The Earl of Sunderland Read online

  Earl of Sunderland

  Wicked Earls’ Club

  Aubrey Wynne

  Plato Publishing

  Contents

  The Earl of Sunderland

  Summary

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  The Earl of Basingstoke by Aileen Fish

  About the Author

  Also by Aubrey Wynne

  Copyright © 2018 by Editing Hall. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-946560-08-7

  ISBN-10: 1-946560-08-1

  Editing by The Editing Hall

  Cover Art by Taylor Sullivan, Imagination Uncovered

  Formatting by Anessa Books

  ISBN: 978-1-946560-08-7

  Created with Vellum

  The Earl of Sunderland

  Wicked Earls’ Club

  By

  Aubrey Wynne

  I would like to thank all of the authors of Wicked Earls’ Club for allowing me to participate in this rollicking series. They are a talented and hilarious group of women. I hope to meet them all in person one day.

  Thanks Mom and Mindy. You make every one of my stories shine!

  Summary

  He’s inherited the title of rake. She hides behind her independence... Fate accepts the challenge.

  Grace Beaumont has seen what love can do to a woman. Her mother sacrificed her life to produce the coveted son and heir. A devastated father and newborn brother force her to take on the role of Lady Boldon at the age of fifteen. But Grace finds solace in the freedom and power of her new status.

  Christopher Roker made a name for himself in the military. The rigor and pragmatism of the army suits him. When a tragic accident heaves Kit into a role he never wanted or expected, his world collides with another type of duty. Returning to England and his newfound responsibilities, the Wicked Earls’ Club becomes a refuge from the glitter and malice of London society but cannot ease his emptiness.

  Needing an escape from his late brother’s memory and reputation, Kit visits the family estate for the summer. Lady Grace, a beauty visiting from a neighboring estate, becomes a welcome distraction. When the chance to return to the military becomes a valid possibility, the earl finds himself wavering between his old life and the lure of an exceptional—and unwilling—woman.

  Prologue

  “The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.”

  Marcus Tullius Cicero

  March 1810

  Northern England, Boldon Estate

  The thick air, putrid with death and stale smoke, rebelled against her throat. Grace swiped desperately at the perspiration covering her own face then wrung out the cloth and gently sponged Mama’s neck and chest. She couldn’t stop the blood flowing from her mother’s womb. She couldn’t stop the snowstorm that heralded its final revolt against spring. She couldn’t stop the tears that washed away her last shred of hope. There would be no doctor, no last minute reprieve.

  “Mama, can you hear me?” She closed her eyes against the outrage. Childbirth had been vicious to a woman of her late age, a woman who loved her husband so completely she had risked her life to give him an heir. After almost two days of labor, the reaper had come to claim his prize.

  “Gracie?” The countess opened pale blue eyes, her hand fumbling along the bed cover. Grace laced her fingers through her mother’s, the paper-like skin cold to the touch. She glanced over at the fire that blazed and crackled in the hearth.

  “I’m here.” She leaned close and kissed Mama’s cheek. “Please don’t leave us. Not yet.”

  Lady Boldon smiled weakly and shook her head. “I need to see him first. I must see him.”

  “Papa went for the doctor. He’s not back yet.” She looked again at the white menace pelting the glass panes. “Try to drink something.”

  Her mother shook her head again. “My boy. I need to see my baby boy.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Please…”

  Grace went to the corner of the room and looked down at the sleeping infant. The wet nurse had fed him then bundled him a white quilted gown. He scrunched his tiny face in irritation as she lifted him from the cradle. Without thought, she tenderly brushed the reddened skin of his cheek. Would he feel guilty when he was old enough to realize the sacrifice made for him? Would she resent him for taking away their mother?

  Her heart broke again, realizing her brother would never know this selfless woman. She sat on the edge of the feather mattress and laid the baby next to Mama.

  “Charles will be so proud of you, my son.” Joy shone on the older woman’s face as she placed a kiss on the delicate pink skin. “You will make a fine earl someday.”

  The baby fussed then let out a wail. Grace quickly took him back, not wanting the sound to upset her mother. When she heard a soft knock on the door, she opened it and handed the infant to the wet nurse.

  “Let the staff know to send the earl up as soon as he returns,” she told the servant. “And tell the midwife to hurry with those fresh sheets.”

  “Gracie!” The urgency in Lady Boldon’s voice shot panic up her spine.

  “Here, Mama.”

  “You must promise me…” A ragged gasp was followed by a labored pull of breath. “Take good care of my men. They will both need you.”

  “But I still need you.” Her mother’s face blurred as the tears came once more. “I can’t take your place. You can’t leave me yet, Mama.” Slender fingers gripped hers with surprising intensity.

  “You’re a woman of fifteen now. I’ve taught you well.” She struggled for air. “My Charles will be a lost soul… The baby will need your strength and guidance.” Her head fell back against the pillow. “Promise me.”

  Papa, where are you? Hurry!

