Rescued by the Earl's Vows

by Ann Lethbridge

  An unusual proposition from a lady...

  Will Lord Sanford come to Tess’s rescue?

  When Lady Tess Ingram bursts into Jaimie, Earl of Sanford’s offices seeking help to avoid forced marriage or banishment, he’s her last resort. Tess isn’t convinced she can trust Jaimie—or any man—but her tenacity compels him to come to her aid. What starts as a convenient arrangement soon turns into more than is strictly proper...

  “Lethbridge turns up the sexy in her newest tale.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Secrets of the Marriage Bed

  “Adventure, sensuality and romance are beautifully blended.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Captured Countess

  “Marry me, Tess.”

  “Wh-what?” She sat up, leaning against him.

  “Before we go any further, I am asking you to marry me. I believe we will suit very nicely. You won’t need to worry about the bracelet and money anymore. I will settle up with Stedman. We can even work on my cases together.”

  “Oh.” She looked dumbfounded and doubtful. “You mean it? You want to marry me? It’s not because you feel you must? Because of this...” She waved vaguely at their surroundings.

  “It will solve all our problems. I need a wife. You don’t want to go to Yorkshire. And we can do this whenever we want.”

  “I really wasn’t planning on getting married at all.”

  He stilled. “I see.”

  “You don’t see. Every man in my life has let me down. Father. Grey. I should have been able to rely on them. By marrying, I put myself in yet another man’s hands.”

  So that was why she was so independent. He should have guessed. “You can rely on me. I swear it.”

  Author Note

  Jaimie has threaded through several books over the past few years. He kept popping up in the Gilvry stories and played a pivotal role in Michael and Alice’s story, Captured for the Captain’s Pleasure. It seemed he was not going to go away until he had a happy ending of his own. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  If you want to know more about me and my writing, please visit my website, annlethbridge.com, where you will find all my social media links. If you would like to write to me directly, you can do so at ann@annlethbridge.com.

  Ann Lethbridge

  Rescued by the Earl’s Vows

  In her youth, award-winning author Ann Lethbridge reimagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

  Books by Ann Lethbridge

  Harlequin Historical

  and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

  Rescued by the Earl’s Vows

  The Society of Wicked Gentlemen

  An Innocent Maid for the Duke

  Rakes in Disgrace

  The Gamekeeper’s Lady

  More Than a Mistress

  Deliciously Debauched by the Rake (Undone!)

  More Than a Lover

  The Gilvrys of Dunross

  Captured for the Captain’s Pleasure

  The Laird’s Forbidden Lady

  Her Highland Protector

  Falling for the Highland Rogue

  Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

  One Night with the Highlander (Undone!)

  Linked by Character

  Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress

  One Night as a Courtesan (Undone!)

  Secrets of the Marriage Bed

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  This book is dedicated to two amazing young women, my daughters. Their support and their friendship are the most valuable things in my life. I wish them every happiness wherever life’s trails take them in the future.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Warrior’s Viking Bride by Michelle Styles

  Excerpt from Devil in Tartan by Julia London

  Chapter One

  Jaimie, Earl of Sandford, reread the report he’d received from the Home Office on yet another burglary in Mayfair. The fourth in a month. In the words of Mr Robert Peel, the Home Secretary, the ton’s uproar of indignation demanded immediate action.

  Strangely, in most instances nothing of any real value had been taken. Rather, the perpetrators committed acts of mischief, tossing papers around or spilling ink on valuable carpets, before they left. In every case, the occupants had been fast asleep in their beds above stairs. All were badly unnerved.

  Were these robberies committed by the same individual or individuals? Or was this rise in criminal activity simply coincidental with regard to timing and modes of entry?

  Experience had taught Jaimie not to believe in coincidences.

  ‘And I told you, miss. He won’t see you.’ Growler’s deep rasp permeated his door and Jaimie raised his gaze from the document at the unusual occurrence. Growler’s throat had been ruined by smoke from the chimneys he’d been forced up as a small child. The man rarely raised his voice above a murmur.

  Do not let yourself be distracted, my boy, not in matters of importance. His father’s words echoed comfortably in his mind, invoking a vague memory of his five-year-old self trying to master the complications of the letter f. How right Father had been. He again perused the sentence describing the latest robbery.

  ‘You has to leave, miss.’ Louder this time. Very loud for Growler.

  Jaimie cursed as he again lost his place. Never once had he heard the fearsome-looking Growler raise his voice to a woman, whose sex he revered to the point of ridiculousness. And now he was shouting at one?

  The woman’s reply, if she made one, did not penetrate the solid oak door.

  The knock a moment later brought him to his feet and around from behind his desk. Anyone brave enough to stand up to Growler was worth taking a look at, no matter how important the report.

  The door inched open.

