The Earl of Kent: A League of Rogues Novel and a Wicked Earls’ Club Novel

by Smith, Lauren

  “Stop squirming. You’re only making it worse for yourself,” was all he said as he suddenly hauled her over his shoulder and strode inside.

  He carried her into what appeared to be a study and plunked her down in a soft, leather chair. “Sit!”

  As if he’d given her the choice!

  He’d practically tossed her into the chair, although he’d been gentler about it than she probably deserved. She clasped the arms of the chair, realizing she must be in Marcus Brayden’s finely appointed study. “I demand to see–”

  Her eyes focused on this bare-chested man who was the size of a Roman gladiator and appeared just as fierce. Marcus Brayden, Earl of Kinross. Just the man she wished to see. “Good morning, Marcus.”

  He stood in front of her, looming so large, he filled the room with his presence. The fire

  roaring in the fireplace emitted a golden light, illuminating his features and enhancing his magnificence on this otherwise gloomy winter’s day. Oh...my...heavens. She tried not to gawk at the dusting of dark hair across his tanned chest or the path that line of hair took downward to his navel.

  “Bollocks, Lara,” he said quietly, his voice deep and resonant as he rolled the “r” with the slightest hint of surprise. “What in blazes brings you here at this unholy hour?”

  She had always been a little afraid of her brother’s best friend, and to her dismay, still was. Simply put, Marcus was more Greek god than man. His body was hewn from granite. Massive, muscled arms. Sculpted thighs, not that she was looking...but she was looking, because he simply could not be ignored. He stood before her in the glow of firelight, and heaven help her, he was splendid.

  His dark hair fell in perfect waves, framing his masculine face. His dark eyes were cold and assessing as he stared at her, awaiting an answer. A scar ran from the corner of his eye and down his cheek to his jaw, but that did not seem to stop the butterflies from their frenzied fluttering in her stomach.

  He looked daunting and commanding.

  Had coming here been a mistake? If she were an enemy facing this man, she would have tossed aside her weapons and run in the opposite direction as fast as her legs would carry her.

  She cleared her throat and met his unreadable gaze with a casual air. “Is it early? Goodness, I took no notice of the time.”

  He leaned forward, his big hands suddenly covering her small ones that were still tightly clasping the arms of her chair. “How did you get over the wall?”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “Funny story...” He had her trapped between his arms, but this was the least of her concerns. She was suddenly in panic, her composure in utter disarray while his hands touched hers.

  Fireworks exploded in her body.

  She knew her cheeks were on fire, for she’d felt the heat creep up them.

  Marcus had always fascinated her. The way he commanded attention even when saying nothing, just folding his arms across his chest and listening to whoever happened to be speaking at the time. The way he moved with the graceful stealth of a lion. The aura of power that surrounded him. He’d held this mystique even when younger.

  Indeed, he was born magnificent and was even more so now.

  She took all of him in. Dark hair, dark eyes. Big, lethal body. “Are you going to put a shirt on?”

  He ignored her. “It’s barely seven o’clock in the morning, Lara.”

  “What are you doing without your shirt on?”

  “None of your business.” He glanced out the window to the sky which was overcast and threatening more snow. “I assume this is no social call. What are you doing running around London on your own at this hour? At any hour, for that matter? Does your father know you’re here?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he drew his hands away and took a step back. He’d been standing too close, almost nose to nose...and lips to lips, so that she could almost taste the coffee he’d been drinking only moments earlier.

  She must have interrupted his breakfast, although she would have expected him to dress before coming downstairs.

  She dragged her gaze from his mouth, knowing she should not be thinking of how it might feel against her own. Or how nice and warm his skin would feel against her palms. “No, my father is unaware of my actions.”

  She tipped her chin up in defiance, but the gesture went unnoticed as her rogue stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

  The noise resembled hungry cats meowing.

