Кейси Майклс - What an Earl Wants

‘Kasey Michaels aims for the heart and never misses.’

— New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts

‘The historical elements…imbue the novel with powerful realism that will keep readers coming back.’

— Publishers Weekly on A Midsummer Night’s Sin

‘One of the finest Regency writers does it again…

Wit, humour and cleverness combine to create an utterly delicious romance, just the kind readers relish.’

— RT Book Reviews on The Taming of the Rake

‘A poignant and highly satisfying read…filled with simmering sensuality, subtle touches of repartee, a hero out for revenge and a heroine ripe for adventure. You’ll enjoy the ride.’

— RT Book Reviews on How to Tame a Lady

‘Michaels’ new Regency miniseries is a joy…You will laugh and even shed a tear over this touching romance.’

— RT Book Reviews on How to Tempt a Duke

‘Michaels can write everything from a lighthearted romp to a far more serious-themed romance. [She] has outdone herself.’

— RT Book Reviews on A Gentleman by Any Other Name (Top Pick)

‘…a sensual romance filled with crackling dialogue reminiscent of The Philadelphia Story.’

— Publishers Weekly on Everything’s Coming Up Rosie

The Blackthorn BrothersThe Taming of the Rake A Midsummer Night’s Sin Much Ado About Rogues

The Daughtry FamilyHow to Tempt a Duke How to Tame a Lady How to Beguile a Beauty How to Wed a Baron

Other must-readsDial M for Mischief Mischief Becomes Her Mischief 24/7 A Gentleman by Any Other Name The Dangerous Debutante Beware of Virtuous Women A Most Unsuitable Groom A Reckless Beauty The Secrets of the Heart The Passion of an Angel Everything’s Coming Up Rosie Shall We Dance? The Butler Did It The Top-Lofty Lord Thorpe The Ruthless Lord Rule The Beleaguered Lord Bourne The Enterprising Lord Edward

The Redgraves‘The Wedding Party’ Rules of Engagement

Coming soonWhat a Lady Needs

Dear Reader,

For this series of four books, I’ve stepped back in time to the year just before the Regency officially began in February of 1811.

Hellfire clubs have always interested me, as has the politics surrounding the years of the Napoleonic Wars. The thing is, however, when I read histories I immediately begin weaving plots and peopling those plots with characters who make the whole business of history more alive to me.

You could say that’s the reason for all historical romances, I suppose. A love of the era you’re reading about, and an interest in the well-being and happily-ever-afters of the characters the author has plunked down in the middle of all of it.

I hope you enjoy What An Earl Wants , and then move on to read the stories of the earl’s three siblings, the headstrong Lady Katherine, the frankly adorable Valentine and the (he believes) love-resistant Maximillian.

Happy reading…and please visit me online if you have a chance!

Kasey Michaels

Kasey Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With affection, to Debi Allen,

lovely lady extraordinaire!

Kent, England

1789

THE GROUND SEEMED SUITABLE enough for the purpose. Nearly a tunnel of well-scythed lawn on the Saltwood estate, the carefully planted double row of trees serving as a rather romantical canopy overhead. Or it would have, were it summer, which it was not. In fact, it was the dead of winter and, in the false light before dawn, cold as a witch’s teat.

But, then again, no colder than the heart of the man now surveying the scene, no matter how appearances would prompt the casual onlooker to dismiss him as a mindless dandy.

“I say, Burke, shouldn’t there be a mist curling about our legs? Yes, I’m convinced of it. All the best early morning duels feature wispy tendrils of curling mist. I would have thought it mandatory. You’ll hold my cape, of course?”

The seventeenth Earl of Saltwood, one Barry Redgrave by name, lifted his arms and negligently shrugged out of his sable-lined cape, then laughed as his horrified valet sprang forward in a panic to rescue the magnificent thing before it could hit the ground.

“Ah, well executed, Burke. My compliments.” Relieved of the concealing cape, the earl was revealed to be not only a well set-up gentleman but also an exceedingly handsome man, or would be, were it not for a certain indescribable hardness about his dark blue eyes. His humor never quite seemed to reach them.

“You’ve drunk half the night away, my lord. You really must reconsider your timing,” Burke pleaded, now struggling with both the cape and the heavy rosewood box containing the Saltwood dueling pistols.

“I must, Burke?” The earl removed his tricornered hat with the lilac plume, placed it on Burke’s head at a jaunty angle, and then discreetly adjusted his snow-white periwig. “Why? Because of the lack of a mist? God’s teeth, man, it’s actually in the rules?”

“I don’t believe so, my lord, no. I meant only that you might be a mite…foxed, my lord,” the valet said, sighing.

