Emma sat in the receiving room at Benton Place, unable to stop the bouncing of her leg any more than she could the racing of her thoughts. Beast had long since flopped over and was snoring softly beside Alistair, who sat with a more companionable stillness.
Alistair put a hand over hers, warm and comforting and exactly what she’d needed.
“He’ll be fine, my love,” he said softly. The bruise around his eye had darkened to a terrible shade of purple that made her heart ache.
“He should have been home by now.” She glanced at the grand wooden clock set against the blue silk wall covering. It was after two in the morning. It had been hours since they left MacKenzie to take the cart to the labyrinth of London’s more seedy area.
Hamish slept soundly in the servants’ quarters above them, wearing the valet’s garments MacKenzie had originally worn. The plan had been brilliant, with Hamish acting as an injured valet and MacKenzie smuggling the whisky the rest of the way. The physician had claimed that while Hamish had received a considerable knock to the skull, he would be fine.
At Emma’s insistence, the physician had also surveyed Alistair’s eye and deemed him fine.
They were all fine, in fact, and MacKenzie should be as well.
After such an ordeal, it was too easy to see how quickly things could go wrong. She twisted the bracelet at her arm, taking comfort in its weight returned to its rightful place.
“I know you aren’t happy in London,” Alistair said. “Would you desire to go to Thorne House once the dust has settled?”
It was an attempt at distracting her, and she was eager to play along, to cast aside her anxiety for that brief moment. “You will be joining me, won’t you?”
“Of course. Wherever it is you would prefer to go.”
“Anywhere?”
He nodded.
She pursed her lips, though she’d already considered this possibility and knew her answer. “I wish to go to Scotland. To Lochslin Castle. We can all go back, with Hamish and MacKenzie, and I can see if Hammonds and Dubois will join us.”
Her servants had been released from their imprisonment as soon as Alistair brought the rest of the Bow Street Runners to the terrible scene on the outskirts of town. Hammonds and Dubois were thin and dirty, but were overjoyed to see Emma safe. She had repaid their savings ten times over and offered for them to live at Benton Place.
Alistair’s brows lifted. “Ye want to live in Lochslin?” He pronounced it charmingly in his burr, the one that had been woefully absent since their arrival earlier that day.
“Aye,” she teased. “And I want ye to speak with yer bonny brogue again.”
He laughed at that. “Ye like it?”
A shiver of delight teased down her back. After all, many of their more sensual interludes included that burr whispered in her ear, saying wonderfully delicious things.
“Very much.” She did not bother to hide her blush. “And it’s part of you. I don’t want you to mask it from me the way you hide it from others.”
The door at the back of the house opened and they both jumped to their feet. Beast lifted his head and dropped it to the floor once more, entirely disinterested in light of the exhaustive excitement of the day.
Emma and Alistair made their way to the kitchen as quietly as they could. MacKenzie stood in the shadowed doorway, wearing Hamish’s kilt and leine. Emma gasped in relief.
The clothes were desperate for a good washing, including Hamish’s tam MacKenzie had donned atop his head. Exhaustion lined his face, but he was there, safe and wearing a victorious grin.
“It’s done,” he said. “I made arrangements for the last bit of it to be emptied from the carriage tomorrow by trustworthy men.” He lifted a sack he held at his side. “I’ve even got the rest of yer clothes here, my lord.”
“I dinna give a damn about my clothes.” Alistair rushed forward and caught the valet in a great, masculine embrace.
“I do. It’s my job to care,” MacKenzie said with obvious affront. “Though I canna think of what might be done for yer face.” He nodded to Alistair’s eye.
Alistair chuckled and nudged the valet with a playfulness that demonstrated their years of friendship.
MacKenzie’s expression sobered. “Hamish?”
“He’s fine.” Alistair pointed upward. “Sleeping like a lass up in yer bed. The green room has been prepared for ye.”
MacKenzie hesitated, but Alistair pushed him onward. “I dinna care to hear protests. Off with ye.”