  He sighed. “Have you eaten?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Come with me. Do you like eggs and kippers? Don’t think to play the coy miss and decline the offer. You’ve hardly got any meat on your bones. We’ll discuss the folly of your presence in my townhouse at this early hour after you’ve eaten your fill.”

  She’d been a skinny, awkward girl the last time he’d seen her. She had filled out since then but was still on the slender side. Her worries were to blame for that. How could she eat a bite when her father, the Earl of Stratton, was under house arrest and her brother, Hugh, once the respected Viscount Brixham, was a hunted fugitive? He had somehow escaped his confinement in Portsmouth Prison where he’d awaited hanging for the crimes of piracy and murder.

  The last she’d heard, he was sailing to the opposite end of the world to hunt down the man responsible for these heinous crimes.

  As for herself, she was about to be put under the guardianship of some ogre cohort of the miserable judge who had condemned her brother. This man was determined to destroy every last Le Brecque, although she had no idea why. None of them knew this judge, Lord Alistair Dunning, or had ever met him before this nightmare began. “Will you kindly put on a shirt? And my visiting you isn’t folly. Have you not heard what has happened to my family?”

  “No, I’ve been home from France less than a month, and most of my time has been spent recovering from my injuries.” Since she had yet to move from her chair, he did not force her up, but knelt beside her when he noticed she was trembling. “Lara, has something bad happened?”

  “Very bad.” But her eyes widened in concern for him. “You were injured?”

  “Never mind about me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Oh, Marcus. Where to start?” The upheaval concerning her father and brother had affected her in so many ways. Not that she cared for herself. Saving them was all that mattered. But she’d taken a few bruises along the way. She couldn’t deny it hurt that the man she had been about to marry had begged out of their betrothal.

  Too cowardly to face her, he’d merely sent a note to her father enumerating his reasons for ending their engagement in humiliating detail. His note went on to say that if her father intended to sue him, he could go right ahead. No court would ever rule in his favor, for he was a suspected traitor and his son was a convicted murderer.

  Perhaps what hurt most was the lack of any mention of her. It was as though she no longer existed to Phillip, Earl of Wexley, this man she would have pledged to love, honor and obey.

  Suddenly, it was all too much for Lara.

  She buried her face in her hands and began to cry as she hadn’t cried in all the time since the madness had begun. She’d had to be strong for her father and brother. She’d done her best to fight for them, but she’d been little more than a child when their problems had begun and was a mere girl of nineteen now.

  No one had taken her seriously back then nor did they now.

  Who would she turn to if Marcus refused to help? She trusted no one else.

  He rose and drew her out of her chair to envelop her in the comfort of his arms. “Lara...”

  Oh, heavens. She loved the way he spoke her name, could almost feel the deliciousness of his tongue caressing the letter “r”. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Marcus. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve never cried like this before.”

  “Which explains why it is all pouring out of you now. It’s long overdue.” His voice was surprisingly gentle, and his arms...oh, being in his arms was t
oo wonderful for words. She rested her head against his chest and pressed her body lightly to his, suddenly needing to absorb his heat and strength.

  After a moment, she withdrew her handkerchief to dab at her damp cheeks, but he eased it out of her hands and took over the chore. “Come with me. We’ll get some food in you and you’ll tell me all that’s been going on. I’d heard rumors at my club the other day, but didn’t give them credence. It all sounded too absurd.”

  “It’s been a nightmare,” she agreed, wishing her tears would stop flowing. But she’d opened the floodgate and could not seem to shut it.

  “I should have called on you sooner, but the moment I was back on my feet, I was summoned to the Foreign Office, and it’s been keeping me busy ever since.”

  She nodded. “There must be so much work to do to fix the damage caused by Napoleon and his ambitions.”

  “Yes, there is. Even though he is presently subdued, I don’t believe this calm will last long. The French are restless. Now that I’m healed, I’ll probably be called back into service any day.”

