Attracted to the Earl is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Loveswept Ebook Original
Copyright © 2019 by Bronwen Evans
Excerpt from A Kiss of Lies by Bronwen Evans copyright © 2014 by Bronwen Evans
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN 9781101969526
Cover design: Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs
Cover photographs: Taria Reed/The Reed Files (man), idcde/Depositphotos.com (background)
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Dedication
Author's Note
About the Author
By Bronwen Evans
Excerpt from A Kiss of Lies
Chapter 1
LONDON—MAY 1816
There was nothing Guy liked more than having a long hot bath after a vigorous afternoon of sexual congress. Especially when his bed partner was none other than the beautiful widowed Lady Beth Paxton. Her elderly and infirm husband had had the decency to die, and she had been indulging herself ever since.
Married four years ago at the age of twenty to a man old enough to be her father was never a girl’s dream. But with her father dead and her mother having no money, she did what all well-bred, destitute daughters were expected to do—she married for money.
She was brought up well, following society’s dictates, so she had not indulged in affairs until after her husband had died. Or so she would have society believe. But the rumor was that since her husband could not perform, she’d been sleeping with any man she could in order to get with child before Lord Paxton passed.
Childless, she received a small widow’s pension, but if she provided a son she would reign in luxury as Lady Paxton with Lord Paxton’s heir.
Taking Guy to her bed was proof she’d born no son. No child at all. On Lord Paxton’s death, with Beth’s mother now in her grave too, and finding herself without the means to live the life she wanted, she’d turned to the oldest profession, one she seemed to relish and enjoy. Which was a small blessing.
Six months ago, Guy became her latest “protector.” He’d taken pride in the fact that he’d won her favor, given he was not the richest man pursuing the beautiful young widow. As the second son of the Earl of Argyle he had a generous allowance from his brother, but he could not compete in the financial stakes with the likes of Lord Ashton or Lord Clifton. Yet he had youth and looks on his side against those wealthier men.
Beth had become his mistress upon his discharge from the army; however, he could feel their time was coming to an end. She’d been complaining about the lack of jewelry he’d presented to her. And he did not blame her for wanting more financial security than he could provide.
Guy spent most of his allowance on this house that he leased for her at the edge of Russell Square. When he was not here with Beth, he was at the townhouse of his brother, the Earl of Argyle, in London. He knew he had to look at getting his own residence but he had only been out of the army for six months and, ironic as it was since he was sitting in a tub of it, he felt like a fish out of water. He had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Given his—affliction—he didn’t know what he could do.
Guy would be sad to end his liaison. He believed Beth would be too, and that was why she had put off the conversation he’d known was coming. She genuinely liked him, as he liked her. But in their world money ruled. He understood that.
He picked up a jug on the stool next to the tub and poured water over his head to rinse off the soap before sluicing water from his face with his hand.
“Darling, will you be long? I’d like a word before I have to dress for Lady Skye’s soiree.”
Yes. She was definitely going to end their liaison. Usually she joined him in the tub, with most of the water ending up on the floor. He particularly liked it when he took her from behind as she knelt holding on to the end of the tub for dear life. He could make her come and come and come in that position, as his hands were free to caress her little hardened nub.
Goddamn it, now he was hard for her again.
He closed his eyes and thought of his dead father, who Guy hoped was burning in hell. That was enough to see him flaccid within moments. With a resigned sigh he stood and stepped from the tub, reaching for a towel. He dried himself off before grabbing a second towel and wrapping it around his hips and joining Beth in the boudoir.
She was pacing with her hands clasped together, her sheer negligee hiding nothing of her voluptuous curves as the late afternoon sun shone through the window. He took pity on her once again and preempted her.
“It’s all right, sweeting. I understand why you need to end our liaison.” He shook his head as tears welled in her eyes.
“It’s just Lord Clifton has promised me a small fortune. Enough that I will need no other protector once my liaison with him ends.”
He briefly closed his eyes on the idea of Beth having to have sex with the likes of Clifton. He walked to where she stood so desolate and pulled her into his arms. “Just ensure he gives you whatever he has promised you before you bed him. Don’t let him fob you off. He could die and I’m pretty sure his widow and brother would never give you a penny.”
She sobbed against his chest. “Thank you. I have really enjoyed our time together. I will never forget you.”
He thought she was sincere but what else could one say when an arrangement was ending. “I doubt I’ll forget you either, Beth. You helped me heal from the horrors of war.”
She pulled out of his embrace and ran her fingers over the long, puckered scar that ran from his back to his stomach. The wound that almost killed him.