  ‘Yes, Growler?’

  The crack widened to half-open, revealing the burly figure of his second in command. The ex-bruiser’s face creased into worry. ‘There’s a lady wanting to see you, me lord. I told her you was busy, but she’s insisting...’

  No lady would be visiting him in the suite of offices Jaimie rented in Lincoln’s Inn. ‘Tell her—’

  At that moment, a short, veiled female figure draped from head to toe in mourning black strode past Growler as if he wasn’t there. No mean feat, given the man’s size and threatening posture.

  ‘You may tell me yourself, Lord Sandford.’ She angled her head towards Growler. ‘That will be all, thank you.’

  Jaimie bristled. ‘Growler—’

  ‘Right you are, miss.’ Clearly relieved, Growler mad
e good his escape.

  Astonished and amused against his better judgement, Jaimie turned to the woman. ‘I beg your pardon, madam, but—’

  ‘I require your services to locate a missing person, my lord.’ She spoke as if he hadn’t said a word.

  Amusement changed to annoyance. Damn and blast the article The Times had written about his miraculous recovery of a child stolen by a nursemaid. Now every female in London of marriageable age wanted him to find something they had lost. Usually a handkerchief or a puppy, because having forgotten about him for years, they now realised he remained one of the most eligible single gentlemen on the marriage mart, even if he was a widower. His stomach slid away.

  The thought of having to find a second wife always made him feel slightly nauseous, though find one he must. Eventually. It was his duty to his title as his cousin, the heir presumptive, reminded him regularly.

  He folded his arms across his chest and gave his visitor a hard stare.

  ‘Well?’ she countered in response to his silence. The veil shifted with her exhale.

  The urge to peek beneath it and see if the face matched the clear, cool tones of her beautifully modulated voice took him by surprise. As did the realisation that Growler had been correct in describing her as a lady. Though exactly what sort of lady she might be remained in question.

  He certainly wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking for her name.

  ‘If you are missing a person,’ he said, keeping his voice level and far more pleasant than he felt she deserved, ‘I suggest you return home and request the assistance of your closest male relative. If you don’t have one, I recommend you seek the aid of your footman’

  A toe tapped somewhere beneath the stiff, expensive silk of her skirts. ‘I have it on good authority that you are the best person for this particular task.’

  There it was again. A voice full of calm matter-of-factness, but with a surprising musicality. A richness—He cut off his wandering thoughts. ‘Madam, I thank you for your confidence in my abilities, however, I regret I do not have time for any new projects at this moment. I am fully engaged and likely to be for some time. Good day to you.’

  ‘I can pay you.’ Clutched between thumb and forefinger she held out a pearl ring.

  Annoyance rose in his gorge. Did she think he wasn’t a gentleman? That his refusal was based on monetary concerns? He forced the feeling down. It was a dangerous emotion when dealing with women, especially one who was clearly distraught despite her carefully calm voice. He did not hide his displeasure. ‘A hundred pounds’ deposit. Cash. Before I will so much as consider the project.’ The ring was clearly worth nowhere near that much.

  She gasped, her fingers trembling around the ring, the little puff of air again lifting the veil, but still giving no clue as to her age or state of health. Or her looks.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  He felt...irritated instead of pleased at her defeat. Without a word he waved her towards the door, shepherding her in that direction with an outstretched arm. Now close enough to inhale a light waft of lavender. A floral statement of serenity, grace and calm, but... He frowned. Primarily, the flower symbolised distrust.

  She probably did not understand that last. For what cause would this privileged and probably spoiled young woman have for distrusting anyone? Again, he had the urge to peek beneath her heavy veil and see her face. Something about her called strongly to his curiosity.

  He shooed her towards the door through which she had arrived.

  Thankfully, she did not resist. Or argue. Or try to flatter him. She left, leaving him feeling somehow guilty, perhaps even that he’d been unkind to ask for such an outrageous sum to find her missing person, when he’d done it purely to put her off.

  He closed the door firmly behind her and leaned one shoulder against it, listening to Growler’s low sympathetic rumble, though the actual words were now indistinct. In short order, silence descended in the adjoining antechamber.

  Jaimie strolled to the window and watched his visitor make for the hackney carriage waiting at the curb. Discreet, then, this woman. Most of them flaunted their identities in the hopes of attracting his attention. She entered into negotiations with the driver. Finally, the jarvey nodded agreement. Suddenly, he had to know who she was.

  Jaimie strode across the room and snatched open the door. ‘Have someone follow that woman, Growler. I want to know whom she has lost.’

  Growler’s jaw slackened, then he was on his feet and dashing for the door. ‘Yes, me lord.’ A moment later, he was thundering along the hallway outside the office.

