by Meara Platt
The Viscount’s Rose, A Midsummer’s Kiss and Earl of Hearts are prequels to Rules For Reforming A Rake, The Duke I’m Going To Marry, and My Fair Lily. However, each book is a stand-alone love story, so don’t hesitate to start with any one of them!
If you enjoyed Earl of Hearts, I would really appreciate it if you could post a review on the site where you purchased it or other sites where you subscribe. Even a few sentences on what you thought about the book would be most helpful! Please also consider telling your friends about the FARTHINGALE SERIES and recommending it to your book clubs.
Love always,
Meara
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF MY FAIR LILY
CHAPTER 1
Mayfair District, London
April 1818
“JASPER, YE BOLLIX! No!”
Lily Farthingale had just passed through the front gate of her family’s fashionable townhouse to turn onto Chipping Way when she heard a deep, rumbling bark followed closely by a repeat of the man’s frantic shout. In the next moment, she was knocked to the ground by the biggest, hairiest excuse for a dog she’d ever set eyes upon, more of a muddy brown carpet with legs and a playfully wagging tail.
“Ugh! Get off me!” Lily cried, but the dog paid no heed, too excited and happy to contain his joy. He stared down at her as though she were his favorite person in the world, even though she was now flat on her back in one of the many puddles left by the morning’s rain, her spectacles dangling off her nose. “I said, get—ew!”
The slobbering beast had begun licking her face, his tongue leaving a trail of drool across her cheek, her chin, and even more disgustingly, on her mouth.
She was still spitting his drool from her lips when the owner reached her side and unceremoniously lifted Jasper out of the way. “Och, lass! Are ye hurt?”
Only her pride. “I don’t think so. But I’ve lost my book.” More precisely, she’d lost the book she had borrowed from her elderly neighbor, Lady Eloise Dayne, and was on her way to return when attacked by the playful beast. It had flown out of her hands, and she had no idea where it might have landed.
“I’m that sorry, lass. My fault entirely.” The burly Scotsman knelt beside her, looming quite large, or so he seemed to her slightly dazed eyes, for he was broad in the shoulders and almost as shaggy as his dog. His reddish-brown hair was as thick and unkempt as his companion’s. His bushy growth of beard made him appear as daunting as a pirate.
“I’ll pay for the damage, of course.” He tried to straighten the spectacles on her nose but then simply removed them when he couldn’t. “Ewan Cameron’s the name, and I’m in residence at…och, I’m not sure o’ that yet, but you can contact me through Eloise Dayne.”
“You know Lady Dayne?” Lily gazed at him in surprise, wondering how and where a man such as he might have met her respectable neighbor.
“That I do, lass,” he said with an engaging smile.
His lips were nicely shaped, and so was his jaw, what Lily could see of it beneath his beard. She ought to have been more than a little intimidated, perhaps afraid of this rugged stranger, but he’d mentioned Eloise, which meant he was no ruffian, though he quite looked the part.
He took gentle hold of her hand. “Can ye move?”
She nodded. “I’m sure I can.”
“Good. Be careful now. Put your arms about my neck, and I’ll help ye out of this puddle.” He spoke in a deep, rumbling brogue that she found surprisingly comforting. “Poor little thing, ye must be soaked to the skin.”
Up close, practically nose to nose, Lily could not help but notice his darkly sensual eyes, a deep, forest green with flecks of gray swirling within their depths. Mercy! “You mustn’t concern yourself, sir.” A little “eep” escaped her lips as his rough hands now circled her waist and his keen, assessing gaze locked onto hers. “I’m fine…truly.”
“Can’t say as much for your frock,” he muttered, helping her to her unsteady feet, which must have been the reason he held on to her a moment longer than was necessary. He released her when she regained her footing, then retrieved his handkerchief, and was about to use it to dab the mud off her gown when he suddenly stopped and let out a short, strangled laugh. “Ah…er…och, lass,” he said, his hands hovering precariously over her breasts, “ye’d better…I can’t …no, I definitely can’t—”
Lily followed his gaze as it swept the front of her gown.
Jasper’s muddy paws had left a perfect imprint on each of her lightly heaving breasts—like an officious clerk with his itchy fingers on a new ink stamp. Stamp! Stamp! The delicate lemon silk just delivered yesterday, which she had worn for all of ten minutes, was ruined.
Oh, crumpets!
The noticeable paw prints on her front were bad enough, but there were also splotches of mud along the length of the expensive fabric, and cold, murky water from the puddle in which she’d landed now seeped down her back.
Jasper, obviously feeling contrite, whimpered as he came forward and rubbed his head against her knees. Tufts of his hair ground into the ruined fabric, leaving it not only wet and muddy but now adorned with dog hairs.
Oh, perfect! What more can go wrong today?
And where were her spectacles? She recalled Ewan Cameron had taken them off her nose before he put his arms around her…and then she’d gazed into his eyes and simply forgotten about everything.
“Can ye walk on your own, lass? Shall I help ye into the house?”
“Thank you, Mr. Cameron. I can manage the rest of the way.” She couldn’t very well say it had been a pleasure to meet him, since it hadn’t been. Anyway, they hadn’t been properly introduced. “It was a most unusual…well, unexpected…encounter. I don’t suppose we shall ever meet again. Goodbye.”
She turned to walk back into the house, took a step, and squished. Took another halting step, then another. Squish, squish.
Her humiliation was now complete.
“Lass, I had better go with ye,” he said, clearing his throat and once again smothering the laughter Lily knew was desperate to burst out of him. “I can explain to your father. It wouldn’t sit right with me if ye were punished for something that was entirely my fault.”
“It isn’t necessary,” she insisted, holding her head up proudly even as droplets of water dripped off her nose. She wished he would stop acting kindly and simply go away.
