His Hand-Me-Down Countess: The Lustful Lords, Book 1

by Sorcha Mowbray

  Hugh laughed, but there was a razor-sharp edge to it that had pins and needles prickling along Stone’s spine.

  “Father is not long for this world. If either of you deigned to attend family gatherings more often, you might have heard that my father, like his brother, also has a weak heart. It seems possible the entire family is inherently flawed. I imagine he shall drop soon enough. One way or another.” The words came out flecked with spittle and a snarled mess, but were still understandable. Hugh drew a calming breath. “As for my plan, it is in fact time to go. The resurrected son and current earl are due for a tragic accident.”

  Stone absorbed the news that fate was not being kind to his family. Hopefully she hadn’t deserted them altogether. But then the door burst open, and his wife sailed into the room.

  * * *

  Theo swept in, ready to do battle with her idiotic husband. Who tried to catch a man who’d attempted to kill you without the aid of Scotland Yard? Or the Metropolitan Police? Even a private inquiry service? Her husband stood near his desk, with Odey not far from him. The two men looked particularly stressed, what with the clear frowns upon their faces and the ridges between their eyes. They looked strikingly similar in that moment, but for Odey’s leaner visage. Distracted by her ruminations, she drew up short when she realized there was a third man in the room. His movement caught her by surprise, almost as much as when she realized he was tucking a pistol against his leg.

  She turned to see Hugh Denton, Stone’s provoking cousin. His mere presence made her stomach sour. The wild dismay on Hugh’s face paired with the twitchy way he glanced from her to Stone alerted her that something wasn’t right. As if in a scene from a gothic horror novel, she could feel the tension in the room as the three men waited to see what she would do.

  The dark wood of the library suddenly felt claustrophobic as panic swept through her limbs to choke the breath from her body. The snap of the fire sounded loud in the stilted silence, adding a cheery background as a counterpoint to the moment.

  Drawing a deep breath, she turned toward her husband first. “Stone, I do not appreciate you disappearing to the country to go stag hunting with no warning. I was forced to attend the Cabots’ soiree alone, and you know I detest musicales after the Swinton affair.” She swept dramatically over to the fireplace and laid a hand on the mantel.

  “My apologies, Theo. It was poor form of me to leave you in the lurch.” Stone edged toward her and closer to Hugh. The thick Aubusson carpet muted his footsteps, but she could feel his presence, his nearness.

  The weapon wobbled in Hugh’s hand down by his leg, and she feared he would do something rash before she could intervene. It seemed logical that if Stone had been hunting his would-be killer and his cousin currently had a weapon concealed in the drapes of his coat, Hugh must be the man Stone sought. The question was, what had she walked in on? An apology? A confrontation?

  She sniffled and tucked her face against her forearm while leaning on the mantel and cried out, “It was simply horrid, Stone.” Meanwhile, she wrapped her other hand around the handle of the fire poker and drew it against her skirts. The weight of the iron weapon had her listing gently to one side, but she righted herself, keeping it hidden from the unsavory man not far from where she stood. Then she looked up at her husband, who was an arm’s length away from her. “They made me sing.” Her declaration came out as an agonized whisper. A thought too awful to truly say aloud—and it would have been, had it been true.

  Then she whirled toward Hugh and lurched in his direction. “Have you ever been made to sing in public?” She emphasized the word as though there was nothing she wanted to do less in public.

  Hugh darted a glance at the two other men in the room, then looked back to her. His expression hardened, annoyance at her interruption as clear as the necktie around his neck. “What are you on about, woman?”

  Stone growled behind her, but she needed him to stay put a moment more. “Singing. In public!”

  Hugh stared at her as though she had grown a third eye or a second head. “Lady Stonemere, you interrupted a rather pressing matter I have with your husband. Would you mind leaving us?”

  “Well, that was very rude of you, sir. This is my home, not some gentleman’s club.” She dug deep for all the haughty disdain she could muster as she glared at the impertinent man. “I shall not be spoken to in such a manner.”

