Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress

by Sara Bennett

  “I love you,” he groaned. “Averil, don’t ever leave me again.”

  “I won’t, I won’t,” she muttered feverishly, planting little hot kisses over his face, finally finding his mouth.

  Ah, this was what he wanted, he thought, and prepared to delve into the warm, sweet depths with his tongue.

  There was the sound of the door to the parlor opening and then something huge knocked against him, almost sending him sprawling. He turned, his arms still around Averil, and found himself looking into Hercules’s excited face, and there behind the dog, his son.

  “Oh good,” Eustace said, smiling widely. “You did it, Papa! Averil, you’re going to marry him, aren’t you? I was so worried he’d mess it up again.”

  Rufus groaned and sank down into the chair. Hercules tried to lick him, but Eustace wisely tugged the dog away. Averil looked from one to the other of them, and then she laughed.

  “Oh dear, I can see that by marrying one of the Southbrooks I will be marrying them all.”

  “Not marrying us,” Eustace retorted a little scornfully, “but perhaps you will be my-my mother?” He looked at her anxiously. “Will you, Averil?”

  Rufus watched her rest her hand gently on his son’s head. “I think I’d like that,” she told him.

  “Good,” the earl said, “that’s sorted out. Now can we have some time alone, Eustace? And take that monster with you.”

  Eustace grinned and began to drag Hercules from the room.

  “No, wait.” Averil touched Rufus’s sleeve, her fingers clinging as if she didn’t want to let go. “There’s something I want to say. To you both.”

  What now? Rufus wondered. He didn’t want any more hurdles to jump over. He’d given up his Southbrook inheritance spanning centuries for the woman he loved, and she’d accepted him. He wanted to wallow in the sweetness of the moment and start planning for their years together.

  “I know how much Southbrook Castle means to you,” Averil said, her chin up, as if she expected opposition. “I rather like it myself. In fact I envy you both such a wonderful home, and all the history that goes with it. Rufus”—and she looked at him—“I never begrudged the money you wanted to spend on your castle. It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you didn’t tell me, that you weren’t honest.”

  “Averil—”

  “That you are willing to give it up, all of it, for me . . . That makes all the difference. Don’t sell your castle or your Mayfair home. We’ll need somewhere to live, and Eustace must have his inheritance. I have a great deal of money, enough for everyone.”

  Eustace gave a shout of glee and went running from the room, presumably to tell Uncle James, who was no doubt lurking about somewhere. Rufus looked at his beloved and shook his head.

  “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Averil. You should think very hard before—”

  “I have. I want to do it. I want to sit by the lake with you on summer evenings and climb the stairs to the tower in the winter, and watch the weather coming in from the North Sea.”

  “Storms?” he murmured, his mouth quirking into a smile.

  Her eyes brightened. “I’ll need you to comfort me, won’t I? Are there a great many storms at Southbrook Castle?”

  “A very great many.”

  “Oh . . .” she whispered.

  He kissed her then, and this time they were not interrupted.

  EPILOGUE

  * * *

  “Is she ready?”

  Averil heard Eustace’s loud whisper at the door, followed by Violet’s reply, “Nearly.”

  “Papa is getting restless,” Rufus’s son added.

  “She’ll be there in just a moment.”

  Averil smiled as Violet returned to her side. The girl was dressed in pale blue silk that matched her eyes, and her fair hair was interwoven with flowers. “Rosebuds for a Violet,” Averil said with a laugh.

  Violet had taken some persuading that she was not Sally Jakes’s daughter, although she’d later admitted that that was because she’d been afraid to let herself believe something so wonderful in case it was snatched away from her again. But Averil and Rufus had convinced her, with the help of Anastasia’s letter, and then when the locket was finally repaired and opened, they had found a scrap of pink ribbon inside it, and Violet had taken one look at it and burst into tears.

  It turned out it was from a favorite dress she’d had when she was tiny, and she remembered it all these years later. Who else but Anastasia, her true mother, would have such a memento inside her locket?

  Violet had agreed she would help Averil with the Home, and the dower house, which was to become a place of sanctuary for the women and children they saved, but she had a mind of her own. She would not be told what to do, and Averil liked that about her. She rather thought she was similar herself.

  “I think Sally changed my name,” Violet spoke now. “I was probably Rose at first, but Sally preferred Violet. She even told me so once, that it was her favorite flower.”

  “I like Violet,” Averil retorted, “whoever gave you the name. Perhaps you could be Violet Rose?”

  “Violet Rose Arnutt.” Violet had a faraway look in her eyes. She’d recently been reunited with her father’s family and she had told Averil that she couldn’t believe how kind they’d been. How kind everyone had been.

  “I never would have stopped looking for you, you know,” Averil said softly.

  Violet smiled. “I know.”

  Averil stepped back, striking a pose. “How do I look? Will I do, do you think?”

  Violet gave her sister’s wedding dress a final glance. The silk was beautiful, and the pearls sewn into the bodice and skirt seemed to catch the light in a warm glow that was reflected in Averil’s face. She was happy, and this was the beginning of her new life.

