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Keep reading for an excerpt from the sequel,
HER SCOTTISH SCOUNDREL
Diamonds in the Rough
* * *
Chapter One
London
July, 1821
Blayne MacNeil, formerly known as James Callanach, picked up his glass of Madeira and saluted his host. Nothing improved his mood as much as a meal at Windham House. The duke and duchess, Valentine Sterling and his wife Regina, had an incredible chef whose skill in the kitchen was second to none.
The sweet wine slid down Blayne’s throat. He and Val had been friends for almost two decades. They’d worked side by side and kept each other’s secrets. Until a year ago when Val’s had been revealed. Blayne still referred to him as Carlton Guthrie. As did everyone else who was close to him. He’d been the infamous Scoundrel of St. Giles – a man to be feared and respected for the wrath he’d bestowed on those who posed a threat to the vulnerable. Every now and then, Blayne caught himself missing the brutal force with which they’d vanquished the vermin of the world. Guthrie still made sure justice was served, but it was done with more discretion now that he was a duke, and by accepting help from the authorities.
“I have been toying with the idea of hosting a ball,” Regina said. She glanced at her brother, Marcus, who also resided at Windham House, and then at Blayne. “If I do, I shall expect you both to be in attendance so you can dance with some of the ladies the marriage mart has to offer.”
The comment was jovial – teasing even – yet it still caused Blayne’s lungs to strain against his next intake of breath.
Marcus snorted. “As if any well-bred woman would dare.”
Blayne met Marcus’ gaze and slowly exhaled. His insides eased and he forced a wry smile. “Even if one of the lasses cared to, I’m sure her parents would quickly step in to prevent her.”
“I could coerce them into compliance,” Guthrie murmured with a twinkle in his cat-like eyes.
“And into marriage, I’m sure,” Marcus said with a grin.
“Good lord,” Regina murmured.
“Without a doubt,” Guthrie agreed. “Shall I?”
“No.” Regina gave her husband a firm look. “There will be no coercing. I merely thought it might be nice to offer Blayne and Marcus the means by which to attend a social function.”
“To the horror and despair of the ton,” Blayne said right before he spooned more shortcake into his mouth. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Regina, but I think your ball would be better served if I stayed away.”
“Nonsense,” Regina said. “You are a handsome man, Blayne. Kind too and hardworking.”
“Not exactly the qualities any upper-class parent would want in a future son-in-law.” Blayne took another bite of his dessert. It truly was exceptionally good. “A yearly income close to five thousand pounds would be more desirable. Preferably if there’s a title to go along with it. I, as you know, have a very modest income and no title.”
More importantly, he had a past he couldn’t in good conscience chain another person to. And he sure as hell couldn’t confide it in any woman. So if he did wed, his marriage would be a sham. He took another sip of Madeira.
“My situation is similar,” Marcus said. “Worse than Blayne’s, in a sense, seeing as I had a title and lost it because of our father. No man in his right mind would allow his daughter to be seen with me, Regina.”
The duchess huffed out a breath. “In my opinion, a man’s character – his very own actions – ought to be of greater value than what a relation of his might have done.”
“I don’t think any of us disagree with you there,” Guthrie said. He gave Blayne and Marcus a pensive look. “Perhaps I can help?”
“Thank you, but no.” Guthrie had offered to give Blayne a handsome sum once before, and Blayne had turned him down then as well. He didn’t want handouts, not even from a friend who wished to disguise it as overdue wages. “There is something to be said for earning one’s own living.”
“I’m of a like mind,” Marcus said. “Although I might appreciate a loan for the sake of acquiring a profession.”
“Indeed?” Regina regarded her brother with a pensive mien. “And what profession do you have in mind, Marcus?”
“Well.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Medicine would be an interesting field of study. Certainly more so than law.”
“I think that would be marvelous,” Regina said with a smile. “Don’t you agree, Guthrie?”
Guthrie nodded. “I would be happy to provide you with the necessary funds, Marcus.”
“As a loan,” Marcus reiterated.
Blayne hid a chuckle behind his last spoonful of desert. It was clear Marcus did not wish to feel beholden to Guthrie any more than he did.
“Of course,” Guthrie said. He turned his assessing gaze on Blayne. “What about you? If you accept a loan you’ll be able to purchase that property you want a lot sooner than otherwise.”
“What property?” Regina asked.
“I’ve been of a mind to get away from London for a while now,” Blayne said. “With my interest in plants, I’d like to have a spot of land to cultivate, maybe with a wee house on it. I don’t require much in the ways of a home, but a sizeable piece of land would be grand.” It would provide him with the freedom he’d started to crave since Guthrie had left The Black Swan. Blayne ran the St. Giles tavern on his own now and saved every hard-earned penny, but the place was different without his friend there, and with every passing day Blayne could feel himself getting older. It was time to move on and settle down to a quieter way of life.
“Then I hope you shall soon be able to acquire it,” Regina said. She raised her glass. “To Marcus’s medical aspirations and to Blayne’s countryside acquisition.”
