To Tempt an Earl: Lords of London, Book 3 Read online

  To Tempt an Earl

  Lords of London, Book 3

  Tamara Gill

  Contents

  Keep in contact with Tamara

  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

  Epilogue

  To Bedevil a Duke

  Chapter 1

  To Madden a Marquess

  To Vex a Viscount

  Feed an author, leave a review

  Also by Tamara Gill

  About the Author

  Copyright

  To Tempt an Earl

  Lords of London, Book 3

  Copyright © 2018 by Tamara Gill

  Cover Art by EDH Graphics

  Editor Authors Designs

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.

  Keep in contact with Tamara

  Tamara loves hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her website or email her at [email protected].

  Dedication

  For my darling daughter, Lily.

  Chapter 1

  It was, without question, the worst week of Lord Hamish Doherty, Earl Leighton’s life. He lay sprawled on the main floor of the Two Toads Inn, near the Berkshire border. His eyes watered as pain ricocheted through his face, blood pouring from his nose, that no amount of dabbing with his handkerchief would halt. So much for his unblemished profile, the ladies of the ton would be most upset to see that his nose was now a little crooked.

  “I told ye, no matter who ye think ye are, if ye can’t pay ye debt, I’ll belt the money out of ye,” the proprietor growled, his bulky frame distinctly menacing.

  Hamish swiped at his nose, searching his pockets again for his purse, which was regretfully missing. Where the hell was it? He had it when he arrived three days past, had tipped the busty barmaid a gold coin after a very thorough servicing of his room, but after that his memory was hazy.

  He'd gone for a ride yesterday to visit his good friend the Duke of Athelby at Ruxdon house, but with no need of funds there, he’d left his purse in the room. A stupid error of judgement considering the state his nose was now in.

  Pushing away a surge of anger, he replied calmly, “This is merely a misunderstanding. I have funds. I left them in my room.”

  “Are ye saying that they’ve been stolen? That my inn is an establishment that allows such theft from those who stay under its roof?”

  The publican wacked the wooden baton against his hand, a sure sign that would replace the fist that smacked into his nose a moment ago. Hamish looked about the room and cringed that he was now the centre of attention of other guests who were privy to his humiliation. No doubt he’d be the on dit all over town next week once they knew who he was. “Not necessarily…only that I had it when I left yesterday only to find it gone today. And I’m not saying that it was stolen, but only that it’s missing, and I have not misplaced it.”

  The barmaid who he’d tupped huffed out an aggrieved breath. “Sounds like ye are trying to pin the stealing on one of us.”

  Hamish held up his hand when the publican took a step toward him. “I’m not, but I don’t have the funds to pay for my debt. Let me send word to my friend, the Duke of Athelby and he’ll pay the bill. I assure you.” The publican narrowed his eyes and seemed a little less sure of his abuse at the mention of the duke, but it was only short-lived as he seemed to disregard Hamish’s lofty contacts and took a threatening step toward him.

  “Ye are a liar as well as a lout who cannot pay,” the publican accused.

  Damn, if there was anything Hamish disliked it was conflict, and he didn’t wish to cause trouble so close to the Duke of Athelby’s estate, but nor would he allow being treated so poorly. He was a peer, being beaten like a low life criminal. If the publican did not watch his future actions, he would find himself before the local magistrate for battery and theft.

  “I’m the Earl Leighton. Do not confuse me for a lout without money or influence. If you come any closer to me with that bat, you’ll find out quick enough just how true my words are.”

  The publican’s eyes widened, and his advance stopped. Clearly the man was rethinking better of splitting Hamish’s head open. “How do I know ye not lying about being a toff?”

  A pair of sturdy boots came up to stand beside his head and he noticed they were well worn and a little dusty, probably from the inn yard. The gown that followed the boots was a dull, grey color, good for traveling. The face that glanced down at him was nothing short of angelic.

  “How much does his lordship owe?” this mystery woman asked the publican, stepping between him and the man who’d already given him a bloody nose, which by the way, refused to stop bleeding. He pinched his nose harder.

  “Four pounds will cover it, Miss Martin, and may I say how glad we are that ye are here to stay with us again.”

  She rummaged into her reticule and pulled out the correct amount, placing it into the publican’s hand. “Have our luggage moved up to our rooms and have his lordship’s carriage packed straight away. As for the gentleman’s claims of being Lord Leighton, I can assure you he is who he says. I can vouch for him as we have mutual friends.” She glanced at him quickly, her voice no-nonsense and calm. “I’m assuming since he was wanting to pay his account that his intentions were to leave.”

  “Of course, Miss Martin,” the publican said, bowing and yelling out to the surrounding staff to do as she bade. “Apologies, my lord for any confusion. I hope you’ll understand not knowing who ye were made me actions necessary.”