  “You will do,” Violet assured her. “Now we’d better go down before Eustace sends Hercules up to fetch you.”

  They walked together along the gallery, toward the stairs that led down into the medieval great hall. The castle was full of flowers and their scent wafted up to Averil as she paused at the top of the stairs. Below she could see the guests, some well-known faces and others she would grow to know. Beth and James were there, smiling up at her, and she felt a new flood of happiness wash over her at the sight of their own joy in each other.

  Douglas McInnes was there, his gaze resting on Violet, and Gareth with several of the women from the Home who had asked to come. Her friends from Miss Debenham’s were present, too, and she knew there would be many questions thrown at her when she had a moment alone with them.

  The fact that there were few members of polite society present did not bother her. She still had plans to reinstate the Southbrooks to the position they once held, before Rufus fell from grace, but there was plenty of time for that. The people she loved and valued were here today, and that was all that really mattered.

  Averil began her journey down the stairs and there he was, waiting to take her hand. Her wicked earl. So handsome in his wedding attire, his dark hair brushing his shoulders and his dark eyes alight with love.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his fingers squeezing hers. “I thought so the night I first saw you. At the opera. Do you remember?”

  “Yes. I think-I think I might have loved you from that moment, Rufus. I never believed in love at first sight, but I felt as if . . .”

  “As if there would never be anyone else,” he finished for her, and bent down to kiss her gently on the lips.

  A cheer went up from the guests, and flushed and beaming, Averil clung to her earl’s arm as he led her into their future.

  ABOUTTHE AUTHOR

  * * *

  SARA BENNETT has always had an interest in history, and to survive a series of mind-numbing jobs, she turned to writing historical romance. She lives in an old house with her husband and animals too numerous to mention, in the state of Victoria, Australia, where she tries to keep the house and garden tidy, but rarely succeeds
—she’d rather be writing or reading. Find Sara online at www.sara-bennett.com or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/SARA-BENNETT/112854572767.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Also by Sara Bennett

  Sin With a Scoundrel

  To Pleasure a Duke

  A Most Sinful Proposal

  Led Astray by a Rake

  Her Secret Lover

  A Seduction in Scarlet

  Mistress of Scandal

  The Rules of Passion

  Lessons in Seduction

  Kissing the Bride

  Beloved Highlander

  Once He Loves

  The Rose and the Shield

  The Lily and the Sword

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-­new

  e-­book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-­books are sold.

  THE LAST WICKED SCOUNDREL

  ASCOUNDRELS OF ST.JAMES NOVELLA

  By Lorraine Heath

  BLITZING EMILY

  ALOVE AND FOOTBALL NOVEL

  By Julie Brannagh

  SAVOR

  ABILLIONAIRE BACHELORS CLUB NOVEL

  By Monica Murphy

  IF YOU ONLY KNEW

  ATRUST NO ONE NOVEL

  By Dixie Lee Brown

  An Excerpt from

  THE LAST WICKED SCOUNDREL

  A Scoundrels of St. James Novella

  by Lorraine Heath

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lorraine Heath brings us the eagerly awaited final story in the Scoundrels of St. James series.

  Winnie, the Duchess of Avendale, never knew peace until her brutal husband died. With William Graves, a royal physician, she’s discovered burning desire—­and the healing power of love. But now, confronted by the past she thought she’d left behind, Winnie must face her fears . . . or risk losing the one man who can fulfill all her dreams.

  After last night, she’d dared to hope that she meant something special to him, but they were so very different in rank and purpose. She considered suggesting that they go for a walk now, but she didn’t want to move away from where she was. So near to him. He smelled of sandalwood. His jaw and cheeks were smooth. He’d shaved before he came to see her. His hair curled wildly about his head, and she wondered if he ever tried to tame it, then decided he wouldn’t look like himself without the wildness.

  With his thumb, he stroked her lower lip. His blue eyes darkened. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. Leaning in, he lowered his mouth to hers. She rose up on her toes to meet him, inviting him to possess, plunder, have his way. She became lost in the sensations of his mouth playing over hers, vaguely aware of his twisting her around so they were facing each other. As she skimmed her hands up over his shoulders, his arms came around her, drawing her nearer. He was a man of nimble fingers, skilled hands that eased hurts and injuries and warded off death. He had mended her with those hands, and now with his lips he was mending her further.

  Suddenly changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss, his tongue hungrily exploring, enticing her to take her own journey of discovery. He tasted of peppermint. She could well imagine him keeping the hard candies in his pocket to hand to children in order to ease their fears. Snitching one for himself every now and then.

  He folded his hands around the sides of her waist and, without breaking his mouth from hers, lifted her onto the desk. Parchment crackled beneath her. She knew she should be worried that they were ruining the plans for the hospital, but she seemed unable to care about anything beyond the wondrous sensations that he was bringing to life.

  Avendale had never kissed her with such enthusiasm, such resolve. She felt as though William were determined to devour her, and that it would be one of the most wondrous experiences of her life.