  Another glance into the street showed a small lad he did not recognise running hell for leather after the hackney and leaping easily on to the back runner. Not something Jaimie would have encouraged, but hitching a ride on hackney carriages was common practice among the street urchins and unlikely to attract attention.

  He sighed and repressed his unease. Why was he even bothering? No doubt, despite the lady’s obvious distress, her supposed quest would turn out to be nothing but a hum. Blast it, he had far more important matters on his mind than the vagaries of a strange female. He fought to recapture the memory of his father’s voice, but all he could hear were those cool, clear tones. I require your services to locate a missing person.

  The cheek of it. She hadn’t even done him the courtesy of showing her face. But that voice... Blast it, he would not let the woman ruin his day.

  He picked up the report. A ring. She’d offered to pay him with a ring. She must indeed be desperate.

  * * *

  Tess ignored the butler’s frowning look as he took in her outer raiment. Thank goodness she’d remembered to remove the swathe of crepe she had used as a veil before she arrived home, though she had been glad of its concealment during her interview with Lord Sandford. It had certainly hidden her blushes both then and in the jewellers where she had sold the ring his lordship had so disdainfully rejected. While the ring hadn’t been worth a great deal, she could at least pay someone to make some preliminary enquiries on her behalf.

  She mounted the stairs heading for her third-floor chamber, thinking back on her meeting with Lord Sandford. He was nothing like what she had expected. A peer of the realm engaged in solving crimes and disappearances? She’d expected some elderly scholarly sort of chap, one of those eccentrics one heard about, not a noble young man in the prime of life who looked like a Greek statue.

  How was it possible that so handsome an exterior hid so arrogant a man? My word, he was shockingly handsome. Just thinking about him had her heart beating faster. She’d had trouble even uttering a word when she’d first entered his office. Tall and lean and stylish was her first impression. Handsome as sin in the manner of fair-haired Englishmen, though his eyes had been a velvety brown rather than a bright blue.

  On the other hand, his arrogant lack of curiosity had been dreadfully irritating. Talk to her closest male relative, indeed. Ask a footman! Clearly, he’d thought her problem too trivial for his lofty attention. Not that she had intended to provide him with too many details, apart from the name of the person she wanted to find. She wasn’t stupid enough to trust in a man’s ability to do things right.

  Take Father. He couldn’t even manage to leave his affairs in proper order. Even though his sudden death had happened more than a year ago, she continued to have trouble believing he had taken his own life without making proper provision for his children. And yet, it was typical of the way the man had lived his life. He’d preferred to gamble on something turning up, rather than setting to and putting time and effort into the land his family had occupied for centuries. She’d done her best to make up for his lackadaisical ways, but each time she thought they were making progress, he’d taken what little bit of money she had managed to save and gambled it on a horse or the turn of a dice in the hopes of doubling his money. Hopeless. No, if she wanted to find her ha
lf-brother Grey, she needed to take charge of the search. Yet the pittance she had received for the sale of her ring would not take her very far at all.

  Her maid, Mims, looked up from her folding as Tess entered. ‘There you are, my lady. Her ladyship is looking for you. I told her you had stepped out for a breath of air, like you said. You are to go to her drawing room the moment you return.’

  Tess nodded. ‘Thank you, Mims. Help me change.’

  In short order, Mims had her out of the blacks she’d worn after her father died and into a sprig-muslin morning gown, ready to present herself to Wilhelmina, Lady Rowan, wife of Tess’s cousin Phineas, who had inherited her father’s title, his debts and, as the new head of the household, Tess’s upkeep. The latter they both wished to be rid of as soon as possible.

  She took a deep breath, calmed her turmoil and entered the drawing room where Lady Rowan, a faded blonde, reclined on the daybed idly flicking the pages of a copy of La Belle Assemblée. She looked up with a frown. ‘Tess, your maid said you went out?’

  ‘I needed to return a book to Hatchard’s.’

  Wilhelmina’s nose seemed to twitch. ‘If you had told me you were going, I would have asked you to pick up a book for me. You would think after all we do for you...’ She sighed. ‘Never mind, I will ask Carver to release one of the footmen from his duties.’

  Tess forced a conciliatory smile. ‘My apologies. I did ask at Hatchard’s if they had anything for you, Cousin. They said they had not.’

  Wilhelmina waved a dismissive hand as if she wasn’t the one who had just accused Tess of being thoughtless. She frowned. ‘Do sit down. You are making my neck ache.’

  Of course, had she sat down without an invitation, her cousin’s wife wouldn’t have said anything, but a look of annoyance would have crossed her face and left Tess feeling off balance. She took the chair at right angles to the chaise. ‘Mims said you wanted to see me.’

  ‘Our plans for this evening have changed. Rowan has an important dinner at his club. We will go on ahead and he will meet us later at the Petershams’.’