As he talked, he slowly circled the room, picking up various objects and examining them before setting them away disdainfully. As if women’s things repulsed him.
“I hate poison. Such a coward’s way. So weak…so Shakespearian.” He gave a dramatic sneer at that. “Would have been much more satisfying to smother him with his own pillow. But his lips would have turned blue, you see, and with the doctors watching him so closely, they would have suspected foul play. But no one suspected poison in his medicine. Not even David.”
Despite the fury that seared her insides at his heartless confession, she followed his every move, watching and waiting for him to attack.
“Of course, my first wife Cora was much more suspicious, so I had to be more persuasive.” He shrugged and reached for a pot of rouge on the dresser. “But the effect was the same after I forced it down her throat.”
She gasped aloud this time, unable to stop herself.
His eyes gleamed brightly at her reaction. Exactly what he’d hoped. Damn him!
“Don’t seem so surprised. As viscount, I needed an heir, and Cora failed to produce one.” He smiled to himself in private amusement as he stopped circling the room, standing much closer than before. “But the new wife is bred. An heir is on his way, I’m certain.”
Grace recognized in his eyes the hatred he held for her, because she hated him in kind, with every ounce of her soul. Once upon a time, that raw hatred would have immobilized her with helplessness. But no more.
He paused at the writing desk, and terror gripped her as he picked up the first page of her unfinished letter to Ethan. Dark amusement curled his lips as he scanned over it.
“When you disappeared so suddenly all those years ago, I’d suspected that you might be with child. I had to question your maid quite thoroughly before she admitted that you’d missed your courses. But then you died, burned to death in that fire.” He chuckled, and the evil sound turned her blood to ice. “The doctor I hired to examine your remains assured me that you weren’t carrying a child, that it must have been the illness and David’s death that had prevented your courses.” Disgust darkened his face. “Women are such weak things.”
His eyes glowed like brimstone in the lamplight, hoping she’d rise to the bait and react. But she knew better, even though terror gripped her chest like a fist. Instead, she watched him, noting every breath he took, each tensing of every muscle, and waited.
“With David and you both dead, I focused on building my legacy, on making the Lockwood title powerful and strong. There’s only one thing now that can destroy all I’ve worked so hard to achieve.” He set the letter down and turned to face her. “Your son.”
Panic struck her like lightning, forcing the air from her lungs. All of her began to shake.
“Where’s the boy, Susan?”
“Go to hell!” she cried out. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
“I don’t plan on hurting him, you stupid bitch.” A look of pure evil gripped his face. “I plan on killing him.”
He lunged for her.
Grace darted to the side. He raced past, his hands grabbing only empty air. She ran into the other bedroom, but with a growl, he dove in front of her, cutting off her escape down the stairs.
With a fierce scream of fury and frustration, she swung her fist as hard as she could, clipping him on the chin and momentarily stunning him as he staggered back a step.
He grabbed for her, this time catching her arm and yanking her off-balance. She fell toward the dresser. Her hand skidded across the top, desperately searching for anything she could use as a weapon—
The razor! A cry broke over her lips as she closed her fingers around the ivory handle. She swung. The blade flashed through the lamplight and sliced through his arm, the sickening parting of flesh giving as little resistance as soft butter.
Vincent bellowed in pain and released her as his hand flew to his arm.
Grace staggered away, futilely trying to catch back the air in her lungs as she ran toward the stairs. She didn’t look back as she raced down into the dark studio below, nor could she hear him over the drumbeat of blood coursing through her ears and the pounding of her footsteps. The wicket gate stood open to the moonlit alley beyond the door, its lock broken—
An arm looped around her waist from behind and flung her into the air.
She landed on her back on the worktable, the blow of her body against the wood so jarring that her teeth rattled. The jars of pigment fell from the table, smashing onto the stone floor with the percussion of cannon fire and shards of flying glass.
As she gasped frantically to catch back the air forced from her lungs, he leaned over her. His hands went to her neck.
“I should have done this to you all those years ago,” he hissed, “when I found out how you’d cheated me out of what was mine. But I gave you the chance to turn everything over to me and live.” His hands tightened around her throat. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
His hot breath flared across her cheek as she turned her head away. The last thing she would see in this world would not be this bastard’s face!
She couldn’t stop a tear from sliding down her cheek, or unbidden thoughts of Ethan. Oh God, her baby! Her little boy…agony ripped through her. To never see him again—
But he would live. That was her only consolation as Vincent tightened his hands around her throat. Ethan would live. Ross would care for him and protect him, send him to school, give him the life she was never able to.
He laughed and licked her cheek, the tip of his tongue tracing her scar. When she shuddered in revulsion, he taunted, “You always were such a pathetically weak little thing.”
Something deep inside her snapped. Her eyes shot back to his as pure rage and fury consumed her. She ground out, “I’m nothing like the girl I was before!”
Summoning all her strength, she twisted beneath him and kneed him hard between the legs. He bit out a fierce curse and fell onto his side in a spasm of pain.