Blayne drank and breathed a sigh of relief when the conversation turned to the recent coronation of George IV.
It appeared Regina’s idea of a ball had been forgotten for now, for which he was grateful. Aside from the obvious reasons he had for not attending, there was the more dreaded prospect of being recognized. As unlikely as it was after he’d spent twenty years in hiding, one couldn’t be too careful.
Least of all when one was on the run for murder.
Apprehension filled Charlotte Russell’s veins whenever she had to visit Carlisle & Co. Located on the east side of London, the publisher wasn’t in the worst possible neighborhood, but it certainly wasn’t in the finest one either. Poverty was still rife here, especially if one ventured near Dorset Street where filth and suffering appeared to be on the rise. Toxic fumes from industries such as tanning and dyeing permeated the air with a poisonous scent while the cries from unhappy children made her heart clench.
Dressed in the simplest gown she owned, Charlotte hoped to blend in with the people who lived and worked here while visiting with her friend, Avery Carlisle. The pair had attended finishing school together. They’d looked forward to promising futures back then with dreams of marrying suitable gentlemen and settling down to the lives their parents envisioned. Goodness, how quickly one’s situation could change. Avery’s mother had one day realized she’d rather sail the world with a roguish captain. When the couple ran off together it plunged Avery’s father into a state so severe he’d eventually ended up at the end of a rope. The scandal had ruined Avery’s prospects completely, but at least she and her younger brother had been remembered in the will. Enough to start their own business.
As for Charlotte, she’d made her debut at the age of eighteen, but rather than succeed at snatch
ing up an eligible gentleman for herself, she’d managed to pair them all off with other ladies. It had been, as her mother, Viscountess Elkins, had called it, an absolute disaster. But the truth was, Charlotte had longed for more than an untitled lord who only viewed her as his entrance to the peerage, an aging gentleman looking to snatch up a young bride, or a penniless fop whose only interest in her was based on her monetary value.
Instead, Charlotte had dreamed of adventure; of impassioned glances and stolen kisses. She’d wanted more than bland conversation and politely reserved conduct. What she’d sought was love – true love – the kind to spark jealousy in the hearts of those who’d chosen to marry for other reasons. She’d wanted a husband whose eyes would burn with desire whenever he saw her, who yearned for her as fervently as she yearned for him. And when she’d realized she sought the impossible, she’d given up trying to find it.
Eventually, desperate to make some progress, Charlotte’s mother had given her attention to Charlotte’s younger sisters, Melanie and Edwina. Both were now respectably married; Melanie to Sir Nichols whom she’d wed a couple of years ago, and Edwina, most recently, to Mr. Henshaw, last month. Neither appeared to be the least bit besotted with their spouse, but then, they also hadn’t had the same romantic notions as Charlotte.
Presently, at the advanced age of seven and twenty, Charlotte knew she was firmly on the shelf. She no longer dreamt of the happily-ever-after she’d wanted when she’d been presented at court. Instead, she lived vicariously through the characters in her stories. Her goal now was of an entirely different nature. It involved a quiet countryside cottage where she would be free to commit her imagination to paper. An independent life completely her own. One with no room for a husband at all.
“This third book of yours is utterly splendid,” Avery said. “There’s still the humor and excitement readers became familiar with in the first two novels, but this one has an added degree of maturity to it. Your writing is stronger and the plot… Well, I could scarcely turn the pages fast enough.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Charlotte said. “I wasn’t sure if the murder was convincing enough.”
“On the contrary, I thought that part worked really well. What I think you may need to look at is Lady Gertrude’s characterization. I fear some readers will find her a bit too brazen when she and the marquess are first introduced. It could come off as unrealistic.”
“You think I should soften her up a bit.”
“Yes. If she grows more from experience, then the scene where she must overcome her fear of heights in order to help the hero would be so much stronger.”
“Hmm…”
“I have some notes.” Avery handed over a couple of pages for Charlotte to look at. “There are a few other minor details as well, like the inconsistent color of the marquess’s eyes and the elapsed number of years since Mrs. Verdanne, the victim, first arrived in London, along with the number of guests present at the dinner party she was attending when the crime was committed.”
“I see.” Charlotte scanned the notes and saw there was more than that. Several parts of the manuscript would have to be re-written, but she was used to that by now. Apparently, no matter how perfect she thought her story to be when she handed it over to Avery, there were plenty of mistakes to be found.
“With all of this taken into consideration, how long do you suppose it would take for you to review, revise, and return the corrected work?” Leaning forward, Avery met Charlotte’s gaze. “I ask because I think it would be wonderful if we could get the book into shops before Christmas.”
“Would a month be too long?”
“No. I think a month would be fine, but not a day more or it will have to wait to be printed until next year, in which case we miss out on the extra sales we ought to acquire during the holiday season. And since we will be aiming to move quickly on this, I should like to prepare the front and back matter for the book, which brings me to the title. Have you decided on one?”
