The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance)
Read The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) Online
Authors: Cheryl Bolen
Tags: #romance, #historical romance, #regency romance, #romance historical, #historical ebooks, #english romance, #romance adult fiction
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* * *
The
Earl's Bargain...
The impossibly young, stunningly beautiful
widow Louisa Phillips finds herself penniless upon the death of her
no-good husband. What's a man-hating bluestocking to do?
Enter the Earl of Wycliff, who offers her
financial security for life. All she has to do is travel across
England posing as his wife. They're both hiding secrets – not the
least of which is their budding love for each other.
E-books available from award-winning author
Cheryl Bolen
A Lady by Chance*
The Brides of Bath Series
The Bride Wore Blue*
With His Ring*
A Fallen Woman*
To Take This Lord
(
previously titled
An Improper Proposal)*
My Lord Wicked
Lady Sophia's Rescue
The Earl's Bargain
It Had to Be You
(Previously titled
Nisei
)
A Duke Deceived*
* Previously published in paperback
The Earl's
Bargain
Cheryl Bolen
Published by Cheryl Bolen at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 by Cheryl Bolen
TABLE OF CONTENTS
London, 1818
An austere butler with sunken eyes and
hollow cheeks let Godwin Phillips into Tremaine House and silently
led him through a darkened hallway to the morning room. This
chamber was only dimly lit through a gap in the faded velvet
draping a tall window which gave on to Queen Street. Never would
Godwin understand the ways of the nobility. Lord Tremaine had money
to burn, yet he kept his town house completely shut up most of the
year and on the rare occasions when he was in residence was too
miserly to light fires. Godwin was most appreciative the butler had
not asked to take his coat for he was rather glad to keep it on in
the dank, musty house.
Lord Tremaine did not trouble himself to
stand when Phillips entered the room, nor did Godwin expect such
courtesy. He was, after all, merely a hireling of sorts to the
eccentric peer.
From behind the French writing desk,
Tremaine appraised his caller a moment before addressing him. "I
see you continue to prosper. Weston?"
Godwin nodded. Only the best tailor would
do. He had developed exceptional taste since he had begun his
association with Lord Tremaine, who had honed the occupational
skills for which Godwin already showed an aptitude. And now, at age
fifty, Godwin was finally on the cusp of living the life he had
always sought.
"Well, well," Tremaine said, leaning his own
frail body back in his once-luxurious tufted velvet chair, not
removing his gaze from Godwin. "I understand you have been admitted
to Waiters?"
"Why, yes," Godwin said, peering
suspiciously at Tremaine from beneath lowered brows.
"Did it not strike you as being exceeding
simple to be accorded membership?"
His eyes widened. "You used your
influence?"
"Surely you did not hope to gain membership
into one of London’s most exclusive clubs on your own questionable
merit?" Tremaine smiled. Not a smile of mirth, but a smug,
conspiratorial grin. "As it happens, membership in that
establishment is also enjoyed by your next . . .how shall I say it?
Lamb?"
"Indeed?"
The gray-haired baron nodded as he watched
Godwin. "The Earl of Wycliff."
"I see." Godwin's mouth was a taut line.
"Already I have
adjusted
his stocks. Lord
Wycliff has lost Cartmore Hall in Sussex.” Tremaine’s mouth tweaked
into a sinister smile as he spoke of destroying another
man.
What had Wycliff done to
ignite Tremaine’s hatred?
Godwin would take
care to never earn Tremaine’s wrath. “Anything else, your
lordship?” He was particularly anxious to know what would be his
reward for causing a man’s ruin.
“
If you are successful, we
will gain Wycliff House in Grosvenor Square. How would you and the
young lady you're about to wed enjoy living in one of the finest
houses in London?"
How had he learned about
Louisa
? "I should like it very much, my
lord."
"Then you know what to do." Tremaine put his
elbows on the dusty desk, a smile curving his lips. "Shall it be
pasteboards or dice?"
"I think the pasteboards."
London, 1826
The scalloped rows of brilliant diamonds and
emeralds laced through the long, manly fingers of Harold
Blassingame, the seventh Earl of Wycliff. A lump balled in his
throat as he remembered how the necklace had looked on his mother,
whose beauty stilled eight years previously. Oddly, recovering the
Wycliff Jewels did not bring the triumph he had expected. Even the
recovery of Cartmore Hall from nearly a decade in a usurper's
possession had left Harry wanting. Vindication of the Wycliffs
would not be complete until he regained Wycliff House in Grosvenor
Square.
Edward Coke, the cousin who was as close to
Harry as a brother, planted one booted foot on the Jacobean desk
that separated the two young men. "How many quid to persuade
Livingston to part with Aunt Isobel's jewels?"
Harry eyed Edward, a somber look in his
black eyes. "Twice what Rundel & Bridge would have valued
them."