  As he raked a hand through his hair, she noticed a raw scar on the underside of his arm. “Marcus,” she said in an agonized whisper.

  He followed the direction of her gaze. “That? The result of a bayonet shoved through me...well, I don’t suppose it matters.”

  “The scar on your face is new as well.” She reached up to lightly trace her finger along his cheek.

  He shrugged and gently nudged her hand away. “It is nothing, Lara, and did not prevent me from visiting your father sooner. I should have done so weeks ago.” He tucked her arm in his and led her into his dining room.

  Everything about this man spoke of wealth and power. His table easily seated forty guests. The crystal sconces lining the wallpapered walls shone like diamonds. A massive silver epergne, polished and gleaming, stood like a Roman guard upon the table. A large, mahogany buffet stretched along one of the side walls, and an enormous, floral patterned, oriental carpet of deep maroon, blue, and gold covered the floor.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” he muttered, following her gaze as she noted every object. “They call that massive thing of polished silver on the center of the table an epergne, but it’s just a fancy name for a candelabra. That’s what I use it for.”

  Lara bridled at his remark. “I wasn’t counting up the shillings in my head. Or calculating your marital desirability based upon it. Don’t flatter yourself.” Oh, blast! She was here to win him over, not insult him.

  Fortunately, he did not take offense, the glint of amusement in his eyes quite telling. “Are you not the least bit impressed by my title or the wealth that comes with it?”

  He’d been granted the earldom of Kinross by the Crown several years ago as reward for his war service. She’d always thought of him as Marcus, but now that he was Earl of Kinross, she supposed she ought to address him accordingly. “I am impressed, my lord.”

  He groaned. “You don’t have to call me that. Marcus will do. I haven’t been a wealthy earl all that long.”

  She managed a weak smile. “I’m very proud of you. Sorry I lashed out as I did just now. I’m not myself. In truth, I no longer know who I am amid this nightmare or who I’m supposed to be.”

  He flicked his wrist and a footman hurried over. “Some coffee for Lady Lara.” But he rose himself and began to pile food on a plate. He set it down in front of her. “Start eating while I don some clothes. Don’t run away or I’ll come after you. We’ll talk once you’ve finished. I’ve nothing pressing to do today. Even if I did, I’d drop it all. It seems your family is in dire need of my help.”

  She nodded. “Yes, we are.”

  Once Marcus left to dress, she picked up her fork and began to move the eggs around on her plate. She’d hardly taken a bite before he returned. He’d merely tossed on a shirt. No vest or cravat. Well, how did one dress for invaders climbing one’s walls?

  “Lara, you haven’t touched your plate. Must I feed you myself?”

  “No.” She plunged her fork into a kipper and took a bite, then another. Finally, she set her fork down and began to talk while staring into those dead kippers and the lump of eggs surrounding them. “They watch me all the time, Marcus. They follow me everywhere. That’s why I had to sneak out of the house early this morning. They think I’m still asleep. I’ll have to sneak back home before they realize I’m not in my bedchamber. My maid will stall them as long as she can, but I dare not get her into trouble. She’s my only reliable ally. If they dismiss her, I’ll have no one on my side.”

  “Lara, who is they?”

  She picked up her fork and began to poke at her pile of eggs. “I’m not sure. The villainous judge, Lord Alistair Dunning, for one. But he’s just an odious tool. There’s a larger conspiracy afoot. I don’t know who’s been bribing him. I have my suspicions, but I can’t prove any of it. That’s where I need your help. You can speak directly to the House of Lords. You can also get into the dockside taverns, into the back alleys and houses of ill repute to gain information.”

  “Or I can just threaten to break Dunning’s neck if he refuses to tell me who’s been bribing him.”

  She set down her fork again and smiled at him. “I like that plan.”

  He was seated at the head of the long table. She was seated to his left. He reached over and took her hand. “You do realize I am jesting.” He ran his thumb gently over the top of her hand. “I cannot go around killing everyone who displeases me.”