  She crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around the limp body, gathering comfort in a final embrace from the woman who had seemed invincible. Grace laid her head against her mother’s chest. As the death rattle grew louder beneath her ear, she promised. Cold lips brushed her forehead in response.

  “Be brave, my darling. Remember, I love you so.” With a final shudder, Lady Boldon let go of life.

  Chapter 1

  “It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.”

  Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

  Early May 1814

  London, England

  Lord Christopher Roker slapped his twin brother, the Earl of Sunderland, on the back. “A fit of the blue devils on your wedding day, eh? Come now, the bride seems a prime article to me.”

  “She’s not the woman of my choice. I’m more than an unwilling groom. I’m downright defiant.” Carson tucked his white linen tails into the pale gray pantaloons, gave his matching waistcoat a tug, and adjusted his neckcloth again. “Yet our parents are deliriously happy over the match because she is the daughter of a marquess.”

  “You made your own name.” Christopher shook his head and gave his brother’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “Gambling and womanizing has its place when you’re more boy than man. By Christ, we’ve passed thirty.”

>   “How did I know I’d fall in love and my reputation would haunt me?” Carson walked over to a polished oak side table and poured two glasses of brandy from the crystal decanter. He handed one to Christopher. “Or that the woman who stole my heart would have a self-righteous father who despises me?”

  “How many times did I warn you to pull back on the reins? There are always consequences to one’s actions. You will be the Marquess of Falsbury in your own right someday. It’s time you accepted responsibility.” He took a sip of the amber liquid as Carson downed his in one gulp and poured another. “It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it? You might want to pace yourself.”

  Sunderland sank heavily into a chair, pushing his fingers through a tangle of black waves. “Kit, trade places with me. Marry the chit and take the title. You should have been the heir anyway. You’re better suited to this type of life than I am.”

  “We had this conversation when we were twelve, and you wanted to be a sheik and live in the desert. And then again at sixteen, when you wanted to run away and join the Royal Navy.” He smirked and sat down opposite Carson. “Besides, Mother would know at once.”

  “She’d stay quiet for her darling Christopher. You’ve always been her favorite.” He tipped back his head and gulped the second glass of brandy. “A little courage for the ceremony.”

  “There will be plenty of time for that afterwards.”

  “I’ve missed you, brother. I’m jealous of the army and your long absences.” He gave Kit a crooked grin. “It’s always been you and me against the world. I don’t like having my other half missing.”

  “Well, I’m here now! Bonaparte is no longer a threat, and we can enjoy a summer in the country this year.” A knot tightened in Kit’s stomach. He had a bad feeling about this wedding but knew better than to admit it. It wasn’t the match itself. Lady Eliza was a beauty and came with a generous dowry. And he didn’t believe for a moment Carson loved another woman. Infatuation was more likely. He fell for one chit, and before he hit the ground, another had taken his fancy. While Kit loved his brother, he also accepted his faults. His abilities did not include accountability or dependability.

  “You’re dipping too deep, brother,” Kit said as he took the third glass of liquor from his twin, recognizing the slight glaze in those familiar chestnut eyes. “Let’s get you to the church, shall we? At this rate, you’ll be foxed before the end of the wedding breakfast.”

  “That’s the plan, sir. I won’t feel those leg shackles I’ve acquired.”

  “Marrying the Earl of Sunderland, I will have to think of you as a countess from now on.” Grace finished arranging her cousin’s lush hair. The delicate braids were swept up along with the thick flaxen locks and interspersed with tiny sprigs of lilac. The pale purple matched the bride’s violet eyes and smelled divine.

  The wedding dress was of white French muslin, tiny embroidered flowers along the bodice and hem. A pelisse of lavender, trimmed with lace and matching flowers, buttoned just below her bust and amply filled the dress. She had always been jealous of her cousin’s porcelain skin and honey hair. Grace had inherited her mother’s Scottish looks with a smattering of freckles and the dreaded auburn hair to match.

  Eliza smoothed out her skirts again and looked anxiously at her reflection. “He hates me, you know.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Grace, though her nerves had been frayed since meeting the earl two days ago. Something about the earl made her uneasy. “He barely knows you.”

  “Well, at the very least he hates marriage.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “Thank you for coming, dear Gracie. I have no brothers or sisters, and Mama is practically useless. She is always so afraid to set Father off. I needed someone I could confide in before the ceremony.”

  Grace bent low and put her cheek next to her cousin’s, her own green eyes locking with Eliza’s. They were opposites in so many ways. Grace was headstrong, independent, and outspoken; Eliza was docile, compliant, and breathtakingly beautiful. They were first cousins by their mothers and best friends by choice.

  Lady Boldon had never hidden her dislike of her sister’s husband. A ruthless scoundrel, that man. He treats women as if they were no better than broodmares. And the marquess never hesitated to beat them in the same manner. The law was on the man’s side, especially a titled man, unless he went too far and murdered his wife or daughter. He was a bitter man who had suffered through the loss of several infant boys and his wife’s many miscarriages.

