Unchaining an Earl’s Passion (Preview)

Chapter One
Early summer, 1808
London

Michael

‘The Right Honourable, the Earl of Stanwick,’ the butler announced as Michael Berth entered the garden.

He was a square-jawed gentleman with trim dark hair cropped in the Caesar style, handsomely dressed in a deep blue coat that matched his eyes. His man, Seamus Cavanaugh, followed behind him, leading two curly retrievers, cheerful brown canines with lolling tongues who wagged their tails at everyone present. These included Lord Henry Petty, 3rd Marquess of Lansdowne, and several guests.

Michael bowed to the people assembled and approached the bushy-haired Lord Petty, who eschewed convention and went by his family name rather than ‘Lansdowne.’ Giving Cavanaugh a subtle flick of the hand to follow him, Michael cleared his throat.

‘Stanwick!’ Lord Petty said, eyeing the dogs. Petty was close in age to Michael himself. ‘You’re very prompt. I had hoped you would be and encouraged everyone to take the air after dining.’

‘Your foresight is to be admired,’ Michael said.

‘Bit damp,’ Petty said, looking about him at the tidily trimmed hedges, their leaves glistening with recently fallen rain, and down the puddle-marred allee. ‘But better damp shoes and hems than wet dogs in the house, I daresay.’

Michael nodded and swallowed, allowing himself a glance at the dogs, Argos and Cavall. His heart twisted.

‘I say, Petty, come look at this,’ a gentleman called from the bank of a medium-sized pond.

‘Pardon me for a moment, Stanwick,’ Petty said.

Michael nodded again, and his chest loosened as the marquess moved to the pond. Michael crouched and fondled Cavall’s furry ears.

‘Tisn’t too late to change your mind, you know, My Lord,’ Cavanaugh said in a voice so soft, none of the others nearby would overhear.

Michael winced and glanced up at his valet. ‘It must be done,’ he said.

‘They’re fine dogs, and I’ve no doubt’ll fetch an equally fine sum,’ Cavanaugh said. ‘But not enough in the scheme of things, My Lord.’

Michael straightened, stepping closer to Cavanaugh with a glance around at the other guests. ‘No, certainly not. But this is a stop-gap, Cavanaugh. And a necessary one. I can’t have Lady Stanwick distressed.’

‘But is it really so urgent, My Lord?’

‘The preparations for Lord Wenrith’s ball …’ Michael murmured, bending again to stroke the silky fur on Argos’s head.

‘Such a sacrifice for a gown and some ribbon,’ Cavanaugh grouched.

‘The gown and the ribbon aren’t the point, and you know it. If she were to learn of Jonathan’s latest scrape—’

Cavanaugh snorted.

Michael gave him a frown but ’twas no use. Cavanaugh was like a father to Michael, regardless of their stations, and he knew he would be permitted all manner of liberties.

‘Grandmama has a fragile heart,’ Michael reminded Cavanaugh.

‘Not so fragile as you might think, My Lord,’ the valet disagreed.

But on this point, Michael would not be gainsaid. The dowager countess had fallen ill the previous spring. Michael had always taken his duty to his family very seriously, and since her illness, all the more so.

‘I shall do whatever is necessary to prevent her any agitation,’ he insisted. ‘The sale of my dogs is but a small oblation. And a short-term measure, but I shall have news of the King Josiah soon.’

‘I hope ’tis good news, My Lord,’ Cavanaugh said, his eyes taking on a weary squint.

In that, they agreed. As talk of his half-brother Jonathan’s most recent foray into scandal and debt reached him, Michael now looked to the profits from his investment in the merchant ship as his sole hope for salvation. The King Josiah should have reached its port in Boston a week since, but by all accounts, the weather of the early summer had delayed many ships. It was too early to hope for news, but he awaited it eagerly nonetheless.

Until then, he must do whatever was necessary to prevent Jonathan’s rakish behaviour from sullying the family name, for his grandmother’s sake if nothing else. If that meant selling Argos and Cavall, then that was what Michael would do. That his dogs were dear to him was neither here nor there. That they were his only friends, aside from Cavanaugh—

Oh, devil it, Stanwick. Will you wax all maudlin now? Straighten your spine, man.

Michael left off stroking Argos and stood like a steel rod had been inserted into his back.

But I shall miss them. What use is it to deny it? The days are lonely enough.

Dogs were not suited to London in the best of times, Michael reminded himself. He cast his gaze beyond the Lansdowne garden to the trees of the grounds beyond.

