An Unbending Lady for the Desperate Earl
A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Emma Linfield
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Prologue
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: His Duchess in Disguise
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Emma Linfield
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called The Betrayed Lady Winters. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Emma Linfield
About the Book
Their love was a storm. Not the kind you run from, but the one you chase...
In a world ruled by men, ingenious detective Victoria McCarthy has to fight tooth and nail in order to be accepted. Titled “the Vixen” by her colleagues, she strives to walk in her late father’s footsteps.
And London has just declared a state of emergency.
With his fiancée the latest victim of a series of kidnappings, Christian Turner, Earl of Galbury, is willing to do anything to get her back. He never expected that joining forces with one Victoria McCarthy would leave him so conflicted: for the closer they get to their target, the nearer he gets to having to say goodbye.
With their trails going cold, and the clock ticking against them, Victoria comes up with a dangerous plan: she is to pose as a Lady and invite the kidnappers to come and get her, even if it means never seeing Christian again.
For there's one thing she knows for certain: she's about to walk into the lion's den and there is no escape plan...
Prologue
Lady Helena, daughter to the prominent Duke of Pelsley, stirred in her slumber as silver moonlight glanced in through the parted drapes. The fabric billowed in a ghostly fashion, pushed by an errant breeze that slipped in through the window. Beyond, in the darkened landscape of her Mayfair home, foxes shrieked in the most terrible fashion. A bestial cry that might have made Helena shudder in fear, had she been awake.
She murmured in her sleep; her body suddenly overcome with a violent twitch as though in the throes of a disturbing nightmare. A soft groan escaped her lips, her forehead furrowing in consternation. Her fist gripped the bedclothes, the violent twitches spasming through her.
“No… no…” she whispered, still deep in unconsciousness. Something perplexed her in the dreamworld behind her closed eyes.
A creak of a floorboard splintered through her bedchamber, and those closed eyes opened slowly. Panting breathlessly, she peered over the edge of the sheets and viewed the shadowed room in perspiring terror, for the lines between her nightmare and reality had grown somewhat blurred.
“Hello?” She curled up under the covers, as if the thin fabric could somehow protect her from the monsters of her nightmare.
Silence echoed back.
It is but a dream, she told herself sternly. I ate too much clotted cream with my apple pie, that is all. It would not be the first time she had dreamt of terrible things after ingesting too much rich food. And yet, she knew she would not be able to drift off again. She did not want to re-enter that land of shadow and monsters.
“Hello?” she said again, to ease her mind. Her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom and searched every crevice for any lingering creatures of the night. But everything seemed as it ought to be.
“What a fool I am.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “There is nobody here but me.”
Satisfied, she lay back down upon her pillow and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. It would be hard won, but she was determined not to let her foolish terrors prevent her from resting. Her home was safe. Her mother and father slept in the bedchamber down the hall, and her brother slept in his, to the other side of Helena’s. Not to mention the multitude of staff who resided here, many of whom would still be awake—the kitchen maids, for one, who would be preparing the morning’s bread. If there were any disruption, they would know of it. And since the house rested in a serene silence, she encouraged herself to draw strength from that.
Pulling the covers up to her chin, she started to hum quietly. A quaint tune that she had heard some days ago, from a passing errand boy. It had been stuck in her head ever since.
The notes died on her lips as another creak ricocheted through the quiet like a musket shot. She bolted upright, shivering. The curtains billowed wildly, the window somehow open, though she was certain her lady’s maid had closed it before she went to bed.
“Hello?” she rasped into the bedchamber, pulling the covers tighter about herself.
Once more, no sound echoed back, and every shadow was in its place. Nothing moved. Nothing creaked. Yet she could not swallow the terror that lodged in her throat, that someone was in here with her.
She was about to coax herself back down onto the bed, when a strange, slithering sound crept into her ears. No, not a slithering… more of a hiss, or a rustle, as though something, or someone, were sliding along the floor. Her heart lurched. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out—her throat had clenched with utter terror.
Mustering all the courage she possessed, she shuffled as far toward the edge of the bed as she dared. Tilting her head down, she peered at the floor below. But it lay empty. As did the rest of the room within her field of vision. And that strange hiss had stopped… only to be replaced with the sharp, blood-freezing strain of a heavy weight upon the floorboards. Not ahead of her… but behind her.