“More than a mite, Burke,” the earl acknowledged, suddenly seeming amazingly sober. “I do my best shooting when three parts drunk. But if it calms you, I promise if I see three of him I’ll prudently aim for the one in the middle. However, if the unthinkable were to occur, you know what to do.”

“Yes, my lord,” Burke said, visibly trembling. “Everything goes to the Keeper, who also knows what to do.”

“Make me pretty, Burke, and well attended by handmaidens, or I shall come back to haunt you,” his lordship warned, and then laughed at his valet’s horrified expression. “I’m not about to die , you old woman. I’ll never die. Satan protects his own. Now, how does our importune Frenchman look to you? Quavering in his boots I should hope, as my reputation must surely precede me.”

Burke hazarded a look toward the plain black coach and the surgeon just now conversing with the very tall man and his second. “I don’t think so, no, sir. Rather, I should say, he appears determined . I should be remiss if I failed to mention that the duty of a second is to dissuade you from dueling, sir, and to broker a peace with the opponent’s second, one that will be acceptable to both sides.”

“A waste of breath best employed to cool your porridge once we’re finished here, Burke. There can be no acceptable solution other than that already decided upon. The man has been poking my lady wife.”

“Many have, sir,” Burke said, sighing once more. “Begging your pardon, my lord, and no offense meant.”

“None taken, my good man,” the earl said, flourishing a snowy linen handkerchief unearthed from his magnificent lace cuff before delicately pressing it to the right corner of his mouth, so as to not disturb the small star-shaped black patch he wore at the left. “Maribel has seen more cocks than any three generations of hens. With my express encouragement, although I should point out she defied me with this one. In any event, her perfidy serves only as a convenient excuse.”

“Sir?”

“Ah, my apologies. I wasn’t clear enough for you, Burke? It has become apparent to me for reasons I won’t bore you with at the moment that my opponent must cease drawing breath in the next quarter hour at most.” The earl replaced the handkerchief and shot his cuffs before smoothing down the lilac velvet of his frock coat, putting out his right foot to admire the dull sheen of his satin breeches in the waning moonlight. “Too much, do you think, Burke? This rig-out, I mean. I didn’t wish to appear shabby, although I might make a richer target in this cursed moonlight than previously considered. Well, no matter. Shall we be on with it?”

“If there is no other way?”

The earl’s jawline went hard as he touched a hand to the small golden pin in the shape of a rose in full bloom stuck into the foaming lace of his cravat. “There probably exist a veritable plethora of other ways, but I have chosen this one, magnanimously granting the dishonorable creature an honorable death. Civilized murder, if you will, with man-made rules. And, of course, a lesson quite literally brought home to my lady wife, hmm, when I bring his bloodied body to her bedchamber, to fling it at her feet? Please allow my fornicating opponent first choice of weapons.”

Burke did as he was told, and much too short a time later he was huddled alongside the surgeon and the other second, watching the combatants stand backto-back, pistols raised to their shoulders, the duel about to commence. The earl appeared to be at his ease, a smile on his handsome face. The Frenchman, his chin held high, was pale-cheeked yet determined, as if knowing he was probably about to die.

Yes, Burke thought, civilized murder. All but an execution.

The earl himself began counting out the paces before they would stop, turn and shoot. “…eight…nine… ten .”

Burke closed his eyes, only opening them again when the sound of a single shot ripped the morning silence, jolting nesting birds into startled flight. The two men now faced each other across the expanse of winter dead grass, their right arms extended, their pistols aimed at each other. Rather like statues, frozen in place.

But then the earl turned about rather stiffly, as if hunting something, and Burke looked to the opposite line of trees and the cloaked figure standing there, head and shoulders wreathed in blue smoke.

“Now there’s something I hadn’t expected…” the Earl of Saltwood said at last, just before he dropped to his knees and pitched forward onto the ground, dead.

London, England 1810

THE EIGHTEENTH EARL of Saltwood, one Gideon Redgrave by name, struck a pose just inside the entrance of the narrow house in Jermyn Street, looking for all the world a sketch from the Journal des Dames et des Modes come to life. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelid did he give away the fact that he’d no idea he’d knocked on the door of number forty-seven only to be ushered into a gaming house. His man of business would answer for that omission when next he saw him; the earl didn’t care for surprises.

He allowed a curtsying maid of indeterminate years to relieve him of his hat, gloves and cane, and then shrugged off his evening cloak, watching as the woman folded it lovingly over her arm. A gold coin appeared from his pocket, and he held it in front of her wideopen blue eyes. A copper coin would do for most, but Gideon Redgrave believed the gold coin to be an investment, one that would pay dividends when his belongings came back to him in the same pristine condition in which they’d been handed over, rather than having suffered the unfortunate accident of walking out the door in his absence.

“Yours if my possessions are safely returned when I leave,” he told her, and the maid bobbed her head enthusiastically before scurrying away.