The Sinful Secret 0f A Broken Earl (Historical Regency Romance)

by Lucinda Nelson

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Lucinda Nelson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Get Lucinda’s Exclusive Material

  Table of Contents

  Title

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  The Extended Epilogue

  Book 8 – A preview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  His Devilish Grace-A Preview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About Lucinda Nelson

  A Short Note About Starfall Publications

  Also By Lucinda Nelson

  The Sinful Secret of a Broken Earl

  Chapter 1

  Lord Henry Rivers, the Earl of Radingley

  Henry rolled over onto his back, his breaths coming in puffs.

  “Incredible,” the woman beside him breathed. Her name was Rose. She was a Baroness he’d met the night before. She’d been returning from a ball in a carriage when he’d ridden up alongside her and spoke to her through the window. With a little charm, he’d managed to persuade her to invite him over tonight.

  Henry had thought that convincing her to be intimate with him would take a few visits. But he’d been pleasantly surprised, and was honestly a little disappointed. She’d made it all so easy. He stood, naked as the day he was born, and said, “Have you got anything to drink in here?”

  “The cabinet over there has brandy in it.”

  Henry walked towards it and poured himself a glass. Then he returned to the bed and sat up against the headboard. He took a swig of the brandy, then picked his jacket up from the floor and retrieved a cigar from the inside breast pocket.

  He lit it and took a deep, long puff. Closing his eyes, he rested his head back against the wall and let the liquor and the burn of the smoke tingle through his body.

  “Was it good for you?” Rose purred, as she draped her thigh over his and ran her finger along his chest.

  He nodded, albeit a little dismissively. He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to get her into bed if he hadn’t thought it would be enjoyable, but it was more of a pastime than a luxury. Henry never struggled to convince a woman to sleep with him, but the Baroness had been particularly easy.

  “I thought Lord Stone was courting you,” he remarked.

  Rose rolled her eyes and sighed against the skin of his shoulder. “He was, but not especially effectively.”

  Henry nodded.

  “His attempts are feeble,” she went on.

  Henry understood her meaning. Most men were like that, in his experience, particularly when it came to courting. They simpered like puppies. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a man with a backbone. But he could remember being just like them, at one time. Something he’d rather forget.

  “But you were quite remarkable,” she observed, with a coy smile. She dragged her finger lightly through the grooves of his abdomen, making it tense. “Persistent.”

  He didn’t remark that it hadn’t required much persistence. She’d been ready and willing the moment he’d started speaking to her. “Truly,” she murmured, as she traced the line of his pelvis from one hip to the other. “I find it astounding that any woman would let you go.”

  Henry’s body tensed. He’d taken a puff of his cigar, which he now held in his lungs, letting it sting. He turned his face and looked at her, with icy blue eyes. “What did you say?” Henry said, his voice deep and rumbling.

  Rose blinked up at him, fluttering her lashes in surprise at the sound of his chilling voice and the sight of his iron countenance. “I said that it is remarkable that any woman would leave you. It’s a compliment, my darling.”

  “I am not your darling,” he said, in a terse voice. Henry released the smoke, which became a cloud of white around his head. He stood abruptly and started snatching his clothes from the floor.

  Rose sat up in the bed, her brows furrowed, holding the sheet around her naked breasts. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “I only meant that your wife-”

  Henry whipped around, his face disfigured by rage. “Don’t talk about her,” he shouted, his voice sharp and cutting. “Don’t you dare.”

  Stupidly, Rose tried to reach for him. When she touched his arm, he hissed in a breath from between his teeth and stepped away from her. He fastened his trousers and pulled on his jacket. “You know nothing about me,” he reminded her.

  “But I’d like to, Henry,” she blurted. “Please come back to bed.”

  Henry picked up his glass of brandy and finished it in one gulp. Then he turned away and headed towards the door. “Henry!” She called after him. “You mustn’t tell anyone about us. Please!”

  As far as Henry was concerned, there was nothing to tell. People could spread rumors about him all they liked, but he wouldn’t facilitate them. He didn’t share his business. Not with anyone. Nor did he tear the good names of the women he slept with through the dirt.

  Henry could be surly and impolite when he was in a poor mood, but he wasn’t needlessly callous. He just didn’t have time or heart for being good-natured. At least, not anymore.

