet of crushed violets.

  “They matched your eyes.”

  She had gazed from the mangled petals to the contrite man intensely interested in his dusty boots. As she put the flowers to her nose, the sweet scent was her undoing. The tears had come unbidden and swift as Eliza clutched the first gift she’d ever received from a man. It had also been the earl’s undoing, he had told her, when she gave him a brilliant watery smile.

  “By Christ, woman, if you weep over wilted flowers, you’ll flood the Thames when I give you jewels.”

  She’d only nodded her head and sniffled. Carson had pulled out a handkerchief
and awkwardly dried her cheeks. As she looked up at him, their eyes met and held. Something passed between them at that moment. Two lost souls finding the same purchase in a storm they’d battled all their lives. He’d kissed her then. His lips gentle and sweet. It had been a different kind of kiss from her wedding night. Not polite and careful but questioning and heavy with need. Her first taste of passion.

  After that he’d brought her a small token each time he returned. After six months, his visits to the clubs had become less frequent. He would appear at breakfast with steady hands and clear eyes. Carson’s father had given Eliza the credit for his transformation. She’d only shook her head. They would never understand the empty space she and Carson filled for one another. He gave her security, protection from a life of abuse, and laughter. He taught her about desire and that all men were not callous and cruel. She leaned on him, pushed him to be better through her adoration, her constant understanding.

  “For the first time in my life, I feel like someone’s hero. You make me want to be the man I see in your eyes.”

  They had forged a kinship and found a tentative, fragile love. Eliza had been so happy, so deliriously happy. Then Fate had grasped that happiness by the throat and tried to strangle it. But Eliza ignored the devious hand dealt her and instead rejoiced in Carson’s child.

  Over the past months, this cold place had become a warm refuge. In the beginning, she told him of his family and reported the latest on-dits. He’d always loved the gossip. It was a way to say thank you to the first man who’d shown her kindness and affection. A way to battle the loneliness after the riding accident and his abrupt death. As time passed, she shared her thoughts almost like a verbal diary. He was close to her in this vault. Words that would never pass her lips elsewhere, echoed against these walls. Here Eliza could clear her mind, soothe her soul, and renew her strength. She could feel Carson here, feel him listening and grinning, nodding and frowning.

  She had grown content with her life. Her in-laws doted on Althea and held them both with great affection. Lady Falsbury had made it clear her daughter-in-law would always have a home with them. That previous life, full of pain and fear, had begun fading into distant memories.

  Yet the past has a way of haunting the present.

  “Father sent another letter.” Eliza heard the tremble in her own voice and bit her lip. “I know your family is powerful and he cannot hurt me but… He frightens me, Carson.”

  “Mama,” shouted Althea. “Come see my pwetty flowers.”

  “Coming, Thea.” Eliza waved at her daughter and looked back at the stone as if it would continue the conversation.

  “You know the end of the war wreaked havoc on Papa’s investments. His partner, Mr. Bellum, wants an heir and respectability in his dotage, a young wife with connections. The old man has increased his bid to marry me.” Eliza gripped the bench, her nails scraping against the ironwork, turning her knuckles white. “I’ve stood firm, Carson. Even when he threatened to beat Mama every night, I stood firm for our daughter.”

  Althea screeched and called again, her voice shrill now. “Mama, Mama!”

  Fear wrapped around Eliza’s heart and squeezed. She picked up her skirt and ran to the small garden. A man sat on the stone fence, his back to her with a tall black hat covering his head. Althea writhed on his lap. Her violet eyes darkened with rage as she fought against the stranger who held her. Eliza could feel the evil seeping from the figure and knew those icy gray eyes before he turned to face her. His steely cold gaze spurred her into action.

  “Althea,” she called as she pulled on the little girl’s arms. “Give her back, you monster.”

  “Let’s not frighten the poor chit. I am her grandfather.” Lord Landonshire stood, Althea trapped in his firm grip. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

  “What are you doing here? What do you want?” Her heart raced and she struggled for calm.

  He’d aged, the lines deep and craggy around his eyes and mouth. Life had not gone his way the past few years. And when things did not go well for the Marquess of Landonshire, someone always paid a price. A tremor ran through her body, her fingers curled, wanting to scratch the brute’s eyes out. She would not cower, would not feed his appetite for fear. At this moment, Eliza could kill him without a second thought to save her baby.

  “Oh, come now. You know what I want. How many letters have I sent?” He tossed the girl up in the air, her skirt billowing out as she descended back into her grandfather’s arms. With a grunt, Althea gave a mighty kick and caught her captive in the chin.

