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Rescued By The Earl's Vows
Ann Lethbridge
An unusual proposition from a lady…Will Lord Sandford come to Tess’s rescue?When Lady Tess Ingram bursts into Jaimie Earl of Sandford’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 Jaimie to come to her aid. And what starts as a convenient arrangement soon turns into more than is strictly proper…
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
In her youth, award-winning author ANN LETHBRIDGE re-imagined 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 (http://www.annlethbridge.com). She loves hearing from readers.
Also by Ann Lethbridge (#u3d0c7096-aabe-5bbe-95e2-3d854006fb50)
Captured Countess
The Duke’s Daring Debutante
Secrets of the Marriage Bed
An Innocent Maid for the Duke
Rakes in Disgrace miniseries
The Gamekeeper’s Lady
More Than a Mistress
Deliciously Debauched by the Rake
More Than a Lover
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Rescued by the Earl’s Vows
Ann Lethbridge
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-147-407349-3
RESCUED BY THE EARL’S VOWS
© 2018 Michèle Ann Young
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to two amazing young women—my daughters. Their support and their friendship is one of the most valuable things in my life. I wish them every happiness, wherever life’s trails take them in the future.
Contents
Cover (#uf19f2563-8bd5-5bc7-b6dc-cd98e4e95f45)
Back Cover Text (#u62dc7334-d9c3-5b9e-9670-f0d8626b63bd)
About the Author (#u9c52a2ae-e3bf-515a-b577-591abf8eda5f)
Booklist (#ud802e646-9776-54af-8c92-d2a155255e8d)
Title Page (#u1212a1a1-f8b9-52cd-b084-fe4d1d7acb20)
Copyright (#u06fc9b31-5a37-5f5e-9005-1d049dbe76ad)
Dedication (#ub3a7d668-39fc-58f6-bec8-38853eed9f94)
Chapter One (#u9b538d55-1b17-5608-8924-510e29f75e79)
Chapter Two (#u35467fc4-5cf9-51ce-bd9f-3af1d7841b13)
Chapter Three (#u5997f93a-efca-5340-b1c0-f06de74e49b9)
Chapter Four (#u6a2add01-5016-57ac-89e3-3db8255414a6)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u3d0c7096-aabe-5bbe-95e2-3d854006fb50)
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 made 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.