The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She didn’t want to turn around, for fear of what she may face if she did. A breath that most definitely was not hers whispered through the atmosphere. Low and harsh. Her heart beat faster, her mind urging her to scream at the top of her lungs to bring the cavalry. But no sound came out. Fear had rendered her throat silent.
Turning at a painstaking pace, Helena’s stomach plummeted. Cold sweat shivered up her spine. Indeed, she near fainted as she beheld a shadow looming over the far side of the bed. Dressed all in black, the face masked with some sort of material, she could only make out two glinting eyes.
Her mouth opened, to scream at last, but the figure lunged before a single sound could emerge. A rough hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries of despair. Indeed, the fingers closed so tightly that she began to struggle for air, that coarse palm covering her nostrils, too.
With the hand sti
ll rendering her silent, an arm snaked about her throat. It pulled her closer into a firm chest, her skin crawling as the assailant breathed hard in her ear. But she didn’t have time to think of what may happen to her, as the arm squeezed tighter around her throat. Her eyes bulged and she strained for breath, but it would not come. She flailed and writhed, but it did no good. Her attacker held fast.
Black spots danced in her vision, as a sneaking oblivion edged into her mind, numbing her panic and sending her away into a strange serenity. Like drowning, she supposed. Everything slowed, as though she were drifting off to sleep again, at last.
Indeed, as the world turned to darkness, she did not know if she would ever see the light of day again.
Chapter 1
London’s high society lay gripped in a storm of terror and uproar, with fathers keeping their daughters behind locked doors and the streets emptying of life the moment evening fell. A vain attempt to keep the horrors from darkening their own doorsteps, despite the knowledge that at least three young ladies had been stolen away from their very beds while the rest of their households slept.
“Terrible business, isn’t it?” A valet paused on the front step of his employer’s townhouse, speaking with the butler next door.
The butler nodded. “Terrible indeed. How many have there been, now that the Duke of Pelsley’s daughter has been taken?”
“She makes six, in total.”
“And the Bow Street Runners are not aiding in the investigation? Surely, someone must know who is doing these atrocious things? Why, whomever this wretch is, they have gone into the sanctuary of one’s own residence and stolen the ladies away. It is despicable!” The butler blew into his hands to stave off the bitter cold that rolled in with the oncoming dawn.
The valet shrugged. “I don’t know if them Runners have the means to do anything. I can’t say I’m fond of having them around. It were much better when we took matters into our own hands, as they don’t do much, so far as I can tell. You mark my words, if I were in charge of hunting this animal down, I’d have him in chains by nightfall.”
“Have you heard much from the Pelsley residence?” The butler turned his weary face up to the streaked sky, taking in the vibrant bolts of orange and pink that signaled the sun’s rising.
The valet shook his head. “Not too much, to be honest. The family is beside themselves, as you’d imagine. I mean, wouldn’t you be? How can a young lady simply disappear without a trace?”
“It is very perplexing,” the butler replied, though he felt a hint of gratitude that these terrors had not afflicted his place of work. They had no daughters, which meant they were likely safe. Unless this vile individual started kidnapping the wives, too—he didn’t like to dwell on that too much.
“Shouldn’t you be at your work, instead of chattering away like a pair of finches?” A voice cut through the frosty dawn, making the two men turn in surprise. Miss Victoria McCarthy emerged from the rolling fog of the street opposite, her cloak giving a haunting silhouette as she approached. Her fierce near-black eyes narrowed at the duo, while she pushed away a strand of her unruly dark locks.
She had heard the two fellows talking on her way to the Pelsley residence and had not been able to resist stopping to chide them. She loathed gossipmongers with a passion, especially when they attempted to speak of what they would do in an investigation, when she knew they wouldn’t lift a finger if they were actually encouraged to.
“And who are you, to speak to us like that?” the valet scowled.
