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

by Sorcha Mowbray

  In her mind, it put him out of bounds. Not because of polite society’s disdain, but because licentious men were dangerous. Particularly when they sought a wife. And she’d no intention of ever being married. A quadrille started up, and her dance card—as usual—was empty, which suited her purposes. Rising, she wafted her fan as though overcome with the heat of the ballroom and made her way toward the ladies retiring room. Once away from the regular hustle and bustle of the ball, she found a dark hallway to slip down.

  Being a spinster had its advantages, namely invisibility and no need for a chaperone, and tonight she would take advantage of both. Quickly, she found the back stairs to the upper floors and made her way into the living area of the family. Lord Harrington and his wife had far more money than good sense if the lavishness of the ball was a measuring stick. Chances were Lady Harrington would be just the kind of lady who’d leave her expensive baubles lying about.

  After opening a few doors, Emily found what appeared to be Lady Harrington's chamber. The room was dark with only the stream of moonlight filtering through the window to serve as a guide. The lady's dressing table was strewn with sparkly bits of jewelry, which delighted Emily. With a keen eye, she quickly spotted the two most valuable pieces and nestled them in the inner seam of her petticoats. After smoothing her skirts back down she returned to the ball along the same path she’d come. The dark hall leading back toward the noise of the ballroom was cool and quiet, which had her pausing a moment to appreciate the solitude.

  Unfortunately, a maid appeared unexpectedly. "My lady, this area is not for guests."

  "Oh, please excuse me. I just needed a moment away from all the hub-bub." Emily straightened from the wall she'd leaned against and started back toward the noise. The maid sped off to complete whatever task she'd been assigned. Alone again, Emily took her time returning to the crush. She'd sit for another song and then she’d make her excuses. A headache would be sufficient to affect an escape while her brother Arthur continued to try and ruin the family name.

  Despite being certain he knew she was paying off their debts—though certainly not the details of how—he continued to behave as though their pockets were flush. Granted, she could’ve managed the various bills from the tailor, the haberdasher, and the cobbler. And she might even have managed the membership fees associated with being a member of White's, but it was his incessant gambling debts that infuriated her. His gambling had depleted the family fortune and left her practically a beggar.

  All the while her brother lived as though their coffers were bottomless. She’d gotten herself caught in a vicious circle by bailing him out the first time she'd found him snookered and weeping in the middle of the night. Oh, he had spilled his tale of woe about the gambling and how he couldn't pay the debt because he'd lost the family fortune. And when she'd promised to help him out by liquidating a few valuables, he’d brightened immediately. Then a few days later a bill collector appeared on their doorstep demanding payment, and she’d once again dug into her resources to cover the debt. Before long she realized just how badly her brother had been managing things. But the last straw came when her dressmaker refused to take an order for a new dress on credit.

  That was the moment Emily realized she could sell off every item of value in their possession, but it would never be enough. Her brother had zero sense of fiduciary responsibility, and he would continue to beggar them both. That was when it occurred to her that if she could lift an item of jewelry from each ball or house party she attended, she could keep their debt at bay while maintaining appearances. And so she found herself sneaking about dark hallways, a veritable thief in the night.

  Pushing away the awful truth of her life, Emily decided sitting for one more song wouldn't improve her situation. Determined to slip away from the ball, she headed for the front entrance. The foyer of the Harrington's home, packed full of ball-goers, could’ve rivaled Hyde Park’s Serpentine during the fashionable hour. As much as she wanted to escape, she knew better than to draw attention to herself.

  This was the first time she'd taken two items, and her nerves drew thin. Palms clammy, she was certain her brow was covered in perspiration as she tried to shuffle through the crowd. The front door loomed ahead, a symbol of salvation in her racing mind. She was nearly to the door when someone called out her name. Heart pounding and blood rushing through her veins, she knew she'd been caught. She would be strung up by her peers, or at the very least paraded through the streets of London before being thrown in jail and forgotten. Again, her name was called out, but this time it galvanized her to action. She refused to be arrested in the middle of a ball. Digging deep for the energy she needed, she pushed her way through the throng and out on to the front steps. Confronted by a steady stream of carriages and still more people wandering around the grounds, she wanted to cry out in frustration.

  She would have to walk.

  She made it three steps closer to freedom and then a large, but vaguely familiar hand landed on her shoulder and drew her around to face an unwelcome figure. "Lady Emmaline, are you well?" The Earl of Brougham peered at her as though she acted queerly, which she probably had.

  "I fear I have a headache, my lord." She pressed her fingertips to her temples and hoped he either didn't notice how badly her hands shook or chalked it up to her not feeling well.

  Brow creased as he looked about, he asked, "But where is your carriage?"

  Double damn. She wanted to curse aloud but managed to keep the swearing in her head. "The crush was so great I feared I might expire before my carriage could be brought around. I assumed I could walk off a bit and then hail a handsome cab to carry me home."

  The blasted man frowned. "I couldn’t allow you to do such a thing. Where is Lord Dunmere?"

  Growing more annoyed by the moment, she resisted the urge to snap. "I did not wish to disturb him in the card room. I sent a note informing him of my departure. Truly, my lord, I shall be fine." She tried to step away, but he refused to let her go.

  "Nonsense, my carriage is nearby. I shall see you safely home." He tucked her arm through his and escorted her—however reluctantly—toward the line of carriages.