This time MacKenzie did not hesitate and left with shuffling feet. Once he was gone, Alistair drew Emma into the wonderful comfort of his arms. Her head lay on his chest where his heart pulsed steady and strong under her ear. “Everything is fine, my wife.” He hesitated. “Are ye sure ye want to go to Lochslin? Even with Madge?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I think Madge enjoys my company.”
Alistair smoothed a hand over Emma’s hair and prickles of pleasure danced over her skin. “Aye, she more than approves of ye. And ye’ve shown her no’ everyone English is bad. Ye’ve certainly shown me as much.”
“Have I?” she asked.
“Aye, in fact some things English can be verra, verra good.” His hand skimmed over her waist.
Emma drew in a soft gasp, and all the desire and passion that sorrow had rendered dormant jolted to life. “Perhaps you ought to show me exactly what you mean.”
He growled and swept her into his arms. “It would be my pleasure.” And with that he carried her up the stairs and showed her exactly how much he appreciated every English part of her.
Epilogue
August 1818
Lochslin Castle, Scotland
Lochslin Castle was finally on the way to being put to proper order. Alistair surveyed the changes with an appraising eye.
The plaster had been dry for over a week without showing any signs of cracking, and the roof no longer leaked. Hamish had done a good job on the lot of it, and it was a far safer task for the lad than smuggling whisky. After what they’d been through, even Madge agreed it was plenty good to let her da’s business stay open only for locals to partake and enjoy.
Alistair eyed the cobblestones, admiring the recent and full repair. Perfect timing, as it were. It wouldn’t do to have Emma trip over them, with her limited ability to see her feet as late.
“You’ve done an admirable job bringing Lochslin back to a state of glory, Alistair.” Her soft voice sounded behind him.
“I was just thinking of ye.” He turned and cradled her face in his palm. “Both of ye.” He caressed the massive swell of her stomach. Beast shoved around her skirts and thrust his muzzle against Alistair’s leg. He laughed and lowered his hand from Emma’s face to pat the dog’s head. “All three of ye.”
The mound of Emma’s stomach under his palm pushed against him and they both shared a happy smile. “We’re both doing well,” Emma said. “Though one of us has been excessively active as late. I assure you it isn’t me.”
Pregnancy suited his wife. Her skin glowed with her joy and her cheeks and lips remained perpetually rosy. If he were being honest, he was delighted with how her full breasts had grown even larger, though she complained often enough about them, he didn’t think it wise to venture a compliment on that particular feature.
“Madge says the baby will come soon.” She ran a hand over her belly and bit her lip in consideration.
“What do ye think?” he asked.
“I think I’m ready for Dubois to stop pushing food upon me, and I’m certainly ready to see my feet again.” She made a show of trying to look at her feet. The French cook had settled in the kitchen in relative peace with the cook already working there, and did often push Emma to eat a considerable amount. Hammonds, never one to be outdone, ensured the food could be secreted away when Dubois was not paying attention.
“I think I’m ready to meet my son,” he grinned.
“And if our child is a girl?” she asked.
“Then I’ll m
ake sure she never questions her beauty, or the love we have for her.” He brushed a finger over the bracelet on her wrist. “Are ye nervous?”
Emma shook her head. “I have the strength of a husband to keep me safe. And Madge will not let anything happen to me.”
He chuckled. “Nay, she willna. I’ve never seen her happier.”
“Mmm…” Emma tilted her head. “She says the same of you.”
“Oh?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “And what of ye, my bonny wife?”
“I’m glad I gave marriage a chance,” she said with a coy expression. “It’s far more wonderful than ever I thought possible.”
“I think we’ve both been grateful for the chances we’ve taken and the joy we’ve been so fortunate to share.” He hugged her against him, and together they watched as the sun slowly sank into the horizon, casting a wash of vivid colors on the backdrop of Lochslin Castle and their perfectly blissful life.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, a huge thank you to Erica Monroe for being the reason this book is even being released at all. I swear, you have added years back onto my life with everything you do for me. I am the luckiest person ever to have you in my life!