“I’m glad. As a prost—”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Don’t say that word. We all do what we must in this world. Never be ashamed for being a survivor.” Images of what he had endured and faced in his past flashed through his vivid memory. His father’s brutality, the wars he’d fought in, the men he’d killed…He cleared his throat. Now was not the time for self-pity.
Beth apparently had the same thought. She swallowed hard and wiped the tears from her face. “Soon I will be free to choose my lovers without worrying about money. Perhaps I will come calling then.” She pressed some notes into his palm. “Lord Clifton took over paying the lease this month so I am returning to you what you paid in advance.”
He looked down at the notes in his hand and gave them back to her. “Keep it. You have more need of it than I.”
Tears welled once more. “I shall miss having you in my bed.” He didn’t doubt it—Clifton was old. “Some lady is going to be very lucky to become your wife.”
His last coherent thought as she
tore the towel from his hips and lowered herself to her knees was that Beth had no idea how unlikely his taking a wife would ever be.
She had just slipped his rampant erection between her sweet, skillful lips when there was an urgent pounding on the bedchamber door.
She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.
“Ignore it,” he urged, and he let out a groan as her mouth sucked him deep.
The pounding continued. “Mr. Neville, please, sir. There is an urgent missive arrived for you from Argyle House.”
It was not only the pounding on the door that saw him pull Beth up from her knees. It was fear. Kit—Christopher, his valet, was not here. “I will be with you shortly,” he called to the servant banging on the door.
He pushed Beth behind the modesty screen and pulled a robe off the end of the bed before walking to the door. To his surprise it was Evan, a groomsman from Argyle House, his family’s seat near Cambridge. It must be serious.
“Lady Argyle bid me to put this directly into your hands.” Evan handed him a note from his mother with the family seal on it—except the seal was in black not red.
A shiver hit.
He stood there like a statue, his insides rollicking in panic as he reached for the note. It must be important to send it to him. Reginald should know better. But then, it was not Reginald’s script; he could at least recognize that.
Evan stood there expectantly. “I’m to await your instructions.”
He needed time. Time to find Kit. “Can you wait downstairs while I dress?” he said, and in a panic Guy simply closed the door in Evan’s face.
Beth stepped out from behind the screen. “Who is the missive from?” she asked, pointing to the unopened note in his hand. “Are you not going to open it?”
His brain and mouth froze. What could he say? I don’t want to because I cannot read? He kept his inadequacy well hidden. So he used his finger to break the seal and unfold the note.
It was his mother’s writing, very messy, the letters looking more jumbled than usual. He tried to focus. Tried to make sense of each letter, but even though Kit had been able to teach him to recognize small words like “yes” and “no,” the letters on the note made his insides clench. Klipmmp juliomy…
“Whatever is in the message? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.” And to his immense relief Beth pulled it from his hand. As she began to read the note her face paled too and she looked up at him. “Oh, my God. No wonder you have gone pale. I’ll pour you a whisky, my lord.” She handed him back the note. “Perhaps I have been too hasty accepting Lord Clifton’s offer.”
It took him but moments to understand. The black seal, the fact that Reginald had not sent the message, and Beth had called him “my lord.” When she pushed the glass of whisky into his hand, she added, “I know you were close to your brother. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Reginald was dead.
His whole body shook with the horror of it and he sunk to sit on the edge of the bed before his legs crumpled beneath him. And he hadn’t even been able to read his mother’s note telling him he was now the Earl of Argyle.
His father’s stupid, idiot son was now the earl. The boy who could not read or write, the boy his father had beaten until he was almost unconscious on several occasions, but that still did not make Guy able to read or write…was now the Earl of Argyle. His father must be turning in his grave, and Guy liked that idea.
The loss of Reginald hit him hard and his chest hurt. His brother had always been kind, had tried to protect him from his father. As children they had sat up late at night, Reginald helping him memorize the lessons so no one could tell he could not read anything.
And now his staunch protector was dead.
Guy wanted to scream at the unfairness of the world but he knew from experience that screaming didn’t help.
He closed his eyes against the burn of anger and shame. He could not even read his mother’s note. He would never be able to do what Reginald could.
He couldn’t read, for God’s sake. He was stupid. An idiot.
He tried to breathe but it was as if all the air was being sucked out of the room. He wanted to claw at his chest.
Then Beth’s arms were around him. “It’s all right, my lord.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
She didn’t respond immediately, instead she hugged him tighter. “It is your correct title now, my lord. I wish you could stay longer but your mother’s comment about your cousin’s concern and the funeral…Well, you must of course leave immediately.”