  To her horror, she had no way to stop the overbearing Lord Brougham without calling unwanted attention to both of them, so she allowed him to whisk her into his nearby carriage. With each passing moment, the weight of the stolen items grew leaden in her secret pocket making her skirts feel akin to an anchor dragging her under.

  The infuriating man looked extremely pleased with himself as the carriage rumbled away from the ball. "Where may I drop you?"

  There was no reason to hide her address. "13 North Audley, Grosvenor Square, please."

  "Very good." He knocked on the roof and relayed her direction before focusing on her once again. "How are you feeling, Lady Emmaline?"

  How was she feeling? Her skin burned like a living flame, her brow soaked with fear, and her stomach proclaimed the very real possibility that it would cast up her accounts at any moment. In answer, she pulled out her fan and proceeded to work it in a slow, steady pace. "I believe I’m a bit over warm, my lord."

  Brougham let one of the windows down and a rush of cool air swept into the cabin to bathe her simmering cheeks.

  "Thank you. How very thoughtful." She glanced at the door and considered the ramifications of leaping from a moving vehicle. Of course, she nixed the notion almost as quickly as it occurred.

  He frowned at her. "Well, no one of any good temperament enjoys seeing a lady in distress."

  She wanted to roll her eyes. "Of course not. Nevertheless, I appreciate the gesture."

  They both fell silent as London rolled past their windows. Settling deeper into the shadows, Emily sought what little solitude she could muster for the moment. Brougham, however, held far more concern for her than an acquaintance ought. And the possibilities associated with his interest caused her to forget about the stolen artifacts in her petticoats long enough to worry that the man had some design on her perso
n.

  Nestled along with the jewels was a small two shot Derringer that she wouldn’t hesitate to use if needed. Surreptitiously, she slid her hand through the slit in her gown to the secret pocket and palmed the small weapon. Should he decide to attempt to avail himself of her charms, she would shoot the cad. But, just as she’d convinced herself of his nefarious intentions—though a wholly unjust characterization she would admit under less stressful circumstances—the carriage came to a halt.

  "I believe we’ve arrived." He popped the door open, let the steps of the carriage down, and then helped her from the cab.

  Grateful to be home, she swept past him and up the steps of her home. As he followed her, she turned to stop him. "Lord Brougham, I appreciate your assistance this evening, but I shall have to say goodnight here as I’m still not feeling just the thing." She offered a limp smile and then slipped inside the house, closing the door in the man's rather surprised face. Though she could not understand why he might think she would invite him inside. It was scandalous enough that they rode alone in his carriage, though no one would believe her if she told them.

  With a small shrug, she headed upstairs to change her clothes and make a better assessment of her booty. The barely respectable Lord Brougham slipped from her thoughts with little more than a passing appreciation of his classical good looks. She had far more pressing concerns than the odd and sudden interest of a Lustful Lord.

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  Click here to be notified when Taming His Hellion Countess, The Lustful Lords Series Book 2, is available for preorder!

  About the Author

  Sorcha Mowbray is a mild mannered office worker by day…okay, so she is actually a mouthy, opinionated, take charge kind of gal who bosses every around; but she definitely works in an office. At night she writes romance so hot she sets the sheets on fire! Just ask her slightly singed husband.

  She is a longtime lover of historical romance, having grown up reading Johanna Lindsey and Judith McNaught. Then she discovered Thea Devine and Susan Johnson. Holy cow! Heroes and heroines could do THAT! From there, thing devolved into trying her hand at writing a little smexy. Needless to say she liked it and she hopes you do too!

  For more information about Sorcha, please visit her website, “Like” Sorcha on Facebook and follow her on Twitter, Instagram and Goodreads. Join Sorcha’s newsletter to be the first to hear about upcoming releases. She loves hearing from her readers. Email her directly at sorcha@sorchamowbray.com.

  About Jack’s House Publishing

  Jack’s House Publishing, Inc. is New York Times bestselling author Marie Force’s publishing endeavor. Since 2010, Marie has been a leader in the self-publishing movement, particularly within the romance genre. She wants to put her expertise, knowledge and experience to work for authors who are struggling to be seen by readers in this increasingly competitive marketplace. Since 2012, Marie has owned and operated the Formatting Fairies to help authors prepare their books for self-publication. Her team has helped hundreds of authors get started on their publishing journey. Now she wants to put her team to work on helping the authors we acquire to rise above the sea of books currently on sale and connect with readers. When Marie gives workshops on topics ranging from Self-Publishing 101 to Preparing for Success, her message is consistent—success in this business is all about writing a great book—and then doing it over and over again. If you’ve written a great book that no one has read, we want to help you find your readers.

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  We’re Looking for the Next Great Contemporary Romance Novel!

  Have you written a book that absolutely rocks? Is it edgy and sexy and provocative? If so, we want to be your publisher! Over the last six years, New York Times bestselling author Marie Force has built an eight-figure business mostly through independent publishing. With more than 30 indie-published books to her name, Marie knows how to elevate your book from obscurity to visibility. After four years of running the Formatting Fairies business, Marie and her team are ready to work for you. Would you like to skip over the hurdles of discoverability that all new authors face? Would you rather write than deal with figuring out how to format for all the major retailers? Would you like to have one of today’s top contemporary romance authors personally endorse your book? Would you like to be mentored every step of the way, from developing your website and social media presence to choosing your cover to setting your price? If so, we want to hear from you.

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  Find out more at jackshousepublishing.com or email us at info@jackshousepublishing.com.