  “Achilles, your wife is going to get herself added to the guest list should she remain.”

  The threat—and Theo knew it for what it was—had Stone stepping closer to the two of them, which caused Hugh to dispense with any pretense and raise the gun.

  Fear raced through Theo, spiking her body with adrenaline that seemed to bring everything into sharper focus. The grain of wood seemed so pronounced, the musty smell of the books grew earthier, and the fire snapped louder, more fiercely than before.

  She saw her chance, and so she took it, without hesitation. Her child would not be born without a father. With a speed that surprised even herself, she raised the poker from her skirts and raked it in a downward arc that knocked the weapon from the villain’s hand.

  From there, Theo scooted to her right and away from the men, because Stone and Odey were both leaping forward and tackling the injured Hugh. Despite being essentially one-handed, he still fought them both for a moment or two. Then, to her relief, they subdued him just as Parsons and the stable master barged into the study with a group of men besides. She was pleased to note there were at least two uniformed police officers among them.

  In short order, Hugh Denton was detained and taken away as Stone and Odey both sat down. Her husband seemed to be cradling his arm, and it was then she noticed the bloodstained cloth wrapped around his upper limb. He’d been shot. Theo’s knees turned gelatinous and her stomach attempted to depart her body through her throat as she imagined her life without Stone. Fortunately, that all subsided when everything turned black.

  Chapter 35

  Stone’s heart had dropped right along with his wife’s body. With no women to gainsay him, he installed his wife in their bed and sent for the doctor. He alone tended to her as she lay unconscious. Shallow but even breathing on her part and the repetitive action of dampening her brow with a wet rag helped him stay calm. After a few moments alone, her lashes fluttered, and then she looked up into his eyes with her deep-blue gaze.

  “Thank God, you’re awake.” Relief rushed through his veins, a heady cocktail that had his head spinning. His heart tumbled as his breath snagged. Hands shaking with the need to touch her, yet fearful of her rejection, he forced his words past numb lips. “I need you to know that I bought the land next to your orphanage—for you. I was having the land cleared and a playground installed. I wanted to show that I understand you. That you matter to me in a way no one else ever has or ever will. I love you, Theodora Denton, Countess of Stonemere.”

  His heart thumped in a terrifying rhythm, but her only response was to capture his mouth with hers. He sank into her welcoming vibrant heat and relished her response. The softness of her tongue as she explored his mouth had ripples of pleasure running through him all the way to his toes. The heady scent of woman and lilies filled his nose as the sweetness of her taste collided with his desire. After a moment of the passionate exchange, he drew back and grinned at his headstrong wife.

  “I love you, Achilles Denton, Earl of Stonemere. You are my rock and my heart.”

  He leaned in to kiss her again, her taste the sweetest ambrosia he’d ever known. Their tongues tangled as he pressed her back into the mattress. A sharp knock was all the warning they were given before the door opened and the doctor and Stone’s mother walked in on their steamy kiss. “Well, I’d say our patient is feeling better,” the doctor commented as he rounded the bed to where Stone sat with his wife in his arms.

  “Doctor Sullivan, thank you for coming so quickly. She fainted earlier after a rather large upset, and I was worried, as she tends to have an unusually robust constitution.�
� Stone let go of her and moved back to allow the doctor access.

  “Stone, you did not tell me you called Doctor Sullivan.” Theo looked balefully at him as she crossed her arms. “Doctor, I am quite well. I merely fainted when I realized my husband had been shot, which, I might argue, is not an unreasonable thing for a wife to do in such a case.”

  The doctor looked back at Stone, brows raised.

  “My wife waited to faint until after she had accosted an armed assailant with a fire poker, so you may understand my trepidation at such feminine hysterics. She has a fortitude unlike most women.” Exasperation with both the doctor and his wife—whom he loved to the very depths of his soul—had him ready to simply demand they all do as he wished. Of course, he was coming to understand that approach was not a winning proposition when it came to his wife.