  Hamish glared at the bastard. “Let it be known I shall not shadow your establishment again, and nor will I ever recommend it.”

  Miss Martin kneeled beside him, holding out her gloved hand for him to take. He did, and she helped him to stand.

  For a moment Hamish stared at the angel who’d saved his poor carcase without his purse before she raised one, dark eyebrow.

  “Lord Leighton, Miss Katherine Martin at your service. We’ve met before, at a ball I attended with my good friend Miss Cecilia Smith, now the Marchioness of Aaron.”

  Hamish frowned, racking his brain to place the beauty before him and came up blank. How could he forget such a woman? She appeared a lady who commanded authority and also had a backbone of steel. Even the hefty, large-boned publican didn’t seem to faze her.

  He met her piercing, intelligent brown orbs that were as dark as a rich coffee and his gut clenched. Upon standing one thing became perfectly clear, she was tall, almost as tall as him. She would never be regarded as a diamond of the first water, but Miss Martin was attractive. Her long, russet brown locks sat about her shoulders, neither tied back or accessorized with a bonnet. She stared at him with unwavering frankness, and as for her mouth, well, sensual and plump were
two terms that came to mind…

  “I’m embarrassed to say that I do not remember, but I’m very pleased to meet you and I thank you for your help today. I’m unabashedly ashamed of myself. I should have looked after my belongings better.”

  “I have no doubt that you’ve been stolen from, and yes, please when staying in such locales in the future, take better heed of your things. I may not always be about to save you.” She threw him a grin and turned about on her heel, heading for the stairs.

  “Wait!” he said, clasping her arm, gently urging her to face him once again, then releasing her. An inexplicable need to see her again welled inside him. A pretty blush had heated her cheeks possibly because of his familiarity, and he suppressed the urge to pull at his cravat like a schoolboy. “I must repay your kindness. We have mutual friends, shall I see you in town? How can I get in contact with you?” Hamish stopped saying anymore before he sounded like a desperate fool.

  She rummaged in her reticule again, pulling out a small card. “We move in quite different social circles, even though my friend has married into the aristocracy. But perhaps we shall see each other again. As for repayment, should you or someone you know ever need a builder, please recommend my father’s company. You’ll not find more quality or better prices.”

  Hamish looked down at the card, it read: Mr. Montgomery Martin, Master Builder. “I hope we meet again, Miss Martin.” No truer words had he said. She’d saved his hide, stepped in like an Amazonian warrior and fought off the evil publican. The need to meet again, not when he was bleeding like a stuck pig and dishevelled from being assaulted, burned though him. He wanted to see her again within his own sphere, his own terms. He would send a note to the Marchioness of Aaron on his return to London and see what she could arrange.

  Miss Martin laughed, heading for the stairs. “Safe travels back to London, my lord. And please, remember my advice for the sake of that pretty nose of yours. I would hate for your bone structure to suffer any more ill effects from a fist.”

  A warm sensation tugged inside his chest. “So, you think I’m pretty, Miss Martin?”

  “I believe I remarked only on your nose, my lord. Is it possible you are fishing for a compliment?”

  Hamish chuckled and watched as the impudent, delightful miss walked up the stairs, the last image he had of her the little black boots as they stepped out of sight.

  Chapter 2

  Three months later…

  Hamish hadn’t thought life could get much worse after his sister’s death. Her loss had cracked his heart open, and though echoes of grief still tormented him, a blessed numbness had wrapped his heart in a protective layer. A series of unfortunate incidents seemed determined to compound his misery and he truly hadn’t thought anything could again stir his emotions which had been cauterized by pain. However, looking at the charred remains on what was left of a good portion of his London home, a home which had rung with happy memories of her joyous laughter, well, he had to amend such thoughts.

  The year could bugger off for all he cared. First, he’d been assaulted at the Inn, the very Inn where his purse had been stolen. Upon arriving back in town he’d attended his favourite gaming hell, only to have been set upon by footpads where his winnings for the night, totalling almost a hundred pounds had been fleeced from him. He’d also suffered another bloody nose for his troubles.

  Why he had been so unfortunate he could not fathom, unless the almighty was annoyed at him for not doing his duty and marrying a suitable young debutante. He was not looking to marry anytime soon if at all. His beloved sister’s child would inherit his fortune and property, there was really no need for him to marry and reproduce at all. Even so, the amount of misfortune that had plagued him was starting to cause talk among his servants, and he no longer knew what to do to turn the tide back to being lucky instead of unlucky.