  Cold terror clawed at Eliza’s stomach. She watched him grip Althea around the waist with one arm and stroke her neck with the back of his free hand.

  “Let her go. Please let her go.”

  “Hmm… I believe my granddaughter is due for a visit. It’s past time, and I know your mother would love to see how she’s grown. Those small portraits you’ve sent don’t do the girl justice.” He smiled, his yellow teeth glistening in the afternoon sunshine. “I can still bring you to heel, you damned little trollop.”

  She set her shoulders straight, her chin out. “Kidnapping is beyond even you, I would think.”

  “I’m a marquess and her grandfather, you lack-wit. No one would accuse me of kidnapping. But it would certainly get you back under my roof.” His smile held no warmth. “And we both know I would be able to convince you once you were home.”

  “You’ve already sold the property from my dowry. How much more could you possible need?”

  “It’s gone. In a moment of desperation, I hoped to double that amount. It would have been just enough if I had won that last hand. I still say the scoundrel cheated.” He shrugged. “So here we are. As my daughter, you must obey me. At least until you are twenty-one.”

  “I will not marry that vile, ancient man and bring my daughter into a home without love. She is happy and well-cared for and—”

  “I don’t give a bloody hell where the brat goes. It’s you I need. I’m at a standstill and in need of blunt. This marriage will set things right for me.” His fingers slowly wrapped around Althea’s neck and stroked the taut muscles as the girl swallowed. “Such a fragile thing, isn’t she? How easily I was able to take her.”

  A sob escaped Eliza’s throat. She reached out, grabbed Althea’s arms, and pulled with all her might. Landonshire let go of the pair and they flew backward, landing hard on the grass. Althea clutched at Eliza’s neck, whimpering and hiding her face.

  “Watch over your daughter closely when you put her to bed and pull the mauve counterpane over her tiny body. Beware if she wanders while you read under your favorite oak. It overlooks that lovely swan fountain, yes?” He stood over them, blocking the sun, his face shadowed with only the pale flash of his eyes and teeth visible. “Accidents happen so quickly.”

  “My dower share, I receive it quarterly. It’s yours.” She hated the whine in her voice, the fear that gave her father his strength. Panic overtook her courage as more horrid thoughts crowded her brain. How did he know what Althea’s bedroom looked like? Had he been watching them during their afternoons in the garden? “M-my solicitor will take care of the transfer. Just leave us alone.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Please.”

  “Negotiations are no longer an option. You know what you must do.” He bent down and placed his hands on her shoulders, raising her to a sitting position. She clutched Althea to her chest as he pulled her to her feet.

  “I understand the entire family will be in London next week. What luck! It happens I will be visiting my partner. I will call on you at Lord Falsbury’s townhouse and suggest a ride to give you all the news from home. We will spend a pleasant afternoon with Mr. Bellum and announce the betrothal that evening. Do you understand?”

  Eliza tried to stem the quaver that had begun in her legs. Be strong. The marquess will not let him hurt Althea.

  His fingers gripped her jaw and squeezed, his short nails digging into her soft skin. She shut her eyes against the familiar
pain, holding back the tears of anger and frustration.

  “Do. You. Understand?” he hissed.

  She nodded, knowing there would be bruises.

  “That’s my sweet girl.” He kissed the top of her head and gave her a wink. “It will be good to see you again, Eliza. Perhaps after you’re wed, I’ll let your mother come stay with you for an extended visit. If you both behave. It will be my wedding gift to you and Mr. Bellum.” He stooped to pick up his hat, brushed it off, and strode off whistling.

  Chapter Two

  Eliza stared at the red marks along her jaw, and the nightmare came flooding back. The bruises, broken bones, and constant confinement. She closed her eyes, trying to push the memories to the dark corners of her mind. Mama’s gaunt face haunted her dreams these days. Guilt, she supposed, for being the one to escape. She prayed God would not let her mother suffer for Eliza’s lack of obedience. But since this afternoon, she’d wondered if she’d ever had a choice.

  She dressed slowly for dinner, choosing a somber gray dress to fit her mood. If the marquess and marchioness would allow Althea to remain with them, she would obey her father. Her throat swelled and she swallowed the lump, realizing her relationship with Althea would become distant. Another woman would raise her precious child. But the idea of her daughter growing up under Landonshire’s thumb horrified her. She gritted her teeth, hardening her resolve that Althea would have a better childhood than her mother. That vile man would always be in Eliza’s life, watching over her until the day he died. She would never escape his controlling reach, and she could not live looking over her shoulder, wondering where he might appear next. If only Carson had not fallen from that horse…