  Theo looked at the doctor and motioned him closer with her finger. They had a short whispered conversation, and then the doctor straightened, picked up his bag, and started out the way he had come. He paused by the dowager and said something to her, and then they both left the room. Stone looked from the closed door to his wife in surprise. “What in the world was that all about?”

  “Stone, sit.” Theo patted the mattress beside her.

  “Theo, you are terrifying me.” He knew fear. He’d lived through it in India, the worst being at Cawnpore. Sitting in the marsh by the river, floating downstream to avoid the mutinous native army, and then discovering he was, in fact, the Earl of Stonemere. But none of those events compared to the soul-crushing fear he felt right in that moment. The terror was prompted by the possibility that the woman he loved, the woman he couldn’t take his next breath without, might be about to tell him she was sick or dying.

  “Stone, do sit down. I am not dying.”

  Her annoyance snapped him out of the paralysis that had gripped him like a vise. He sank to the bed and cupped her face. “I can’t possibly lose you when I just found you.”

  The tensile strength of her slim hands wrapped around his wrists reminded him that she was both alive and resilient. Whatever was happening, they would survive together. He never had to tackle any endeavor alone again. His intrepid wife would be at his side.

  “Stone, I’m carrying our child.” She smiled at him.

  The softly spoken words sounded muddled in his chaotic mind. Child. The single word stood out and grabbed his attention as no other word could have. “Pregnant?”

  She nodded as tears welled in her eyes.

  “We’re having a baby?” He blinked rapidly. Something seemed to be clouding his vision, and he couldn’t see his beautiful wife clearly. “I’m going to be a father?”

  She nodded again, or he thought she did. His vision was off. And then something tickled his cheek. He reached up to brush it away, but his fingertips came up wet. He looked down and realized he couldn’t see his wife through his tears. Tears of pure unadulterated joy. The woman he loved was gifting him with a child. Their child. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

  She laughed. “And me, I’m the luckiest woman. However did a runner-up earl and a hand-me-down countess get so lucky?”

  “It was fate, my love. Fate and the love of a headstrong woman.” Then he scooped her up and hauled her into his lap before he slammed his lips down on hers. No kiss could ever express all the emotion raging through him, but he decided it was certainly a good place to start.

  The End

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  * * *

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Book 2, Taming His Hellion Countess

  * * *

  Taming His Hellion Countess

  The Lustful Lords Series, Book 2

  Robert Cooper, the Earl of Brougham must marry in order to fulfill his duty to the title. He’s decided on a rather mild mannered, biddable woman who most considered firmly on the shelf. But, her family is on solid financial ground and has no scandals attached to their name.

  Lady Emily Winterburn, sister of the Earl of Dunmere, is not what she seems. With a heart as big as her wild streak she finds herself prepared to protect her brother from his bad choices, even if it means committing highway robbery. But marrying their way out of trouble is simply out of the question. What woman in her right mind would shackle herself to a man, let alone one of the notorious Lustful Lords?

  Cooper’s carefully laid plans are ruined once he must decide between courting his unwilling bride-to-be and taming the wild woman who tried to rob him–until he discovers they are one and the same. And when love sinks its relentless talons into his heart? He’ll do anything to possess the wanton who fires his blood and touches his soul.

  CHAPTER ONE

  August 1860

  Lady Emmaline Winterburn sat in the far corner of the ballroom, content to be surrounded by the women—not unlike herself—who found themselves unwanted or forgotten. In the beginning, she'd been terribly upset to be relegated to the wallflower community. It was her first season, after all, the time every well-bred girl dreamed of. But as that first season marched along, she’d been left behind. Most of the girls who’d come out with her were now married, and by her second season a few were already producing the all-important heirs and the requisite spares. As a young woman whose parents had died tragically in a house fire, she’d dreamed of marrying into a large family where she would be surrounded by love.