His cousin winced. "Daresay Livingston knew
you'd have come up with ten times the amount, though I bloody well
don't know how he learned of your fat purse. 'Twas common knowledge
when you left England eight years ago that Uncle Robert had left
you penniless."
"The fact that I did not balk at Kindale's
asking price for Cartmore Hall has no doubt carried through London
like leaves scattering on the wind," Harry said.
“
The Hall I can understand.
Deuced fine stables you’ve got there, but to spend such blunt on
some bloody stones?” Edward shook his closely cropped head of blond
hair before leaning forward to pluck the Wycliff wedding ring from
a heap of sparkling jewels on the desk. "Think you to find a
suitable young lady to wear this, Harry?" He slid the emerald
encrusted band on his pinky finger, but it stopped well short of
his bony knuckle.
Harry shrugged. How could he tell Edward his
reasons for returning to England? How could anyone else understand
the magnetic pull of the land that had been in his family for
three-hundred years? How could he explain his need to restore the
family’s good name or his need for a family? And a wife.
But as his tracks to redemption grew
steadier, Harry's conscience burdened him. What decent and noble
woman would have him if she knew what he had been doing these last
eight years? Oh, he could avoid the truth. His title and fortune
alone could likely snare any woman of his choice.
The problem was he did not desire a marriage
based on deception. What he sought was a loving match. The kind his
parents had enjoyed. His stomach twisted at the memory of his
father’s perfidy. Yet his mother had never lost her love for the
man she had wed when she was twenty. The two shared everything. It
was almost as if their hearts beat in the same rhythm. And when his
father's heart stopped, his countess followed him to the grave not
a month later.
"Think you a woman would have me if she knew
by what means I achieved my wealth?" Harry asked.
Edward's eyes rounded.
"Surely you don’t have to tell a wife
everything
. Take my father. He bloody
well shields my mother from any manner of his, er,
activities."
A flicker of annoyance flashed across
Harry's face. "You mean from the facts about his mistresses?"
Edward swallowed and did not meet his
cousin's gaze. "Well, of course. Simply isn't done."
"Despite his grave faults, my father was
ever honest with — and faithful to — my mother, admirable qualities
in a marriage, I think." Harry drew his attention from Edward and
looked at the tall casements that gave onto Upper Brook Street. "I
doubt I'll ever have a wife with whom I can be completely
honest."
"Enough talk about wives!" Edward shuddered.
“Let us make up for the lost years of debauchery." A broad smile
lighted his youthful face.
Harry could not repress his grin as he got
to his feet. "I would prefer to see Wycliff House. I plan to make
Mr. Godwin Phillips's widow an offer that cannot be refused."
Edward's slender torso rose to its full
height, which was several inches shorter than his elder cousin's.
"Hope she's not as unscrupulous as her husband was. By the way,
I've learned who now possesses your father's diamond snuff box.
What say you we also pay a call on Lord Cleveland?"
Harry whirled to face his
cousin. "Whoever told you I wanted
his
snuff box?"
"I. . .I just thought you were going to
great pains to reclaim everything--"
"I want nothing of
his
," Harry
sneered.
* * *
As they rounded the corner to Grosvenor
Square, Harry's heartbeat began to roar. He had not gazed upon
Wycliff House in nearly a decade. Outwardly, the three-story
edifice of creamy brick had not changed. It made up for in grandeur
what it lacked in size. Lavish iron balusters lined the street
level, save for the arched entry portico. Rows of tall, pedimented
casements distinguished the upper floors that already stood out
from neighboring houses because graceful Corinthian columns framed
each window. A chiseled frieze of Grecian athletes banded the top
of the building.
No other modes of transportation waited in
front of the house where he and Edward tethered their horses. Harry
could barely remember a time when a variety of conveyances had not
lined this street. The old earl had taken seriously his role as a
Member of Parliament and had entertained often when Lords was in
session.
The front door was opened by a middle-aged
butler to whom Harry presented his card. "It is a matter of a
somewhat personal nature that I wish to discuss with Mrs.
Phillips."
The butler's brows elevated slightly when he
read the card. "Won't you come to the morning room, my lord?"
They strode across the broad entry hall’s
marbled floor and settled in a small room his mother had called the
morning room. "My mistress is presently engaged." The butler
lowered his voice. "'Tis Tuesday, you know. Her meeting day. I
shall inform her of your presence."
That the morning room
looked remarkably as it had nearly ten years earlier pleased Harry.
Elegant draperies of light blue moire hung beneath gilded cornices
on the windows facing Grosvenor Square. Blue silk damask sofas and
chairs scattered about the room on a patterned carpet of gold and
royal blue. A large crystal chandelier suspended from a ceiling
bordered in ivory molding.
Thank God the
scoundrel Godwin Phillips had the good sense to change
nothing.