The Games the Earl Plays_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book

by Eleanor Meyers

  Gerard understood the man’s thinking. He’d been trying to save his father and his cousin, but his plan had failed and now Rose could die. Gerard lunged for him, but Chris held him back.

  Chris turned to Reuben. “Go and get Lord Stonewhire if he is still here.”

  “My father isn’t Lord Stonewhire,” William whispered. “Rose’s father isn’t dead. My father lied. I hadn’t known the reason, though, until Gerard mentioned the handkerchief.”

  The hall was silent and, while Gerard thought his anger had no bounds, the tension that poured from Rose’s brothers was nearly suffocating.

  William’s knuckles whitened and, when he spoke, he was gasping, which meant Nash had added pressure to his throat. “I was going to tell her once I could visit her and ensure I didn’t infect her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell one of us?” Gerard asked.

  “I didn’t know if it could spread, and all of you were in contact with Rose,” William whimpered. “And I didn’t want my father arrested for killing Rose.”

  “You’ll be lucky if I leave him alive,” Reuben murmured before marching in the direction of the room Justin had given to Lord Titus.

  “I don’t have to ask why he did this,” Nash said. “He obviously wanted the money Lord Stonewhire promised.”

  William was crying. “I love Rose,” he gasped. “I didn’t want her hurt. I thought this short grief would be better than her death.”

  Nash released him.

  Gerard stood frozen and didn’t know what to do. A part of him understood William. Gerard’s own father was a monster and, in the end, Gerard was sure that if he could stop his father from committing a great crime, he would.

  So instead of taking his anger out on William, he fled down the hallway and slipped back into Rose’s room.

  Her eyes opened as he walked in, but he could tell it took her effort. She needed to rest, and he would allow it, but first, he had to speak to her. He moved to her bedside, sat down, and took her hand. “Rose, your father is not dead. Your uncle lied to purposefully upset you.”

  Rose’s first reaction was disbelief, yet after a moment, her eyes widened before she turned away and starting weeping. Her body shook with relief and sadness. The trembling only grew worse as Gerard told her the entire story.

  When Gerard finished, he said, “Rose, don’t die. We’ve a story to finish.”

  She looked at him then in confusion and, after a short cough, caught her breath. “What?” Already she sounded weak.

  “We have to finish your story,” Gerard told her. “The story of you and me.”

  Her eyes smiled before her lips did, and he felt her fingers tighten on his.

  He returned the gesture. “I never kept a journal, but I can tell you that a part of me always knew you were the one.” He didn’t need her to speak. He only needed her to listen and to understand what was at stake. “In the pages of your journal, you began a story, and I refuse to let it end in tragedy.” He leaned over her and whispered, “Would you like to know what happens next?”

  Her eyes were watering again, but she didn’t try to speak. She only nodded.

  He smiled. “We marry and have a dozen children. We live out our lives better than any story Jane Austen could have crafted, and we remain in love forever. Is that your wish?”

  She nodded again. This time with great feeling.

  “Then live, Rose,” he told her. “Because you’re my best friend and I can’t lose you.”

  There was another nod and she reached up with her free hand to wipe away a tear that had started to fall down his cheek.

  Her mouth moved though no words came out. “I love you,” her lips said.

  “Then prove it,” he told her. “Live for us. Live for our story.”

  This time, when she nodded, she closed her eyes and Gerard felt her fingers give him a final squeeze before she released him.

  But he held on and knew he’d never let her go.

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  EPILOGUE

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  Rose laughed as Gerard rushed across the office and lifted her into the air. Her hands went to his shoulders and her cry filled the air. “Gerard, put me down!” Embarrassment made her face color and, when her feet hit the ground once more, she buried her face in his chest before lifting her eyes and whispering, “I can’t believe you just did that in front of your father.” She was just as elated as she was nervous. “You’ll upset him.”

  Gerard pulled her close and grinned. “I know.” And it was clear he didn’t care. In the last month, it was as if the two had switched roles where the Duke of Avon was concerned. While she feared his every reaction, Gerard hardly concerned himself with the man’s feelings at all.

  Rose frowned. “I’ve been his daughter-in-law for less than a fortnight. The least I can do is try to get him to like me.” Gerard had only allowed her to wait three weeks, just long enough to get the church’s acceptance, before taking her as his bride. They’d married at Chantenny Hall—an event the duke had not been invited to—since everyone refused to let Alex travel. She still had two months until the baby would come.

  Once the wedding ended, Gerard had taken her to Obenshire Hall where they’d planned to stay until the Season, but a letter from Gerard’s father had forced him to return to Avon Park. Rose had only arrived a moment ago and was glad her husband was glad to see her… even if her father-in-law could care less.

  “He won’t like you,” Gerard told her. “But it hardly matters anyway. I love you.”

  Rose smiled and tightened her hold on Gerard’s arms. “I love you, too, but perhaps I could try to get him to like me.” Rose hated conflict and couldn’t imagine having the old duke in her family without at least trying to get along. “We have to try.”