  Upon the start of her fifth season, all hope had been lost, and she’d come to accept her lot in life. That was about the time she discovered the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft and a world of opportunity opened to her. Through her readings, and the debates she regularly attended, she developed a sense of self-worth and value that extended far beyond being some lord's wife and brood mare. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she was quite sure she’d been saved from a life of servitude, and that suited her just fine. Even if it meant sitting with the wallflowers, because she certainly couldn’t tolerate sitting with the matrons and listening to them lord their offspring over each other. She shuddered at the thought of it.

  Having resigned herself to life among the forgotten of society, she was rather surprised to see one of the ton's more eligible bachelors approach. Of course, this was remarked upon in a flurry of whispers darting from one homely yet hopeful miss to another. It came as an unwelcome shock when the notorious Lord Brougham stopped before her and bowed with a flourish that would’ve done Beau Brummell proud in his heyday. "Lady Emmaline, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

  Nonplussed by his request, and frustrated by the interruption of her plans, Emmaline hesitated a moment. But in the end, her good breeding won out. "That would be lovely, Lord Brougham."

  She rose from her chair and placed her hand on his thick forearm. All the while she refused to meet his gaze. She’d seen enough of the mockery that often resided in the gazes of men to last a lifetime. Well-meaning mamas liked to send their mean-spirited boys over to the wallflower section, which often ended in further damaging the victim of the good intentions.

  Leading her on the floor, he said, "I do hope you enjoy the waltz."

  She slowed her pace, confused by his question. "But a waltz just played."

  On the floor, he pulled her into his arms and smiled wolfishly. "Which is why I arranged for the orchestra to play another."

  And then the music started, and he swept her into the dance. Her gaze flew up to meet his, surprise causing her eyes to widen. For a moment he seemed transfixed by something, though what Emily could not be certain. Self-preservation had her dipping her gaze back down somewhere below his chin to a nice safe location.

  "Tell me, Lady Emmaline, when you’re not attending social events how do you entertain yourself?" The man offered the most dashing smile she'd ever encountered, and surprisingly she believed for a moment that he cared about her answer. But then she reminded herself that men of his ilk, particularly a memb
er of the distasteful group known as the Lustful Lords, would only have one interest in a woman such as herself.

  Worried about what his interest signified, she replied as they spun through the waltz. “I read books, my lord.”

  All the while, she reminded herself this wasn’t what she sought. Marriage wasn’t for her, because she’d never be a quiet woman who went along with a husband’s wishes and produced an heir. She was a woman of principle—though some might question her unusual code of ethics—and a woman of action, regardless of where she sat during a ball.

  Their waltz continued in awkward silence as the large man led her about the dance floor. Never before had she felt like a diminutive woman, but in his arms, she experienced what it felt like to be delicate. Between his good looks and all the effort expended reinforcing her lack of interest, she was a bit surprised when the music ended. Nevertheless, she curtsied with enough grace not to be awkward as he bowed to her and then led her back to where he'd found her amongst the wallflowers.

  He bowed once more over her hand. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Emmaline.”

  “Thank you, Lord Brougham.” She curtsied and then watched him retreat as she repressed the urge to swear like a sailor. He had appeared just in time to thwart her plan to slip away from the crowd.

  She needed to remain anonymous, forgettable. Dancing with a scandalous Lustful Lord, did not achieve that end. While she’d danced with him at a previous ball, she found his renowned charm to be anything but charming. The man wore a thin veneer of respectability and politeness that could not hide his fake smile or his presumably feigned interest in her person. Add to that his ostentatious display of wealth—arranging, she snorted, more accurately paying the orchestra to play a waltz, who did such a thing? And of course, his association with the notorious Lustful Lords put him just on the edge of acceptable in polite society. Were it not for the recent social rehabilitation of Lord Stonemere, leader of the Lustful Lords, Lord Brougham might not be received in the better ballrooms.