  Hiking her skirts up over her knees, he wedged himself between her thighs. Very slowly, he lowered her back to the desk until she was sprawled over it like some wanton. On the desk! She had never known this sort of activity could occur anywhere other than the bed. It was wicked, exciting, intriguing. Surely he didn’t mean to do more than kiss her, not that she was opposed to him going further.

  She’d gone so long without a caress, without being desired, without having passions stirred. She felt at once terrified and joyful while pleasure curled through her.

  As he dragged his mouth along her throat, he began undoing buttons, giving himself access to more skin. He nipped at her collarbone, circled his tongue in the hollow at her throat. She plowed her fingers through his golden locks, relishing the soft curls as they wound around her fingers.

  More buttons were unfastened. She sighed as he trailed his mouth and tongue along the upper swells of her breasts. Heat pooled deep within her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking surcease from the pressure of him against her. He moaned low, more a growl than anything as he pressed a kiss in the dip between her breasts.

  God help her, but she wanted to feel his touch over all of her.

  Peeling back her bodice, he began loosening the ribbons on her chemise. In the distance, someplace far far away, she thought she heard a door open.

  “The count—­” Her butler began and stopped.

  “Winnie?” Catherine’s voice brought her crashing back to reality.

  An Excerpt from

  BLITZING EMILY

  A Love and Football Novel

  by Julie Brannagh

  All’s fair in Love and Football . . .

  Emily Hamilton doesn’t trust men. She’s much more comfortable playing the romantic lead in front of a packed house onstage than in her own life. So when NFL star and alluring ladies’ man Brandon McKenna acts as her personal white knight, she has no illusions that he’ll stick around. However, a misunderstanding with the press throws them together in a fake engagement that yields unexpected (and breathtaking) benefits in the first installment of Julie Brannagh’s irresistible new series.

  Emily had barely enough time to hang up the cordless and flip on the TV before Brandon wandered down the stairs.

  “Hey,” he said, and he threw himself down on the couch next to her.

  His blond curls were tangled, his eyes sleepy, and she saw a pillowcase crease on his cheek. He looked completely innocent, until she saw the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Even in dirty workout clothes, he was breathtaking. She wondered if it was possible to ovulate on demand.

  “I’m guessing you took a nap,” she said.

  “I was supposed to be watching you.” He tried to look penitent. It wasn’t working.

  “Glad to know you’re making yourself comfortable,” she teased.

  He stretched his arm around the back of the couch.

  “Everything in your room smells like flowers, and your bed’s great.” He pulled up the edge of his t-­shirt and sniffed it. Emily almost drooled at a glimpse of his rock-­hard abdomen. Evidently, it was possible to have more than a six pack. “The guys will love my new perfume. Maybe they’ll want some makeup tips,” he muttered, and grabbed for the remote Emily left on the coffee table.

  He clicked through the channels at a rapid pace.

  “Excuse me. I had that.” She lunged for it. No such luck. Emily ended up sprawled across his lap.

  “The operative word here, sugar, is ‘had.’ ” He held it up in the air out of her reach while he continued to click. He’d wear a hole in his thumb if he kept this up. “No NFL Network.” She tried to sit up again, which wasn’t working well. Of course, he was chuckling at her struggles. “Oh, I get it. You’re heading for second base.”

  “Hardly.” Emily reached over and tried to push off on the other arm of the couch. One beefy arm wrapped around her. “I’m not trying to do anything. Oh, whatever.”

  “You know, if you want a kiss, all you have to do is ask.”

  She couldn’t imagine how he managed to look s
o innocent while smirking.

  “I haven’t had a woman throw herself in my lap for a while now. This could be interesting,” he said.

  Emily’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “I did not throw myself in your lap.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Which one of us is—­”

  “Let go of me.” She was still trying to grab the remote, without success.

  “You’ll fall,” he warned.

  “What’s your point?”

  “Here.” He stuck the remote down the side of the couch cushion so Emily couldn’t grab it. He grasped her upper arms, righted her with no effort at all, and looked into her eyes. “All better. Shouldn’t you be resting, anyway?”

  Emily tried to take a breath. Their bodies were frozen. He held her, and she gazed into his face. His dimple appeared, vanished, appeared again. She licked her lips with the microscopic amount of moisture left in her mouth. He was fighting a smile, but even more, he dipped his head toward her. He was going to kiss her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Her voice sounded weak, but it was all she could do to push it out of lungs that had no air at all. He continued to watch her, and he gradually moved closer. Their mouths were inches apart. Emily couldn’t stop looking at his lips. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, he released her and dug the remote from the couch cushion. She felt a stab of disappointment. He had changed his mind.

  “Turns out you have the NFL Network, so I think I can handle another twenty-­four hours here,” he announced as he stopped on a channel she’d never seen before.

  “You might not be here another twenty-­four minutes. Don’t you have a TV at home?” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. She wished she could come up with something more witty and cutting to say. She was so sure he would kiss her, and then he hadn’t.