She struggled to shove him away, but he was too large, too heavy. With one hand grabbing at the edge of the table, she clawed viciously at his face and eyes with the other, to cause as much pain as possible so he would move away. But he only growled and grabbed her by the throat again, squeezing hard.
Choking as black circles blurred her vision, she tore open the drawer. She reached inside, searching frantically—
Her fingers touched cold steel. As the pain in her throat grew worse, his hands crushing at her windpipe, she pulled out the pistol, cocked back the hammer, and shoved the barrel against his ribs.
She closed her eyes and squeezed.
The gunshot reverberated through the studio. Vincent staggered back from the force of the blow, then immediately wheeled to his left as another gunshot rang out. For a beat, he stood there, swaying unsteadily on his feet, his face white and his mouth gaping like a fish. Then he crumpled to the floor.
Behind him in the open doorway stood Ross, a white tendril of smoke curling from the spent pistol in his hand.
All of her flashed numb and pained in rapid turns as she saw Christopher move quickly past Ross and hurry to kneel beside Vincent, his own pistol in his hand. Feeling Vincent’s neck, he sat back on his heels and gave a single shake of his head.
Her gaze fixed on Vincent’s body as Ross slowly stepped toward her. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Through a fog, she heard him softly repeating her name, felt his hand touch her arm and slide down toward the gun in her grasp. Her fingers released their hold, and the pistol clattered against the floor.
With a soft cry, she turned into his arms.
He held her tightly against him and whispered, “It’s all right, Grace. You’re safe.”
She was only dimly aware of his words. The aching anguish slowly ebbed from her beneath the softness of his voice and the strength of his arms as he held her close.
“I’m here now.” He placed a tender kiss to her temple. “You’re safe, my love.”
She rasped out, her thr
oat burning, “And Vincent?”
Ross turned her in his arms, blocking her view with his body. “Lockwood’s dead.” His arms tightened their hold as she shuddered one last time. “He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in his chest.
“We stopped him. You stopped him.” He cupped her face between his hands, and when she opened her eyes, the promise in his blue depths filled up her soul. “I will never let anyone hurt you again. Or Ethan.” He touched his lips tenderly to hers. “With my last dying breath, I will keep you safe.” Then he whispered the single word against her lips, one that held all the love and dedication he felt toward her, “Always.”
Trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly to her, never wanting to let go. Her heart gave its own promise as she repeated, “Always.”
Epilogue
Kingscote Park, Hampshire
Six Months Later
Ross smiled at Grace as they paused together at the marble balustrade framing the south terrace of his country house, to share a rare moment alone today. Dear God, she was stunning. Her hair shined in the afternoon sun of one of the last warm fall days of the year, and her white dress, with its old-fashioned beaded bodice layered over a brocade skirt, accentuated her slender curves. In that gown, she was simply beautiful, inside and out.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. During the past few months, she had become the center of his world and the most important part of his life. Safe and loved. Exactly what she deserved.
She laughed with happiness, the musical sound lilting on the soft fall air. Even though she was now Susan again, he insisted on calling her Grace. That was the woman she was when he’d fallen in love with her. The same woman he would always hold in his heart.
“I love you,” he murmured, folding her hand in both of his.
“You’d better,” she teased as she traced her fingertip over the gold band on his left hand. “It’s too late for doubts now.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have none.” Making Grace his wife and countess was a choice he’d never regret.
They’d both been through hell during the past six months. Turning a blind ear to the salacious gossip that poured through society about them had been much harder than either of them had imagined. So was making certain that Ethan’s rightful claim to the viscountcy was upheld. Despite Vincent Montague’s widow not protesting the claim and leaving England to return to her own family in America, where she delivered a healthy baby girl, the Committee on Privileges wasn’t willing to grant Ethan the title. Just as Grace had feared, they dismissed her evidence of his birth, claiming that his legitimacy could not be proven. Even Ross’s popularity as England’s greatest hero since Wellington couldn’t mitigate the most brutal aspects of the ordeal. Only a direct appeal to King George finally ended it, because not even the crown could refuse this request—the only one Ross made for all he’d been through to bring the ambassador’s treason to light. And when the king learned that he could use Parliament’s own precedents against them, he gleefully called the Prime Minister to account, setting everything to rights.
The boy had held up well under all the changes, Ross had to admit. Even now, as he watched him playing pall mall on the lawn with some of his tenants’ children, he was proud of the way Ethan had given support to Grace during that trying time. Oh, he’d still be difficult for a while yet. What boy didn’t push the boundaries of his world in his rush to become a man? But he’d begun to show more affection to her. To Ross, as well, although that was more likely because Ross had gone to Ethan to ask the boy for permission to marry Grace and because he had insisted that Ethan stand up with him as his best man, with Kit right beside him.
He’d also asked the Spalding solicitor to begin the necessary paperwork for Ross to legally adopt Ethan. The boy could never inherit the title or the Spalding entailments—those would be left for the children that he and Grace would have together—but Ethan would have the earldom’s protection, with Kit as his uncle to ensure it, should anything happen to Ross.