  Henry left the Baroness’ estate in a hurry. He wanted to block out what she had said about his wife, but he couldn’t. She’d opened the door to the demons he spent all his time and energy trying to leash.

  Such a simple thing to say. Just a few words. And yet he felt like she’d punched him in the gut. He was winded by it, and he only knew of one remedy to this feeling.

  Distraction.

  ***

  Miss Magdalene Riley, Daughter of the Baron of Brambleheath

  “You can’t be serious,” she said, for what had to be the fifth or sixth time. But alas, her brother wasn’t listening to her. Joseph had this manic look in his eye that frightened her. She’d seen it before, but only since their parents had passed away.

  “Stop saying that!” He bit out, with his hands in his hair.

 
Maggie tried to reach for his wrists, to keep him from tearing at his hair and hurting himself, but he yanked himself away from her and cast her a murderous look. “You have no idea the danger we’re in, do you?”

  “I was there too, Joseph. I heard what he said,” she reminded him. That afternoon, a gentleman had come to tell them that their house was going to be repossessed, on account of their debts.

  But they weren’t their debts. They’d been left to them when their father, Lord Riley, Baron of Brambleheath had passed away. An ugly inheritance. “Please calm down, Joseph. Let’s talk about this before doing anything rash.”

  “We’ve been talking about this, Maggie. And it has gotten us nowhere. We need funds now.” Saying this seemed to increase his resolve. He reached for his coat and started to pull it on. Though his expression was determined, she could see his hands shaking.

  “It’s illegal,” she said, catching his arm when he tried to leave.

  “And necessary,” he added.

  Maggie tightened her grip on his forearm and gave a tug, forcing him to turn his face and look at her. Her brother was a lean man. He was built for running long distances, not for fighting. And he was still so young. If she looked hard enough, she could just about see a youthful rosiness in his cheeks.

  “Please, Joseph…” She whispered.

  Her plea broke his iron countenance, but it didn’t sway him. He seemed to melt. His shoulders slackened and his brows pulled together. “Maggie…” he said, softly. “If I don’t do this, we won’t make it.”

  Maggie wanted to argue, but she knew there was nothing to be said. Reluctantly, she released his arm. “Then I’m coming with you.”

  They argued about this for the following hour, during which time Maggie prepared a disguise for herself and Joseph followed her around, shouting intermittently. But Maggie wouldn’t take no for an answer. Staying at home while he put his life on the line was an unbearable thought.

  When they finally left the house, Joseph was sullen and silent. He wouldn’t speak to her for the entire carriage ride, but she knew it wasn’t anger compelling him to silence. His nervousness was a tangible presence between them.

  As they got closer to their destination, she put her hand on top of his, to comfort the both of them. He allowed it.

  Maggie was wearing a cowl which, when she kept her head low, disguised much of her face. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that she couldn’t be seen where they were going. No one could know.

  When the carriage came to a halt and the driver asked for his pay, Joseph looked at Maggie. She’d brought a small purse with her, which she started digging through. She only had a few pennies. Barely enough to pay the driver. And the gentleman was watching her closely as she hunted through her purse, with an impatient expression which made her blush.

  At last, she handed him the pennies and mumbled an apology. He counted the coins in front of them before grunting and taking his leave.

  They turned around and faced what appeared to be a derelict building. The night was cold and breezeless. It sent a shiver down her spine, which made her move closer to her brother.

  “Are you sure this is it?” She whispered to him, as if there was anyone around to hear. The streets seemed entirely deserted, and it was drizzling slightly, which made her feel even colder.

  “That’s what Alexander said,” Joseph answered, without taking his eyes off the building.

  Alexander was a gentleman Joseph had met in a tavern the week before. He’d come over to their house a couple of times, and he leered at Maggie in a way that made her skin crawl. Needless to say, she didn’t like him very much. And she liked him even less for recommending this place to Joseph.

  “Wouldn’t we be able to hear it?”

  “I guess they wouldn’t want us to.” As he said this, Joseph approached the building’s door, which was boarded up. Maggie swallowed, but didn’t move. “Hello?” He called, as he knocked on the boards. “Anyone there?”

  No one answered.