“An investigator, determined to get to the bottom of who has commited these awful deeds,” she replied coolly, bracing herself for the scorn that would undoubtedly follow. It was the same wherever she went. Sometimes, the words altered, but the sentiment never did. A female investigator? Why, how queer. You will be telling me you have garnered permission to vote, next! Should you not be at home, with a husband and some children to distract yourself from men’s duties. Surely, you cannot be serious? A female investigator—who would have thought it possible!
She had heard it all.
“You? An investigator?” the valet snorted. “Why then, these poor young ladies have no hope of being recovered.”
“Then perhaps you might like to make good on your proclamations, sir?” Victoria shot back. “As you said, if you were the one in charge, you would have the villain in chains by nightfall. If you think you are capable of doing a better job than I, then perhaps you ought to.”
The valet paused. “I haven’t the time, given my employment.”
“No, I thought not.” Victoria smirked. “Now, if you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of the Pelsley residence, I will leave you to your aimless witterings.”
The butler chuckled. “My, you are a spirited creature.”
“Someone has to be,” Victoria replied.
“I pity the man who falls in love with you.” The butler grinned, somewhat impressed by the feisty young woman.
“Then it is fortunate for me that I never plan to avert my attentions to the institution of marriage. I’m already married to the position of investigator—that is the only husband I shall ever need or want.” Victoria tucked the same wild curl of raven hair behind her ear. “Now, the Pelsley residence, if you please?”
The butler laughed. “Yes, perhaps that is fortunate, for you are likely to eat any potential suitor alive.” He slowed in his hysterics. “As for the Pelsley residence—when you reach the end of the street, turn left, and then left again. Follow the road for a short while, past the gated garden, and you will find their townhouse midway along the curve of houses.”
“Gratitude, sir.” Victoria was about to move away, when she turned back. “And, if you do find an urge to assist in our investigation, please do make yourself known on Bow Street.”
“You’re a Runner?” the valet looked dumbfounded.
She smiled. “Goodness no. I am far, far better.” With that, she turned on her heel and set out for the Pelsley house, satisfied that she had managed to get the final word. For, if there was one thing she loathed more than gossipmongers, it was men who thought themselves superior to her. She didn’t care what the law or society claimed; there were very few in this world who could do what she did and, to her mind, that made her equal to any man in the same employ as she. And certainly equal, at least, to those who were not.
You’d be proud of me, Papa, for teaching him a lesson. She smiled sadly to herself as she walked, thinking of her beloved father, Solomon McCarthy. He was the man who’d taught her everything she knew about the investigative world. A family business, which had fallen to her when her parents hadn’t succeeded in siring a son and heir. Though her father had treated her as though she were a son, caring nothing for her femininity. She missed him every day, but more so when a case came calling.
Once, they had been a formidable duo, even though she had been the assistant then. Now, it was up to her to carry on the legacy that her father had created. Her mother distained it very much, but she understood Victoria’s need to help those who had been harmed, and to rid the world of dastardly creatures. Her mother’s, albeit reluctant, support would always mean everything to Victoria, as it was hard enough to have everyone else spurn and scorn her, without having to contend with the same from her remaining family.
Pulling her cloak tighter around her chin, to take the edge off the biting cold that crept in, Victoria stared up at the blank-eyed windows of the houses she passed. She thought of all those resting soundly in their beds. Well, perhaps not so soundly these days, considering the threat that loitered in the air. But no light shone outward, at least not from the upper floors. The staff would have been awake for at least an hour, but high society did not know the meaning of an early morning.
I wonder if there would be a such an uproar if one of the staff had vanished without a trace, or if a common young woman from the docks, or the markets, or the canals had been taken from their bed.
Her contemplation came with a b
itter twist of irony, for she knew full well that such furor would not have manifested, had the victims been ordinary girls. She knew that, because ordinary young women went missing all the time, from every poor district, and none but their families and friends deigned to care for their fate. Even the Bow Street Runners could only do so much, with the magnitude of crime that infested the city.
Turning the corner onto the sweeping crescent of townhouses, just past the gated garden that the butler had mentioned, it became immediately clear which house belonged to the Pelsley’s. Carriages lined the cobbled road, and clusters of men in black, woolen cloaks stood talking to one another. Puffs of condensation drifted up like tobacco smoke with every hushed word.
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