The smile on her face faded, and he felt the absence of it like a blow to his gut. “But you can never be an ambassador now,” she reminded him. “Do you regret that?”
“I don’t need to be an ambassador. Being an earl is more than enough.” He stepped forward to slip his arms around her waist. “As long as you’re my countess.”
He boldly kissed her, not caring who saw. For a moment, she let him, and he enjoyed the sweetness of her lips, the warmth and softness of her.
Then she lightly slapped her hand at his shoulder to scold him, turning her head away to break the kiss as her cheeks flushed pink. “You’re being scandalous, kissing me like that!”
“Am I?” With a self-pleased grin, he glanced around them at the hundreds of guests who’d joined them for their wedding and the large tents erected across the lawn to hold the celebrations that would go long into the night, far after he’d absconded with her to their bedchamber and made love to her for the first time as her husband. “But I’m a Carlisle,” he told her, taking another kiss. “So are you now. And we Carlisles have reputations to uphold, you know.”
“Not anymore,” she corrected, letting him take her hand and lead her down the terrace steps to the lawn. “I don’t want any more scandals or sordid reputations, and no more gossip. I only want to spend a quiet life loving you.” She reminded him over the opening flourishes as the orchestra struck up the first dance, “It took me more than a decade to find my way back to you. Now that we’re together, I don’t want to waste a moment more.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pulled her into position and twirled her into their waltz.
Author’s Note
I’m sure you noticed in the epilogue that Grace wears a white wedding gown. No, this was not historical inaccuracy on my part. The reason is a far more practical one.
As you probably know, white did not become the traditional color for wedding dresses until Queen Victoria wore white in 1840 and sparked a new wedding fashion. Before then, however, there was nothing stopping a bride from wearing white if she chose, and in fact, among the wealthy in the decades leading up to the Regency, white had been regarded as the preferred color. But women who were not wealthy (which means most women) often just wore their best dress to be married in, regardless of color, although yellow seemed to be very popular for a time. But if a special dress was wanted for the big day, a practical woman would often have planned ahead to make certain that the dress could also be worn beyond her wedding day. Therefore, most wedding dresses were not white. Why? Because women owned very few white dresses because they were incredibly difficult to keep clean. This meant that they couldn’t be worn for most daily activities, and so usually only the wealthy could afford to be so impractical about their dress. (BTW, why do so many Regency-era heroes wear white breeches, cravats, and waistcoats? While I don’t know for certain, I would venture to say because white clothes symbolize wealth: 1) they have the money to afford to throw them away when they get dirty and buy more to replace them, and 2) they are wealthy enough that they don’t have to do any kind of work that would dirty them in the first place.)
So, if I could have picked any color wedding dress for Grace to wear, why did I pick white? For my own very practical reason: the cover model is wearing white. Yes, it’s as simple as that.
Dear Reader
Greetings! I hoped you enjoyed reading HOW THE EARL ENTICES. There’s just something dreamy about a man who’s dedicated to both his country and to his true love, isn’t there? I loved telling Grace and Ross’s story. What you might not realize is that I wrote it in less than two months—mostly because I had to keep writing to find out what happened next! And isn’t Evelyn Winslow wonderful? She was simply too much of a force of nature to keep silent, so I’ve given her a romance of her own (and a dashing marquess!) in my next book, WHAT A LORD WANTS, coming in early 2019. Her craving for adventure
gets her into more trouble than she can handle…and right into the arms of scandalous Italian painter Domenico Vincenzo. When two worlds collide, is Evie prepared for learning the art of seduction?
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Ross, as you know, is a Carlisle cousin to the Trent side of the family. Haven’t met the Carlisle brothers yet? Then are you in for a treat! The three overly protective brothers from HOW I MARRIED A MARQUESS (a RITA Award finalist!) have gone from being the scourge of Mayfair to heroes of the ton. When they meet three very special women, they’ve met their matches—in more ways than one. A sneak glimpse into Book 1 in the series, IF THE DUKE DEMANDS, follows below. Enjoy!
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If you want to stay in touch and keep up with my latest releases, best contests, exclusive content, and more (including all those pictures of the roses from my garden—I cannot help myself!), be sure to sign up for my newsletter. You can also follow me on Bookbub, where you’ll receive news of all my releases, and on all of my social media sites.
♥ Happy reading!
Anna
Excerpt from IF THE DUKE DEMANDS
Enjoy this special glimpse of IF THE DUKE DEMANDS by Anna Harrington, the award-winning Book #1 in the Capturing the Carlisles series:
Miranda Hodgkins has only ever wanted one thing: to marry Robert Carlisle. And she simply can’t wait a moment longer. During a masquerade ball, Miranda boldly sneaks into his bedchamber with seduction on her mind. But when the masks come off, she’s horrified to find herself face-to-face with Sebastian, Duke of Trent—Robert’s formidable older brother. Sebastian offers her a deal to avoid scandal: he’ll help her win his brother’s heart if she’ll find him the perfect wife. But their simple negotiation spirals out of control. For the longer Sebastian tries to make a match for Miranda, the more he wants to keep her all to himself.
How the Earl Entices Page 29