  After a moment, Maggie hurried forwards and said, “There’s no one there. We should go.”

  “Hello!” Joseph called again, ignoring her and knocking more loudly. “Alexander Braith said-”

  Before he could finish, the door swung open, making it clear that though the boards had been nailed to the wood, they hadn’t sealed the doorway shut. Joseph stepped back quickly, and Maggie gripped his arm.

  A man with a face cast in shadows stood in the doorway, gesturing for them to come inside. “Joseph…” Maggie whispered, as she started shaking her head. She tried to pull him back, but he yanked his arm free of hers and stepped inside.

  “If you’re scared, go home,” he said, sharply, as he went inside. Before he disappeared, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “Really. Please go home.” He said this more softly, and then vanished into the building.

  The man in the doorway looked down at her. He had a thick beard and was so tall that she had to tip her head back to look at him. “Are you coming?” He said, in a gruff voice.

  Maggie didn’t think. She just stepped inside and let him close the door behind her.

  Chapter 2

  Miss Magdalene Riley, Daughter of the Baron of Brambleheath

  The inside of the building wasn’t what she was expecting. Given how quiet it was, she imagined that it would be a rather private affair. A few wealthy, depraved men throwing their money at poverty-stricken men fighting in a ring.

  The reality of the inside of the building was even more chilling. It was entirely barren. There was no light, which forced her to squint. And what she saw was peeling walls, debris and dust. When a rat scuttled past her, she almost jumped into the arms of the gentleman who’d opened the door for them.

  He caught her by the shoulder to steady her. Even in the darkness, she could see him rolling his eyes. “Joseph?” She called softly.

  “He’s already gone down,” the man said, with mounting impatience. “Go on.” He gestured towards a door at the end of the room. It was hanging off its hinges. She could see a faint orange glow shining through the crack.

  Maggie looked up at the man. His jaw looked like it had been carved from rock. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a man look so vicious. A year earlier, before the death of her parents and all the trouble that had come with it, she would have told him that she was a lady of Brambleheath. That she wouldn’t be spoken to in such a way.

  But here, in this place, did she have a right to say that? This wasn’t a place for titles. So Maggie pulled the cowl tighter around her face, took a shaky breath, and headed for the door.

  As she approached, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet, she imagined her brother on the other side, being dragged into a world he’d never known before. Her dread was a heavy stone in her stomach, making her feel like she might vomit.

  But turning back wasn’t an option. She pushed the door a little wider and looked down. She understood now why they called it the pits. There was a steep, decrepit staircase that led down into a glowing basement. She could hear the hum of voices, then a sudden raucous cheer.

  Maggie cast one final glance over her shoulder. The man was gone, and the door had been closed behind her. “God help us,” she whispered, and reached for the cross hanging around her neck. It was her mother’s pendant, which she’d taken to wearing after her death.

  Who else could they turn to, if not God himself?

  But though it felt like she prayed more than she breathed, God had been painfully silent. Still, with what remained of her hope, she thumbed the cross and walked down the stairs.

  The noise grew. The shouting intensified. And amongst it all, she could hear occasional grunts and groans. When she emerged at the bottom of the stairs, which seemed to go on for miles, she was nonetheless amazed that she hadn’t been able to hear the commotion from the streets outside.

  They must have reinforced the walls to prevent the noise carrying, because it was by no means a private affair. Deep in the basement, there
was a colossal chamber and a crowd that seemed to pulse with a terrible energy. It was windowless, with one single entrance and exit, which she’d just emerged from.

  Maggie went very still, peering up at the crowd from beneath her hood. There had to be a hundred people, all clustered around an opening in the center of the room. That opening had been scattered with dirt, to soak up the blood, and was bordered by a ring of rope.

  At the center of the opening, two men were wrestling. The muscular of the two had the other in a headlock and would surely be victorious soon. His opponent’s face was starting to adopt a bluish tint. But the victor wasn’t without his fair share of injury. His nose was gushing blood and looked crooked.

  Maggie wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. They weren’t colossal giants with mean faces like she’d been expecting. They just looked like normal men.

  If she looked closely enough, she could see the fear in their faces. When the man in the headlock slumped into the dirt, Maggie sucked in a breath and took an instinctive step closer.