  “I know.” Her smile faded. “But I can, for I’ve fallen so low and am so very desperate. I will kill him. I mean it, Marcus. I won’t hesitate to do it.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Lara. We’ll get to the truth.”

  “When? I don’t wish to be clearing Hugh’s name posthumously.” She stopped herself from bursting into sobs again. “This judge is pure evil. I detest the way he looks at me. He’s plotting to put me under his control next. I know this is what he intends. He’ll appoint one of his toadies as my guardian. I shudder to think what he has in mind for me.”

  She was still struggling to hold back tears, but they trickled onto her cheeks anyway. What was Marcus thinking? He had to know she was held together by a thin thread that was about to snap. “I never thought myself capable of murder, but it turns out I am. I’ll kill him if he touches me.”

  She expected Marcus to dismiss her remarks as hysterical, but he frowned thoughtfully. In typical Marcus fashion, he said nothing for the longest time. “Lara, do you truly believe he means to take guardianship of you?”

  “I know it for a fact. He doesn’t hide his lecherous thoughts from me. Of course, to the rest of the world, he’s a pillar of the community. He claims some relation to the Duke of Wiltfordshire, that’s how he’s wormed himself into the highest circles. He sits on the High Court. I cannot be his only victim. He’s done this to others, I’m sure. I don’t mean taking advantage of young women, although I have no doubt he’s done that. For the right price, he’ll do anything to anyone, and won’t feel a moment’s remorse. He wasn’t born into wealth despite his relation to Wiltfordshire, so I suspect he maintains his life of opulence by taking bribes.”

  “Tell me all you know about him. I’ll ask around at the gaming hells.” He released her hand with a reassuring squeeze. There was a lovely strength to his touch. Without it, she quickly felt bereft. “Sounds to me, he’s a man with an expensive gambling habit. His clerks must know something of this.”

  Lara nodded. “He must give them a cut of his profits to keep them quiet. His bailiffs, too. I’ve managed to get no information out of them so far.”

  “They know who you are and that puts them on their guard. I’ll have a Bow Street runner investigate. I know of a very good man, Homer Barrow. He’ll get the truth out of them.”

  Lara took a bite of her eggs. “Thank you, Marcus. Oh, these are delicious.”

  He smiled. “Getting your appetite back?”

  She nodded again, this time scooping a kipper i
nto her mouth.

  He watched her, his gaze almost indulgent.

  She set her plate aside and swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “Marcus...” She spoke his name softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “So am I. If only I’d known what was happening at the time, I would have–”

  “You were fighting on the Continent,” she said, interrupting him before he’d gotten out the words. “What could you have done while so far away? You wouldn’t have abandoned your post to come to Hugh’s aid. If you had, they would have shot you as a deserter.”

  His eyes, the auburn-black of charred chestnuts, reflected his anger. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lara. I would have thought of something to get myself back here in time to help. I would have done something. He’s my best friend.”

  “For this very reason, Hugh kept the news from you. He did not want your life ruined for his sake.”

  He took a sip of his coffee then calmly set down his cup. “Lara, I want your promise on an important matter.”

  “Promises are meant to be broken,” she muttered, still feeling the hurt of her broken betrothal.

  “No, they’re not. I will not allow you to break this one.”

  She was at the end of her tether and he was piling demands on her? “If you want me to promise that I’ll stay home and behave like a lady, knitting scarves and embroidering handkerchiefs while the lives of my father and brother continue to be destroyed, I’ll tell you right now I will not agree to it. They are not going to hang Hugh while there’s breath left in me.”

  “Lara–”

  “They’ve dragged my father’s reputation through the muck, imprisoned him in his own home, and may soon start confiscating his holdings. I will not sit idly by and do nothing. I am not a useless lump of clay. I would have clawed my way into Portsmouth Prison to free my brother, if I’d had to.”