Thank you so much to Lorrie for all your wonderful, suggestions and guidance! You always help make all my books so very wonderful.
Thank you to my amazing beta readers who helped make this story so much more with their wonderful suggestions: Kacy Stanfield, Wendy Bernard Blair, Liette Bougie, Tracy Emro, Tarina Silvis, Jennifer Wadkins and Darlene Norton Michel.
Thank you to Janet Kazmirski for always being one of my biggest fans and for doing a final read-through for me with your eagle eyes. I couldn’t ask for a better mother. I love you so much!
A big thank you to Wendy Chan (AKA The Passionate Proofreader) for all her amazing work in making sure my books are typo-free. I’d be a mess without her!
And thank you so much to my readers for always being so fantastically supportive and eager for my next book.
THANK YOU FOR READING
Thank you so much for reading Earl of Benton. I truly hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please know that I read all my reviews and welcome your thoughts on my book.
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THE WICKED EARLS CLUB
Meet twelve of the most wickedly sinful earls in all of Regency England. Together they make up the Wicked Earls' Club. A secret group, marked with a single golden W; it is a place where these deliciously devious earls can indulge in their darkest desires. Though fate may have something else planned for them entirely. Read twelve standalone novellas as each wicked earl finds love and redemption.
Read the rest of the Wicked Earls Club
Earl of Sussex by Tammy Andresen
Earl of Westcliff by Meara Platt
Earl of Wainthrope by Collette Cameron
Earl of Sunderland by Aubrey Wynne
Earl of Basingstoke by Aileen Fish
Earl of Weston by Anna St. Claire
Earl of Davenport by Maggie Dallen
Earl of Grayson by Amanda Mariel
Earl of Benton by Madeline Martin
Earl of Pembroke by Lauren Smith
Earl of St. Seville by Christina McKnight
Earl of Harrington by Dawn Brower
Read on for an excerpt from Earl of Pembroke by Lauren Smith!
An Excerpt from
EARL OF PEMBROKE
by Lauren Smith
Purchase here
Chapter One
London in the day was a bustling city with carriages speeding along the cobblestoned streets and women selling flowers in heavily perfumed baskets while the crowds perused the shops and paid calls on friends. But as darkness fell, shadows couple play tricks on the eyes of those foolish enough to walk the streets after the sun dropped beneath the horizon.
And I am one of those fools.
Gillian Beaumont squinted at the nearest alley, swallowing hard and holding back a scream of fear every time she thought she saw something fluttering in the mews like a bat’s wings. The coach she had taken to the Temple Bar District was already rattling away, leaving her alone. The leaves of the early fall scuttled along the ground, tangling in her skirts like brown spiders, making her jump. She gripped her gown below her knees and gave the fabric a shake, trying to loosen the dried leaves from her dark purple satin gown. Then she faced her surroundings. She stood on the street close to the Royal Courts of Justice and the entrance to Twinings Tea Shop.
Through the heavy gloom she could see the gilded sign that read Twinings and just make out the two Chinese gentlemen sculpted into the stone above the tea shop’s name. Their faces seemed fierce in the shadows and Gillian looked away, turning her attention to the tall black form of the griffin statue that now looked more like a dragon because the shadows played tricks on her eyes.
In that moment she wished she was back in her warm bed. Asleep. Asleep and dreaming of one particular man and the stolen kisses they’d shared that kept pushing into her consciousness.
James Fordyce. The Earl of Pembroke was a dashing gentleman with a heart of gold and the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She could still feel her hands threading through the strands of his dark hair as he kissed her in the corner of a book shop and whispered poetry to her. He was everything she’d dreamed of but could never have. She was a servant, and could be nothing more than that. A pang deep in her chest made her catch her breath, but she straightened her shoulders, shrugging off the pain, something she’d been trained to do for many years.