At least they’ll run here. I’m sure there are plenty of hares and pheasants to chase. They shall enjoy that very much.

Michael allowed himself a glance at the canines. Argos caught his eye and cocked his head to the side, ceasing his panting enquiringly.

‘You shall like it here, old boy,’ Michael whispered to him. ‘I guarantee it.’

Louisa

As she stepped into the shop, the scents of perfumes, powders, and pomades mingled and assaulted Miss Louisa Colby with far too much vigour.

‘My heavens,’ she murmured, her steps faltering. As with many tasks laid before her in her new occupation as a lady’s companion, Louisa found she lacked a sense for how one must approach things.

Row upon row of delicate flacons and more sturdy pottery bottles lined the shelves on the walls, as well as stacks of soaps, tins of powders, and many other products meant for personal hygiene. No doubt, it was to be expected, yet the heavy mix of aromas conspired to bring on an instant headache.

As a paid companion, Louisa occupied a strange place in England’s social hierarchy. She was not, by any official standard, considered a servant, but her employer, Miss Matilda Hardy, seemed to be unaware of this fact. Whilst most lady’s companions spent their time at home with the lady they served, dined with the family, and lived in a room in the family part of the house, Louisa was often sent on errands such as this one. She dined in the kitchen more often than not and lived in a small room under the roof in the servants’ quarters. Nevertheless, Louisa never complained. Given her circumstances, she was fortunate to benefit from Miss Hardy’s generosity in employing her as more than a chambermaid.

A shopgirl dressed in a linen bib apron with slim blue and white stripes approached. ‘May I help you, mum?’ she asked.

‘I’m here for Miss Matilda Hardy’s purchase,’ Louisa said, trying not to frown against the onslaught of the perfumes.

‘Right away, mum.’

The shopkeeper appeared and exchanged a nod with the shopgirl; Louisa assumed this communicated she was already being served. Then the girl disappeared through a door. Louisa willed her to hurry and wondered whether the girl or her employer suffered headaches from standing in the perfume shop’s miasma throughout the day.

An elderly gentleman entered and struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper. Under normal circumstances, Louisa might have amused herself by listening, but at the moment, it took all her concentration to stave off a faint. She was considering stepping outside for air when the shopkeeper and the gentlemen’s voices began to rise in disagreement.

‘… ghastly rash!’ the gentleman was saying.

‘I shan’t take any responsibility at all, sir,’ the shopkeeper countered, his cheeks flushing red. ‘My perfumes are made from the finest oils and extracts—’

Louisa’s sympathies were with the shopkeeper, but she dared not intervene.

‘And how do you explain it, then?’ the gentleman demanded.

‘Perhaps your wife has unusually tender skin—’

Louisa cringed on the fellow’s behalf—’twas an impolitic thing to say.

‘I beg your pardon!’ the customer erupted.

The colour in the shopkeeper’s cheeks abruptly drained away as his shoulders rounded, and he all but cringed. ‘My apologies, sir. Allow me to offer you a bottle of our newest perfume—a very fine blend—shall I fetch it for you to sample?’

The gentleman made a huffing noise that the shopkeeper clearly took as assent, for he whirled around and would have plunged through the door but for the shopgirl who chose that untimely moment to reappear. The two collided, and the sound of shattering glass made Louisa flinch.

‘You cow-handed pea goose!’ the shopkeeper snapped at the girl, raising a hand.

‘I say!’ Louisa cried in alarm.

The shopkeeper whirled to look at her, and for a moment, the hatred on his face was undisguised.

‘By heaven, I should think you’d refrain from violence in the presence of a lady!’ the older gentleman customer said.

The shopkeeper’s features smoothed. ‘My apologies,’ he muttered and left.

Flustered, Louisa approached the shopgirl. ‘Are you unharmed?’ she enquired.

‘Certainly, mum,’ the girl muttered. ‘I shall fetch a replacement for the bottle.’

The shopkeeper returned with a broom and dustbin.

Louisa stood awkwardly waiting as the man cleaned up the broken perfume bottle, wondering how much its loss was worth. Several months of her wages, she was willing to guess.

At last, the girl returned, and Louisa completed the transaction, hurrying out of the shop. London was hardly known for its fresh air, but compared to the atrocious miasma of the shop she left behind her, it was a blessed relief. Perhaps because of this, when Louisa first noticed the darting movement behind her, she simply dismissed it as imagination. She was too glad to be walking freely outside again—far from rude customers, angry shopkeepers, and heavy fragrances—to concern herself with a brief slipping shadow, which disappeared as soon as she turned to look back.