Charlotte nodded. “What do you think of The Marquess’s Unresolved Mysteries?”
“Oh! It’s perfect, Charlotte. Completely in keeping with the previous titles and with a nod to the three old cases Lady Gertrude helps the marquess crack.”
“In that case, I shall leave you to sort out the front and back matter while I take care of the edits.” Retrieving her manuscript, Charlotte placed Avery’s notes on top and slid the stack of papers inside the folio she’d brought along with her, upon which she stood.
“On another subject,” Avery said. Having also risen, she rounded her desk and faced Charlotte. “I think my brother, Albert, is quite besotted with you. He would most likely die if he learned I’d said anything, but is there a chance you might be willing to accept his attentions?”
“I’m afraid not,” Charlotte said. She gave her friend a pleasant smile. “My pursuits have changed. I no longer wish to marry but rather to avoid it.”
“He would support your writing, Charlotte.”
“He would also make demands on my time and besides, you know my position. I would want passion and with Albert there’s never been one single spark. I’m sorry, Avery, but it’s not going to happen.”
“No matter,” Avery said, “but I could not resist asking.”
Appreciating her friend’s honesty, Charlotte left her office and stepped out into the publisher’s antechamber where Albert sat behind a wide reception desk. He immediately stood, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of pink the moment he saw her.
Charlotte smiled politely and with the hope of not adding any encouragement. “Mr. Carlisle.”
“Miss Russell,” he replied, and rushed toward her. “I trust your meeting with Avery went well.”
“Oh yes. Thank you.”
“Please. Allow me to walk you to your carriage.”
Unwilling to let him think she might be remotely interested, Charlotte shook her head. “There’s really no need.”
“Oh, but I insist.” He reached for her folio.
Charlotte sidestepped him. “You’re ever so kind but I do think you ought to stay here in case other clients show up.”
“Right. Um. Will you be back again soon?”
“In a month or so. I shall see you then.” She turned away and moved toward the door leading out to the foyer.
“Indeed you shall,” Albert called after her. “Without fail.”
Charlotte winced in response to his eager tone as she pushed through the doors and made her escape. Turning right, she continued out into the street and scanned it for the hackney she’d hired in order to come here. She’d asked the coachman to wait, insisting she wouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes at most. More like half an hour or more. Apparently the coachman had thought this too long and had driven off.
Muttering a curse, Charlotte commenced walking. Whitechapel Road wasn’t far. She’d find another hackney there, no problem. With one hand on the pistol she carried in her skirt pocket whenever she went out, she set off. But when she turned left several minutes later, someone caught her from behind, his firm hand snaking around her person to trap her in place. The sharp metal edge of a blade pressed into her throat.
“Scream, and it will be the last sound you make,” a gruff voice said.
Charlotte curled her fingers around her pistol’s grip. If only she could get some leeway – spin around – threaten the villain in return. Unfortunately, her current position allowed for no such thing. “All right.”
“Did I say you could speak?” The blade pressed deeper. “I’ll just take this and be on my way.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and prayed. She’d never felt more helpless. And she hated it. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t ask one of her parents’ footmen to join her on her excursions. Their loyalty lay with her parents so they couldn’t be trusted with Charlotte’s secret while Daisy, the maid who’d been meant to accompany Charlotte, had been sent on an errand by Charlotte’s mother at the last minute, leaving Charlotte with no other choice bu
t to set off alone if she was to keep her appointment.
Swallowing, Charlotte tried to steady her breathing – to not panic while the thief grabbed her reticule. It contained more money than usual – three months’ worth of royalties in the amount of one hundred and fifty pounds.
Harsh laughter filled her ears. “I like the weight of this. Now stay still and count to twenty.”
Charlotte started to do as she was told, but the moment the blade left her throat, she drew her pistol from within the folds of her skirt and whipped around, only to learn that the thief had waited for just the right moment to flee. A group of children were now approaching the spot where she stood, blocking her line of fire as the thief raced away behind them. Charlotte’s hand shook in response to the shocking encounter. She lowered it and took a tremulous breath.
This really wouldn’t do. If she was to keep on coming here, she would have to ensure her own safety.
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Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
I hope you have enjoyed The Formidable Earl! The next Diamond In The Rough novel will feature Carlton Guthrie’s associate, Blayne MacNeil. I’ve never written a Scottish hero before, so I’m really looking forward to giving it a go. Although Miss Charlotte Russell never intended for him to be more than a bodyguard, her father’s sudden decision to force her into marriage with an American businessman prompts her to make fake fiancé one of MacNeil’s job requirements. Neither is what they seem to each other. She’s hiding a scandalous secret while he’s on the run for murder. I can’t wait to help them past all the obstacles in their path so they can have the happily-ever-after they deserve.
And to those of you who are anxious to know if Marcus Russell, Viscount Seabrook, who was stripped of his title in The Forgotten Duke, will have a book of his own, the answer is yes.
The Formidable Earl Page 30