As dangerous as a dream of James was to her equilibrium, it was a far sight safer than what she was currently engaged in—chasing after her wild, headstrong mistress, Audrey Sheridan.
Audrey was this very night attempting to expose a group of scoundrels who belonged to a hellfire club known as the Unholy Sinners of Hell. Such a dreadful name for a dreadful group of gentlemen. As a lady’s maid, Gillian’s duties ought to have been limited to dressing Audrey, preparing her for the day, and coming up with new ways to style her hair. She should not be sneaking about in the Strand after dark in a half domino mask and a dark purple evening gown with an impossibly low bodice, searching for a group of dangerous men who were rumored to seduce virgins and make sacrifices to the devil.
“Heavens, Audrey, what have you gotten us into?” Gillian muttered to herself. She hastily examined the addresses of the buildings nearby, and recalled the location from a letter Audrey had shown her earlier that morning which contained directions to the club.
The letter said the club was inside a tall, white building two doors down from Twinings Tea Shop. The door knocker was an iron gargoyle’s face sneering at all visitors. As she reached the rather unremarkable structure that supposedly housed a den of devil worshipers, Gillian studied the door. Her heart tripped a few beats as nerves threatened to freeze her in place.
There was no other option other than to go inside. Audrey, her wayward mistress, was also her friend, and earlier that evening she had promised Gillian she would not go to this place. Yet when Gillian had awoken and found Audrey gone, she knew where her mistress must have gone.
She lied to me. No doubt out of some silly notion that she was protecting me, but she isn’t.
Gillian would have charged into the fires of hell to protect her mistress. They were the same age, only nineteen, and in another life they might have been close friends, meeting for tea at Gunter’s or off to balls.
In another life… if she had been born an heiress to her deceased father’s estate instead of the daughter of an earl’s mistress.
Her half-brother Adam, was now the Earl of Morrey and her half-sister, Caroline didn’t even know she existed. The previous Earl of Morrey had been careful in keeping his long-term mistress, Gillian’s mother, well set up in a house in Mayfair and had even seen to Gillian’s education but even with such aid, her future had held limited options.
Gillian raised a gloved hand to the grotesque g
argoyle and wrapped the knocker twice loudly. Her breath held fast in her lungs and she waited, her body shaking at the thought of the nature of the men inside. When the door finally opened, a grim-faced butler looked her up and down, before his lips curled back a cruel smile.
“A little late, but ’tis no matter, they’ve plenty of energy tonight to see to every lady.” He waved her to enter. Gillian hesitated before taking a tentative step forward. Her skin crawled as the butler came too close when he closed the door, sealing her inside. She tried not to think about what his greeting suggested.
“This way.” The butler led her down the corridor to a chamber and opened a door for her to enter. The drawing room, if indeed it could be called that, was outlandishly decorated with dark brocaded furniture and red satin walls. These dubious men were certainly trying to create a sinful and seductive atmosphere, but rather than tasteful, it seemed crass. Yet they were clearly prepared for guests. A fire was lit and a tea tray was on the table.
“Freshly brewed,” the butler assured her. “Help yourself. When they are ready you will be summoned.”
Gillian murmured her thanks and settled herself on the couch. She reached up again to make sure the domino mask hadn’t slipped. It was still fixed securely over her features.
Where was Audrey?
She had left half an hour before Gillian woke, according to the other servants in the Sheridan household. Had she sought out the protective escort of Charles Humphrey as she’d said she’d had planned to? Gillian dearly hoped so, otherwise Audrey was putting herself at great risk. The Earl of Lonsdale was an eminently trustworthy gentleman, but with a wicked reputation that would allow him entry to this club.
Earlier that day Gillian and Audrey had been warned by a man of their acquaintance not to seek out this hellfire club tonight. One of its members, Gerald Langley, had vowed vengeance upon Audrey, or rather, anonymous identity as the writer of the social column Lady Society. She had destroyed his reputation. Her remarks in the Lady Society column had been accurate and honest but the outright cut direct from all of the ton against Langley had made him desperate for revenge.
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