Nothing there, she thought and put the brief sighting out of her mind.

Michael

As Michael restrained himself from kicking pebbles in melancholy, Lord Petty came back towards them. ‘My apologies, Stanwick, where were we?’

‘I was on the verge of presenting Argos and Cavall to you,’ Michael said with a forced smile as he stepped forward, holding the canines’ leashes.

‘Argos and Cavall, is it? Classical names,’ Petty said appreciatively. The dogs wagged their tails at him happily. Michael imagined their thoughts: Petty seemed a pleasant enough fellow. They recognized that in him. ‘Argos was Odyseuss’s dog?’

‘Indeed, and Cavall was King Arthur’s. This Cavall is the son of this Argos. I suppose I’ve mixed my mythologies a bit,’ Michael conceded.

Petty held his hand out for the dogs to sniff. They responded by redoubling their tail wagging, and trying to lick him. The marquess chuckled. ‘Such agreeable dispositions.’

‘I shall miss them both a great deal,’ Michael confessed. ‘I do hope you will consider allowing me to make you an offer for them, should all go to plan with my investments.’

‘To buy them back?’ Petty said, raising an eyebrow at Michael.

It made Michael uneasy, but the loss of the dogs pained him so, he pressed on. ‘Indeed. I should like to have the possibility.’

Petty shrugged. ‘I suppose it is something we may discuss if the time comes.’

The phrasing he chose was a twist of a knife in Michael’s pride. ‘If’ and not ‘when.’ But it couldn’t be helped, and Michael consoled himself with the thought that at least Petty had expressed a willingness to consider selling Argos and Cavall back to him, rather than refusing outright.

It was time to go. Throwing decorum to the wind, Michael crouched and hugged each dog, allowing his face to be licked. ‘There now, both of you, you shall chase rabbits and foxes all day, I daresay. Enjoy yourselves.’

Petty looked on, a faint curl of his lip expressing distaste for the display, but it was soon over, and Michael led Cavanaugh back to their gig. As they settled themselves in it, Cavanaugh said, ‘I fear you’ll regret this for a vexing mistake sooner rather than later, My Lord.’

Michael glanced back to see Argos and Cavall staring after him, heads cocked in confusion. His heart raw, he only grunted in reply to Cavanaugh.

‘Those two may be naught more’n animals, some’d say, but they’re dear to your heart,’ his valet said. ‘To pretend otherwise is dishonest.’

‘I pretend no such thing,’ Michael said, taking up the reins.

‘If you were being true to yourself, you’d not have parted with them,’ Cavanaugh insisted.

Michael bit back a sharp retort. The pain of his loss made his patience fray.

‘And to be true to yourself, it means at times puttin’ yourself first, My Lord,’ Cavanaugh said.

With a sigh, Michael flicked the reins to urge the chestnut gelding forward. ‘That is where you are mistaken, Cavanaugh,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had the right to put myself first. Not as the heir to the Stanwick earldom. This situation is no exception.’

At that, Cavanaugh gave a gruff sigh.

There was nothing more to be said on the matter, but his man’s silence was paltry comfort, for Michael’s own heart would give him no peace.

Louisa
Again, a slipping movement caught the edge Louisa’s vision.

She was fussing with the ribbon of her bonnet, which for some reason was determined to come loose from its bow. With a basket over one arm and gloves covering her fingers, she found it vexingly difficult to tie the silly thing properly. Frustrated, she stopped and used the window of a candy shop as a mirror. Her dark eyes stared back at her, large in their agitation. The black curls about her face were too loose to be fashionable, and she clicked her tongue at herself. She must endeavour to wrap them more tightly at night.

After a moment, she glanced away from her own features. In the reflection, she first truly saw the man—a slumped figure standing and looking at her some distance behind her. But still, she thought little of it. The Westminster streets were very busy, and this one all the more so for having very many enticing shops.

Louisa passed a flower girl who offered her lavender bouquets or hollyhocks, which Louisa smilingly declined. There was a bakery wafting the lovely smell of warm bread and a bookseller that intrigued her greatly. She allowed herself to stop for only a minute to look at the spines of a rack of books displayed on the pavement outside, but knowing Miss Hardy would be waiting, she forced herself to move on. It was not until she passed an alley that she caught a third strange movement from the corner of her eye. When nothing came of it, however, she chided herself for being silly and kept walking.

As she stopped to admire some lengths of fabric displayed in another window, Louisa was annoyed to notice that the bonnet’s bow was loosening again. Tugging on it as she resumed walking, she paid little heed to her surroundings as she passed the opening to another alley.