  “I’m right here if anyone cares,” the duke called from behind them.

  The newlywed couple turned and met Avon’s stony eyes. He was sitting behind his desk, a hand wrapped around his cane. “I’m glad you could join us, Lady Obenshire, because the matter I wish to discuss concerns you.”

  That nervousness settled into Rose once more and she allowed Gerard to walk her toward one of the seats in front of the duke. As she sat, she wondered if she’d ever grow used to him. When she’d been sure that they’d never be related, it had been easy to give him back as much as he gave. Now it was an entirely different matter. Gerard was her husband, and this was her husband’s father. It was Rose’s job to soothe the waters, wasn’t it?

  “I’ve made new arrangements where my will is concerned,” Avon said and then turned to Gerard. “You’ll inherit nothing but the title.”

  There was a heavy silence. In it, Rose struggled to breathe. This was all her fault. She should never have allowed Gerard to marry her. The Duke of Avon would never approve of the match. She’d always known that, of course, but to witness it herself—

  “Is that all?” Gerard asked.

  Avon pressed his lips together and glared at Gerard. “And if it is?”

  Gerard stood. “Then we’ll leave.” He held out his hand. “Come, Rose.” His face was relaxed, but Rose knew when the man she loved was hiding his emotions.

  She took his hand.

  “Wait,” Avon said. “You may earn back your inheritance.”

  Rose froze but kept her eyes on her husband, watching his expression, concerned for him more than anything else.

  Gerard narrowed his eyes. “What would I have to do?”

  “Report to me every so often,” his father said. “I wish to know how my only heir is faring. God forbid some tragedy befall you.”

  Rose relaxed in her seat. Avon simply wanted his son to spend time with him. She knew they’d done so often in the past. Perhaps Avon was not as cold as she’d believed after all.

  Her husband nodded and squeezed Rose’s hand.

  Rose stood silently by.

  Gerard spoke to his father. �
��Rose and I will be returning to Obenshire. I’ll write you… and when the Season commences, we shall return as we were. I’ll visit you in London.”

  “Swear it,” Avon said.

  Rose turned to look at him then. The old man’s golden eyes bore into her husband.

  “I swear it,” Gerard said and then led Rose from the room.

  “Maybe he can change,” Rose told him.

  He stopped her in the foyer and turned her to meet his eyes. “It may be a sad thing to say, but I’ve lost hope where he is concerned.”

  Pain tugged at Rose’s heart. Gerard’s father would likely always be cold, which was the exact opposite of her own relationship with her father. “I’m sorry.”

  Gerard touched her chin. “That’s all right, Rose, because it is you who gave me my first taste of hope in years. I believe in you. I believe in us, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  He kissed her then and Rose took it in earnest. Her husband was an amazing kisser.

  He pulled away and smiled. “Now, let’s go work on making memories to add to your journal.”

  She laughed as he walked her to the door. “That sounds lovely. My journal is beginning to become my favorite book of all time.”

  “Mine as well,” he told her as he helped her into the carriage. Settling beside her, he said, “The author, she has a way with words… among other things.”

  Then he cut off her laugh with a kiss and Rose prayed all her laughter for the rest of her life would end this way.

  * * *

  While you are waiting for the next book …

  Flip this page to read another one of my books. Included here is a novella special which is not available elsewhere.

  It is serve as a special treat just for you …

  NOVELLA SPECIAL

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  PROLOGUE

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  1813,

  London

  The Vulpine was one of the better gambling establishments on the street, which did not necessarily mean it was a good place. The bullymen on the step prevented most brawling, and the only women who frequented the place were employed by the house. It was a safe place to indulge in a game of cards or three, and most of the time, the patrons didn't bat an eye, no matter what the stakes.

  Tonight was different, though. The Vulpine was a discreet place, but the entire room watched the center table, fascinated and near silent. Four men played. Two of them watched the third with wary eyes, while the fourth didn't seem to care about anything except the cards in his hand.

  No one watching could help but note that the Earl of Wensley, newly come to his title and newly allowed into the better sort of establishment, was sweating profusely, his pale face turned quite red. He hung on to his cards with a kind of grim determination and stared around a little wildly. He looked like a man trying to descend from a burning building who was quickly running out of rope.

  "And that's done," sighed the older man at the table. "Shall we tally points?"

  "No need," said his opposite, shaking his heads. "I believe it's all down to Wensley and Ellerston."

  The Earl of Wensley cast down his cards with a flourish of bravado.

  The Marquess of Ellerston's expression never changed. At best, he looked mildly interested in what was going on. When he laid his cards on the table, however, there was an unmistakable glint of triumph in his gaze.

  Wensley looked down at the cards, and then up at Ellerston's face.

  "You son of a bitch," he whispered.

  The room rustled, and the house manager came bustling over, a worried look on his face.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen, no need for harsh words..."