  “Not all men are cruel, Eliza. Lord Sunderland may not be in love with you, but I see kindness in his eyes. And he’s very handsome. If nothing else, consider him a way out of your horrid circumstances.”

  “Yes, I will keep that in mind.” She smiled at her cousin’s reflection. “At least I have no bruises to explain on my wedding day.”

  “I did not come to your wedding for a bout of the megrims. Let me share in your joy today.” Grace kissed the bride’s cheek and stood up. She pulled back the curtain and looked out the window. “The carriage has arrived. Your parents will be waiting. Are you ready to begin your new life?”

  Eliza nodded and turned to embrace her. “You are my dearest friend in all the world. I wish you lived closer.”

  “Perhaps I could return for a longer stay. Samuel just turned four and may need some distraction this summer. That boy is a constant battle.” Grace laughed. “He snuck a pony from the pasture last week and hooked it up to a wagon. Off to battle General Bonaparte with a wooden sword and his trusty hounds.”

  “If you promise to visit, I’ll find plenty of ruffians for him to battle. And you are right. This is my wedding day, and I should enjoy myself.” They looped arms, took a deep breath, and descended the staircase with heads held high.

  The ceremony was short and somber, and the small party returned to Falsbury as soon as the registry was signed. A larger group had been invited for the wedding breakfast. Falsbury was a regal mansion, and the meal indicated the family’s stature. The wedding cake was displayed at the center of the table; the stiff white frosting decorated with herbs and flowers. Ham, accompanied by eggs, hot rolls, and toasted breads, filled the air with mouthwatering aromas. Even chocolate had been added to each table.

  The groom seemed a bit too jovial for so early in the day. Lord Sunderland drank and toasted a dozen times throughout the wedding feast. An air of self-destruction seemed to hover over him like a storm cloud, and Grace shivered as he pulled Eliza to her feet and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Still, she saw nothing malicious in the man’s behavior and considered her cousin better off.

  On the other hand, Grace found Lord Christopher to be quite the study of decorum. His deep brown eyes were serious, his black hair combed back neatly. Lieutenant Colonel Roker cut a fine figure in his red military dress uniform. She found herself picturing him on a charging horse, sword in the air, and a battle cry on his lips. His full, soft lips.

  “What has claimed your attention, my dear?” her father asked in her ear. “Did some handsome lad catch your eye?”

  She giggled then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You aren’t getting rid of me so easily, Papa. Are you enjoying the celebration?”

  “Aye, it’s a fine wedding. It’s giving me ideas for other weddings yet to come.” He nudged her gently with his elbow, his mouth set in a firm line. “It’s time we started thinking about your future. I’ve been deficient in my duties. Your mother would be mortified to know I’ve kept you hidden in the country, and you almost twenty.”

  “I have not been hidden. It was my choice to skip the London Season.”

  “Two seasons, Gracie.”

  “My home is far more important than socializing with those shallow, silly girls.” The thought of standing against a wall, hoping a man would fill her card and not step on her feet during a cotillion, seemed more like a punishment. Making inane conversation while remembering dance steps and drinking punch fetched by a bored or overeager suitor was also not a rite of passage that appealed to her.
“I’m quite content with my station, Papa. There is no reason to upset our lives over marriage or romance.”

  Lord Boldon rolled his light brown eyes. “We’ll see, daughter. There may come a time you will eat those fine words.” Then he smiled over her head at someone. “Isn’t it a grand day for a wedding? Is that music I hear?”

  “Indeed, Lord Boldon. I came to ask Lady Grace for the honor of a dance,” came a deep baritone that sent a warm flush through her belly. “With your permission?”

  Her father stood, grasped her hand, and pulled Grace to her feet as she opened her mouth to decline. “My daughter would love to dance.”

  She looked at her fingers now placed in the man’s palm. The heat in her belly began to pirouette and leap up toward her throat. When her eyes moved to his face, the dark gaze pinned her to the spot. The air was pushed from her lungs, and she found herself unable to speak. A chuckle from her father spurred her to action. With a curtsey, she acknowledged her partner, and they walked to join the others already gathering to the first notes of a country dance.

  Grace focused on the gold epaulettes adorning his broad shoulders, as she placed a gloved hand on his wrist. The material did little to diminish the intensity of his touch as they followed the other couples in a circle.

  “I understand you are a cousin to the bride. Are you pleased with the match?” His tone was conversational but she sensed there was purpose to his question. The group of four came together and separated.

  “They make a lovely couple and both families are pleased. Does our opinion matter, my lord?” She risked a peek at her very masculine dance partner as he moved around her. On close inspection, she realized the brothers were not identical as they first appeared. True, their features were the same but their countenances were utterly different. No light-hearted, fanciful expression would ever grace this man’s face. She doubted such a proud military officer would overindulge in anything let alone lose his temper. Control emanated from him.