Without warning, a hand clamped on her arm and yanked her into it. Louisa might have cried out, but another hand slapped onto her mouth, silencing her.

Chapter Two

Michael

Taking a shortcut through Westminster on his way back to Grosvenor Square, Michael steered the gig into an alley just in time to see a most shocking spectacle.

A dark-haired young woman was struggling with a dirty-looking ruffian. Without a second thought, Michael pulled up the horse and leapt from the gig, hurling himself on the villain. He hadn’t delivered more than two blows when the blackguard bolted. Cavanaugh charged after the villain in pursuit.

The lady looked close to a faint, and Michael lunged to catch her. Then several things happened in immediate succession.

A delightful scent of lemon and roses mingled in his nose. He became very aware of the sensation of holding her limp body in his arms, and the lady began to weep.

‘I do apologise,’ Michael stammered, righting her and assuring himself that she stood steadily before releasing her completely.

She was an alabaster-skinned, black-haired beauty, he noticed now, with eyes as large, brown, and tender as a doe’s. The bones of her face, neck, and hands looked delicate, and her movements were graceful. As she met his gaze again, he was surprised to observe a black spot, noticeably distinct, in the iris of her right eye.

‘Are you unwell?’ he asked as the lady pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her tears with it.

‘Oh no, I am unharmed,’ she said, glancing at him with a small, pained smile. ‘You have my thanks, sir, for your assistance. It is only that—that awful footpad made off with my basket.’

Michael nodded. ‘Perhaps my man shall retrieve it still,’ he suggested, but a moment later, Cavanaugh returned, too out of breath to speak, but shaking his head.

The lady, who had stopped weeping, brought the handkerchief to her eyes again at that, letting out a small sob.

‘Oh, perdition,’ Michael murmured. ‘How disappointing. I should have liked to have returned your basket to you, Miss—?’

’Twas not a proper scene for an introduction, but that couldn’t be helped.

‘Miss Colby,’ she said sniffling. ‘And you mustn’t blame yourself, My Lord. I am grateful for your assistance. It’s only that my mistress sent me for her perfume, you see. And I had just collected it, and it was—that is to say I have no way to replace it, and she shall be ever so cross—’

Michael nodded, hiding the pang he felt at discovering she was a servant. ‘I see.’

Reaching into his coin purse, he extracted several coins but found that in the end, he only had four crowns. Instead, he produced a twenty-pound note from the payment Petty had made and offered it to her. Her tea-coloured eyes widened as they met his.

‘I couldn’t, sir!’ she exclaimed, pushing the hand with the note back to him gently.

‘I insist, Miss Colby,’ he said, offering it anew. ‘And I shall accompany you to the shop and home again if you will allow it.’

‘You are too kind, sir,’ she protested, and Michael was struck by the eloquence of her phrasing and pronunciation. No ordinary servant, this. ‘I simply could not accept—I know not even your name, by the heavens!’

‘This is Lord Stanwick,’ Cavanaugh put in. ‘The earl, in fact.’

The girl’s eyes widened even more.

‘Miss Colby, I insist,’ Michael said. The twenty pounds was a dent in the money he’d just acquired, but he still had enough to delay his grandmother learning the truth about their finances. The sight of this delicate girl, so distressed and vulnerable, was more than he could resist. He must assist her or think himself the greatest lout who ever lived.

Miss Colby’s eyes searched his most compellingly. He felt his heart swell with a feeling for which he had no name. Then her expression crumbled, and he had the sense that she was capitulating.

‘Indeed I shall be greatly in your debt,’ she murmured, dabbing her eyes again.

‘Nonsense, it is my pleasure. Now, if you will take my arm, Miss Colby, we shall see to replacing your mistress’s purchase.’

Louisa

They rode side by side in Lord Stanwick’s gig, the nobleman driving as his man held on behind. Louisa felt a sense of dizziness at this turn of events. Moments ago, she had been walking home, basket on her arm, everything happening in the usual course of events. Then in a short period, she had been grabbed, shaken, robbed, and rescued, and now she was seated beside a peer of the realm who was determined to help her recover Miss Hardy’s perfume and to drive her home.

And he was so very handsome.

She risked quick glances to take in his features. Dark, wavy hair in a short, tidy cut mostly obscured by his hat. A broad brow and heavy eyebrows over thoughtful, marine-blue eyes, with a strong nose and square jaw. His shoulders were powerful, and she studied his hands, which held the reins with expertise. He wore no gloves, and she could see that the skin of his fingers was calloused, unusual in an earl.