  Wensley choked on a laugh, shaking his head.

  "No need for harsh words? Damn you, I have just lost an estate that has been in my family for nearly four hundred years. We kept it through invasion and attack, and now it goes to Ellerston."

  "Say rather, you have staked it, and I have won it." The Marquess of Ellerston's voice was as cold as a winter wind, and he started to stand from the table.

  Wensley looked up in a panic, reaching out to grab the marquess' sleeve.

  "No, you can't leave yet. You must give me a chance to win it back."

  Brandt Landsdowne, Marquess of Ellerston, Earl of Westmond, and Baron Cliffton, shook him off with a coolly amused look.

  "I need do no such thing. If you cannot afford to lose, then you ought not come to the Vulpine at all."

  Wensley laughed, a short and ugly sound.

  "Now you are giving me lessons?"

  "It's a cheap enough lesson for me. I seem to have acquired an estate in the west counties, something I have been meaning to pick up for quite some time. I've heard the hunting there is good."

  Wensley lost all hope in a rush, throwing himself back into the chair and shaking his head. The room, realizing that there would be no brawl, returned to the normal clamor.

  "God, you do mean to keep it then." A nasty smile stretched over Wensley’s face. "Well, I hope you have a good time turfing out the tenants then. The west counties are strange and full of strange and savage folk.”

  Brandt gave his defeated opponent a tolerant look.

  "I daresay that I shall quite easily lay claim to the place. You may have no fear of that."

  Brandt tipped the house manager and the bullymen at the door and was off into the night. After he left, the house manager called for a drink for Wensley, who took it with a shaking hand.

  "He's the devil himself," Wensley said to the room at large, and no one in the Vulpine who disagreed with him.

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  1

  CHAPTER

  ONE

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  Shawly Grange

  "Oh, my goodness, Aunt Hawthorne! I think I have something?"

  "Do you, my dear?"

  "I do! I really do! I just... need to get a grip on it."

  "Well, do be careful, Caroline. It doesn't do to be too excitable in your... er, present location."

  "It's fine, Aunt Hawthorne, but ah, I have it!"

  The Lady of Shawly Grange gave a most unladylike whoop of victory, and then started wiggling backward down and out of the fireplace. For one rather hairy moment, she thought she might have gotten quite stuck, but then with a near audible pop, she was free, brandishing a box that looked more soot and cinder than anything else.

  "Aunt Hawthorne, look, I have finally found it!"

  Hawthorne Massey, a delicate-featured woman of seventy, squinted at the box in her great-niece's hand.

  "Well, I suppose you might do. Only goodness, it was a good idea to put down the cloth. You are rather a mess, aren't you?"

  Caroline's dark red hair was bound up under a white cloth, and her day dress was covered up with a linen smock, but her face was badly smudged with dirt and her hands and her fingernails were a complete loss. The drop cloth around her was littered with debris she had knocked loose from the fireplace.

  She shook her head.

  "Aunt Hawthorne, right now, in my very hand, might be the Massey treasure. Could you possibly be just a little more excited for us?"

  "Darling, I am very old, and I wore out my excitement the last five times you thought you had found the treasure of the Masseys. I promise, if this is it, I will produce some adequate expression of joy. Now, before you open that thing, please do make sure you do not track soot and who knows what into the room."

  "Thank you, Aunt Hawthorne," Caroline said with a sigh.

  She laid the box down tenderly on the drop cloth and stripped off her distressed outer coverings, revealing a short and rather regrettably boyish figure in a slightly outdated pale blue dress. She wiped off her hands and face as well as she could with the towel that Aunt Hawthorne helpfully provided, and with a sigh, took the
small basin of water and the nailbrush as well. When her hands were clean enough to pass inspection, the slender twenty-year-old was finally allowed to pick up the box, which she removed to a table that had been preemptively covered with an old cloth for the purpose.

  "All right. This may be it."

  Because Aunt Hawthorne looked vaguely interested at best, Caroline went ahead with dismantling the package she had recovered from the chimney. Removing the cloth wrapper revealed a rusted metal box. When Caroline pried off the lid with a small metal tool, it popped open to reveal two small figures.

  "Are these... ivory?" Caroline picked one up, smudging some of the grime away from a gleaming white surface. The item in her hand was smaller than her fist, cylindrical with bumps along the surface.

  She frowned, rubbing harder at the grime, and after a moment, she realized that she had polished the years away from a pair of round, carefully carved... breasts?

  "Wait, is this a...?"

  Aunt Hawthorne, who had been rubbing the grime away from the other figure, gave a sharp cry of shock, and with a quickness belying her years, she snatched the figure from Caroline's hand.

  "Aunt Hawthorne!"

  "Those are far from appropriate for a young lady of good family!"

  "But what are they? What could they be?"

  Aunt Hawthorne's lips pursed as if the good lady had eaten a lemon.