  And now this. He shook his head, stepping back from the building when a large beam gave way, taking a portion of the floor with it. Servants and neighbors milled about him, looking up at what had once been part of his home. The part where he held his annual ball, and his sitting room on the first floor. All gone, nothing but ash and charred wood.

  Damn it.

  “I just heard, Hamish. I’m so sorry.”

  Hunter, the Marquess of Aaron, clapped him on the shoulder, holding him. “We’ll have it rebuilt in no time. Do not despair.”

  Hamish wondered the time as the marquess was still dressed for his evening out, but there was no sign of Cecilia in the carriage. He sighed, not sure if he had it in him to take on such a task. He’d had so much bad luck of late, he’d likely have the job completed only to have it burnt down again. “Do you ever feel as though your life is wrong? That you must’ve done something so heinous, that the world is out to get you?”

  Hunter looked at him. “No, but is that how you feel?”

  Hamish grimaced. “I cannot help but feel that I need to right some wrong or I’ll continue to be somewhat cursed. No one I know has had as much misfortune as I have this year.”

  “You’re talking about being attacked by footpads down in Vauxhall.”

  “Yes, but there have been other things as well.” Maybe he’d not told Hunter all of what had happened to him since the death of his sister. Even so, it didn’t change the fact that bad things continued to happen to him and he didn’t know why. He was a rogue and a well sought-after gentleman yes, but he was not evil. He donated to the Duchess of Athelby and the Marchioness’ of Aaron’s London Relief Society every year. Paid his employees a fair wage and tried to be courteous to all, no matter their station. So, what was he doing wrong? Why did the fates of the world seem determined to have him crumble to his knees? It made no sense.

  “You’d best be going. Cecilia will be wondering where you are, and I do not need to share my misfortune with others. It’s probably best that you stayed away permanently.”

  “Do not take any heed of what the rumor mongers are saying about you.”

  Hamish rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. When the fire took hold last evening, he’d been abed and heard the cracking, popping sound coming from outside his door. Thank god he’d gone to investigate for he could’ve lost his whole home had he not alerted the servants and had two of them run and fetch the water engine while they fought with buckets of sand, water and sodden hessian bags.

  “People are talking about me, and after this they will be even more so.”

  “Let us not worry about what has happened to you, but what our next steps are in moving forward. You have to rebuild.”

  Which means he’ll have to hire a master builder. The thought left him weary.

  “You can stay with us until your home is repaired.”

  Hamish called over his steward who was inspecting the charred remains of his home. “Mr. Oakes, contact J Smith & Son lawyers and have them do an assessment for the insurance. We’ll need to get this rebuild completed as soon as may be. We’ll also need to hire two strong men to keep watch on the home until it is secure once again. I don’t wish to lose anything else in this conundrum.”

  His agent bowed. “Yes, Sir. I’ll get onto it right away.”

  “Henderson,” Lord Aaron called out, gaining the attention of Hamish’s valet who also stood on the street, his visage one of shock. “Pack up what you can of his lordship’s clothing and have it sent around to my townhouse as soon as may be. Have Stubbs pack up whatever valuables he can manage. That’ll have to do I’m afraid.”

  Hamish followed the marquess into the home to view the destruction more clearly, and although a lot of the building was smoke damaged, at least it was standing. How the remainder of the house hadn’t caught alight was anyone’s guess, but the thunder storm that came through, dousing the building with rain had helped. A little silver lining had been there at least. It was the reason the flames had been subdued and eventually put out. The charred walls, peeling, blackened wallpaper, family paintings that were smouldering was too much to take in, and within a few min
utes Hamish strode toward the door. He couldn’t look anymore. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the mess.

  “Sir, if you please before you depart,” his steward said, coming out of the room that had suffered serious damage due to the fire on the floor above.

  “Yes, Mr. Oakes what is it?”

  “I have sent for the insurance brokers and your lawyers. Stubbs and Henderson will bring everything that you asked for to the Marquess of Aaron’s London home before luncheon tomorrow.”

  “Very good. I thank you,” he said, eager to be away.

  Their carriage waited down the lane a little way, due to the men who were already working on his home to secure it as best they could and to ensure the fire was definitely out. Hamish shook his head at the chaos this disaster had caused his neighbors and himself. To think only yesterday all was as it should be in Berkley Square and today, well, it was not what anyone would wish for.

  * * *

  Katherine sat at her desk in her father’s library and read the missive from a Mr. Oakes, steward for the Earl of Leighton. She’d heard about the fire in Mayfair but hadn’t know it was Lord Leighton who’d suffered the consequences.

  She took out a piece of parchment and wrote Mr. Oakes, notifying him she would attend his lordship’s home to commence a quote on the rebuilding of the wing that was damaged and that he could expect her by two in the afternoon.