Am I dreaming? she wondered, and she wished her own gloves did not prevent her administering to her forearm a sharp pinch.

Riding in the gig brought them to the perfume shop in short order. Louisa hurried to purchase another flacon of the perfume. She tried, once again, to refuse Lord Stanwick’s continued assistance, but he was immovable. She found herself taking his hand again as he helped her ascend into the gig’s seat.

As her fingers touched his, she felt a jolt of energy unhampered by the glove she wore, and she looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were the blue of the deep sea, she ascertained. As the three of them made their way through the busy London streets to Miss Hardy’s townhouse at Gloucester Terrace, Louisa allowed herself to glance at him several more times. He was, she realized now the emotions of the assault she had endured had subsided, remarkably well-favoured. She admired the line of his strong jaw again. The shape of his eyes and the lines around them spoke of sensitivity and humour. His hair had a silken texture, at least to the eye, and she found she longed to touch it, to assure herself of its true softness.

Her cheeks warmed at the idea, and she looked away.

What a princely gentleman, she thought, her heartbeat accelerating. How fortunate I am that he was passing by just then.

All too soon, they reached the stoop of the Hardy townhouse. Lord Stanwick’s man made as though to come and assist Louisa to descend, but Lord Stanwick was faster, hopping down, striding round to her side, and offering her his hand with a charming smile.

I should like very much to run the tip of my finger along that sharp jaw, Louisa thought, and then she sucked in her breath in shock. Merciful heavens, Louisa. Have you given leave of your senses?

Flustered, Louisa looked away again as she took the offered hand and climbed down, the sensation of her feet hitting the pavement jarring her back to reality.

She gave Lord Stanwick a polite curtsey. ‘I am forever grateful, My Lord,’ she said, ‘And forever in your debt.’

‘Nonsense, Miss Colby,’ Stanwick replied. ‘It was my pleasure to serve.’

He bowed at her, and Louisa felt heat rise from her breasts to her cheeks—not entirely from embarrassment if she were honest with herself.

Her agitation increased.

At that moment, he leaned forward and raised his hands as though to touch her face. Louisa’s heart stopped. Stanwick took the ribbon of her bonnet and restored the bow, his eyes intent on the task.

I am dreaming.

She watched his face as he tied the rebellious ribbon, afraid that if she breathed or said a word, she would break the spell and awaken.

The moment seemed to draw out much longer than was possible, but then, it ended.

Stanwick straightened, releasing her bow, and gave her another courteous nod.

‘Good day then, Miss Colby.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ Louisa managed. ‘Good day, and I thank you again.’

Her legs weak and her heart hammering, she fled into the house.

---

“Unchaining an Earl’s Passion” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Louisa Colby has no recollection of her life before a horrible incident, seven months ago, when a devastating fire turned her world upside down. As if this was not enough, she will be in need of accepting a position as the paid companion of Matilda Hardy, a cruel mistress that will make her life even harder. But little did she know that only through this struggle, would she end up having her heart set on fire by a ravishing Earl… To make matters even more complicated, Matilda also seems to be enchanted by him and Louisa will soon find herself locked in a tempestuous love triangle, where scandal can only be around the corner. Will Louisa allow herself to overrule her loyalty to her employer in the name of lust? Or will she deny her smoldering passion and turn away from an uncertain future as the Earl’s mistress?

Michael Berth, Earl of Stanwick, has always put his duty to his family first, a goal greatly impeded by the rakish behavior of his younger half-brother. So long has Michael denied his own needs and desires, that when he meets Louisa Colby, he is instantly captivated by her, both physically, and mentally. Sparks immediately fly between them and their hearts soar. However, there will soon be clouds on the horizon, when his brother’s actions bring disaster on the Stanwick name, forcing Michael to find a wealthy heiress to marry. Can Michael resist his growing feelings for Louisa and dedicate his entire self to the responsibilities of an Earl? Or will he throw obligation to the wind and surrender to Louisa’s skillfully erotic seduction?

The more Louisa and Michaell see each other, the less they can resist the temptation to explore their growing intimacy, stealing moments of hot, precious privacy together. The restrictive demands of family and society though, prevent them from even considering a common future together. Could a future of illegitimacy and stolen moments be enough, even if it meant they would never experience the complete fulfilment of their love? Will the revelation of a mysterious truth burn them both, or will the inferno of their passionate love destroy the obstacles between them?

“Unchaining an Earl’s Passion” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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