Patrick Neville—his cousin’s name—made his skin crawl. Older than Reginald, Patrick was a cruel and bitter man. Bitter that he had not been born to Guy’s father instead of the earl’s younger brother. He wanted what Reginald had—the title and estate—and had made Reginald’s life at Eton a living hell.
Patrick could never get his hands on the title, but what would he do if he learned Guy’s shameful secret? He could be made trustee of the estate if he could prove Guy was unfit. Patrick knew something was wrong with Guy, but he didn’t know what the problem was. He had always been curious as to why Guy never went to Eton and why Guy’s father had beaten him so often.
If Patrick learned about Guy’s inability to read or write…would he have a case?
Guy closed his eyes and prayed for his dead brother, and for himself.
How on earth was he ever going to cope as the Earl of Argyle?
Chapter 2
NEAR YORK—JULY 1817
Abigail Pinehurst hated the man sitting on the other side of the large desk. She hated Mr. Patrick Neville to the point that, God help her, she’d be quite capable of sticking a knife through his heart—if he had one.
“Are you clear on your task?” His voice held a cruel note to it, cold as a big hailstone and just as hurtful.
“I am to use my time at the Earl of Argyle’s estate to spy for you.” She only just hid her sneer.
“ ‘Spy’ is such an uncouth word. I simply wish to ensure that my…cousin…Guy Neville, the new earl, will be able to cope with his new role.”
“What is it I should be looking for? I doubt I’ll have access to his study or anything important. I’m simply there to draw the Ghost Orchid. It was arranged with his late brother over a year ago, by my benefactor, Lady Calthorpe.”
Unfortunately, Lady Calthorpe was distantly related to Patrick Neville and suddenly Abigail’s prearranged time at Lord Argyle’s estate to draw the Ghost Orchid was being warped into something distasteful.
“I’m not sure exactly. There is a secret the family is keeping relating specifically to Guy Neville, I just don’t know what it is.” He tried to smile but it made her think of a shark’s gaping mouth filled with sharp, killing teeth. “A beautiful woman such as you should have no trouble getting close to Guy and uncovering his secrets.”
Her back stiffened. “I hope you are not implying what I think you are? I am not that sort of woman.”
“Aren’t you?” The smile was gone and in its place was menace. “I know your scandalous secret. If Lady Calthorpe were to learn of your past you’d be out on the street. I’ll make sure no one of good social standing would ever employ you again.” He leered at her. “Of course, I could find a place for you as my mistress if you were desperate.”
Oh, to be able to slap that ugly face, but a woman of little means could not afford that luxury. Instead she smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I shall do as you ask.” She stood and made to leave the room, and under her breath she added, “And I promise you I’ll never be that desperate.”
Mr. Neville also rose and almost yelled at her across the study, “I expect weekly updates until I arrive at the estate; and then you must remember to act as though we have never met.”
As she took her leave, all Abigail could think was she wished they had never met.
But when in her life had she ever gotten what she wanted.
Chapter 3
ARGYLE HOUSE, CAMBRIDGE—A
UGUST 1817
“I know we needed the rain but this is the second day stuck inside and I’m longing for a good gallop.”
Guy had to agree with Kit’s sentiments as he shot the billiard cue and watched the ball roll into the left pocket. “At least we had time to go over Mr. Tennyson’s stock reports before our meeting tomorrow. The lamb numbers are impressive.”
Kit pointed his cue at Guy. “It still amazes me how you are able to memorize numbers.”
“Years of practice.” That is the one thing he was good at, numbers. Not reading them, but adding them in his head. Numbers were easy to remember.
“Are you sure Mr. Tennyson cannot be taken into your confidence. He’s been with the family for the past twelve years. Your brother thought very highly of him, I’ve been told.”
Guy stood up from where he was bent over the billiard table. “No.”
“Surely he can—”
“No one can be trusted. Dear cousin Patrick is sniffing at my heels like the rabid dog he is. He wants the estate and if he can make a case that I am unfit…”
“There is no way he would ever make people believe you are unfit. You’re a goddamn war hero.”
Kit had been Guy’s batman. The third son of a successful merchant, he had quickly realized that Guy could not read when Guy had been able to fool many others. Kit also realized that Guy was not stupid. Guy’s ability to strategize and anticipate the enemy’s next move was why they were still alive.
But Guy could not have held his command without Kit, and when he was wounded on the battlefield it was Kit who had saved him. He owed his friend a lot, so it was only natural that when they left the army, Kit came with him. Reginald understood the need too and that is why Guy had received such a generous allowance. It enabled him to employ Kit as his valet.
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