The sooner this embarrassment was forgotten, the better.
Jasper, now standing between her and the Farthingale entry gate, began to whimper again.
“That’s right. Ye ought to be ashamed, ye great beastie,” his owner muttered. “Look at the mess ye’ve made of the pretty girl.”
As though understanding his every word, the dog gazed at Lily with the softest, most innocent brown eyes. His tail wagged hesitantly, once…twice. Oh, his big chocolate eyes! Too adorable to resist. Lily succumbed with a sigh. “You’re forgiven, Jasper. Now, to find my book—”
Jasper was off in a shot and back in a trice with the volume, a work written by the Scottish scientist Colin MacLaurin about sixty years ago on the theory of fluxions. Tail wagging, eyes gleaming with pride, he dropped it at her feet…and into the puddle from which she’d just emerged.
His owner let out an agonized groan. “Lass, I’ll pay for that, too.”
END
SNEAK PEEK: THE VISCOUNT’S ROSE
CHAPTER 1
Mayfair District, London
June 1813
“JULIAN, PLEASE. I wish you’d meet Rolf.”
“Enough, Nicola! I’m not interested.” Lord Julian Emory, the tenth Viscount Chatham, stifled a groan as he assisted his sister down from his carriage in front of Number 3 Chipping Way, the stately residence of her best friend, the one whose given name he couldn’t recall at the moment because Nicola always referred to her as Rolf. Who would call a young lady that anyway? It was the sort of name one gave to a dog.
Nicola frowned at him. “She’s wonderful, as are all the Farthingales. You’ll agree
once you meet them. Rolf is so much more clever than any debutante making her come-out this season. Much nicer than those supposedly elegant ladies you keep fast company with. Please come in with me, Julian.”
He was about to decline, as he had every day this past week, when a small explosion suddenly rocked the quiet street. “Nicola, get back in the carriage. Now!”
“But Rolf—Ack!”
He tossed his sister inside without waiting for her to obey and ordered his coachman to drive a safe distance away before leaping over the gate, for he’d heard several high-pitched cries for help coming from the garden of the very townhouse his sister was about to visit. He ran toward the screams and noticed a small funnel of black smoke rising from a makeshift structure in the far corner of the garden.
Two young girls were being held back by two older women, but the girls were obviously struggling to break free and run toward the danger. He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Is anyone in there?” he demanded to know, removing his jacket. He intended to use it as a blanket to extinguish any spreading flames, although the fire appeared to be contained and dying out on its own.
“Our sister’s in there,” one of the girls replied, gazing at him through tearful blue eyes.
“Her kiln exploded,” the other girl said, gazing at him through identical blue eyes. Had his vision suddenly blurred? He was seeing identical faces.
No matter, he’d sort it all out once he’d rescued their sister.
Julian placed his jacket protectively over his nose and mouth, dropped to a crouch, and nudged open the door, which had almost blown off but was still hanging on one hinge. The black funnel of smoke quickly dissipated as it wafted outside, confirming the fire had burned itself out, leaving only smoke in its wake. He had only to find the sister.
Don’t let her be dead or injured.
He’d engaged in enough battles on the Peninsula to understand the damage that wounds caused. The remnants were not only visible scars but invisible ones as well, the sort that pierced deep under one’s flesh and festered. Damn. He didn’t even know the young innocent’s name to call out to her. “Miss? Can you hear me? Where are you?”
His eyes watered as smoke and dust enveloped him. He wasn’t halfway into the small enclosure when he heard a soft moan coming from behind an overturned table. The girl was alive but in what condition? He approached and saw that her ankle was pinned under the table, so he quickly righted it and then knelt to check her for broken bones before he dared move her. The bigger risk now was a break, a bump on the head, or other unknown internal injury.
He brushed a few stray locks off her forehead and spoke gently, relieved to feel no lumps forming on her brow. “Can you move your fingers?”
“I… I th-think so.” She appeared to do so without much effort.
“Now raise your arms, one at a time.” Again, she managed with little effort. “I’m going to touch your legs, don’t be alarmed.”
“Nothing will alarm me after this,” she said, punctuating each word with a cough. Even so, the gentle amusement in her raspy voice sent an unexpected warmth coursing through his blood. There was a sweet, melodic quality to her voice.
“Good, because I need to make certain you have no spinal damage and then get you out of here before the roof collapses atop us.” He touched her leg. “Can you feel my hand on you?” Because he sure as hell could feel her soft, shapely leg, and that warmth flowing through his blood had just turned fiery.
“Yes, I can.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m going to take off your slippers and I’d like you to wiggle your toes, one foot at a time.”
She was able to do as he asked but winced as she tried to move her injured ankle, which appeared to be the only damage she’d sustained. Of course, she’d inhaled some smoke. That was worrisome depending on how much she’d taken in. “Put your arms around my neck.”
He lifted her into his arms while she did so and carried her out into the cool, fresh air. She coughed again as her lungs took in the cooler air and—merciful heavens—he felt each heave of her ample breasts against his chest.
Fiery did not begin to describe the heat now raging through his body.
Bloody nuisance.
“Who are you?” he asked.
END
ALSO BY MEARA PLATT
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Earl of Hearts
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
Never Dare A Duke
WOLFEBANE “ANGELS” SERIES
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
THE BRAYDENS
A Match Made In Duty
Earl of Westcliff
PIRATES OF BRITANNIA
Pearls of Fire
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meara Platt is a USA Today bestselling author and an award winning, Amazon UK All-star. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her award-winning paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. If you’d like to learn more about the ancient Fae prophecy that is about to unfold in the Dark Gardens series, as well as Meara’s lighthearted, international bestselling Regency romances in the Farthingale Series and the Braydens Series, please visit Meara’s website at www.mearaplatt.com.
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