The Earl of Pembroke: A League of Rogue’s novel E-Book

Lauren Smith

• Herausgeber: Lauren Smith
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The League of Rogues
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 244

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

She's a servant masquerading as a lady...

Gillian Beaumont never had a fairytale life: the illegitimate daughter of an earl, she was left penniless after her father’s death, forcing her into service as a lady’s maid. Luckily, her mistress is more adventurous than most ladies and soon Gillian is aiding her espionage. One such spy mission forces Gillian to masquerade as a high-born lady to infiltrate a Hellfire Club. But when she falls into the club’s trap, she’s rescued by gentleman rogue, the Earl of Pembroke. His heated kisses make her long for a different life, but she has a secret that could destroy everything…

He's a gentleman on the outside, but a rogue on the inside...

James Fordyce, Earl of Pembroke, tries to be a well-behaved man—for the most part. A member of the Wicked Earls’ Club, he has his fair share of notoriety, but he’s longing for the day when he might settle down. A chance encounter with a mysterious beauty leaves him feeling full of hope. When she vanishes without a trace and danger seems to be following her, he knows he must find her and rescue the woman he is determined to make the future Countess of Pembroke. Tracking her down to the seedy halls of a Hellfire Club, he knows he’ll have to fight against all odds to save her before it’s too late…

Warning: This book contains a woman dreaming of a life she can never have, a hero who’s convinced he’ll never find the one woman destined to be his and a love so powerful nothing can stop it.

Leseprobe

THE EARL OF PEMBROKE

A League of Rogue’s novel

LAUREN SMITH

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Earl of St. Seville

Chapter 1

About the Author

Other Titles By Lauren Smith

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Smith

Edited by Noah Chinn

Excerpt from An Earl By Another Name by Lauren Smith

Cover art by Jaycee DeLorenzo

The League of Rogues (R) is a federally registered trademark owned by Lauren Smith.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-947206-24-3 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-947206-25-0 (print edition)

For my grandmother Rhea and my grandfather Richard. They showed me what it means to love someone so much you carry their burdens as your own.

1

London in the day was a bustling city with carriages speeding along the cobblestoned streets and women selling flowers in heavily perfumed baskets while the crowds perused the shops and paid calls on friends. But as darkness fell, shadows could play tricks on the eyes of those foolish enough to walk the streets after the sun dropped beneath the horizon.

And I am one of those fools.

Gillian Beaumont squinted at the nearest alley, swallowing hard and holding back a scream of fear every time she thought she saw something fluttering in the mews like a bat’s wings. The coach she had taken to the Temple Bar district was already rattling away, leaving her alone. The leaves of the early fall scuttled along the ground, tangling in her skirts like brown spiders, making her jump. She gripped her gown below her knees and gave the fabric a shake, trying to loosen the dried leaves from her dark purple satin gown. Then she faced her surroundings. She stood on the street close to the Royal Courts of Justice and the entrance to Twinings tea shop.

Through the heavy gloom she could see the gilded sign that read Twinings, and she could just make out the two Chinese gentlemen sculpted into the stone above the tea shop’s name. Their faces seemed fierce in the shadows, and Gillian looked away, turning her attention to the tall black form of the griffin statue that now looked more like a dragon because the shadows played tricks on her eyes.

In that moment she wished she was back in her warm bed. Asleep. Asleep and dreaming of one particular man and the stolen kisses they’d shared that kept pushing into her consciousness.

James Fordyce. The Earl of Pembroke was a dashing gentleman with a heart of gold and the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She could still feel her hands threading through the strands of his dark hair as he kissed her in the corner of a bookshop and whispered poetry to her. He was everything she’d dreamed of but could never have. She was a servant and could be nothing more than that. A pang deep in her chest made her catch her breath, but she straightened her shoulders, shrugging off the pain, something she’d been trained to do for many years.

As dangerous as a dream of James was to her equilibrium, it was a far sight safer than what she was currently engaged in—chasing after her wild, headstrong mistress, Audrey Sheridan.

Audrey was this very night attempting to expose a group of scoundrels who belonged to a hellfire club known as the Unholy Sinners of Hell. Such a dreadful name for a dreadful group of gentlemen. As a lady’s maid, Gillian’s duties ought to have been limited to tasks like dressing Audrey, preparing her for the day, and coming up with new ways to style her hair. She should not be sneaking about the Strand after dark in a domino half mask and a dark purple evening gown with an impossibly low bodice, searching for a group of dangerous men who were rumored to seduce virgins and make sacrifices to the devil.

“Heavens, Audrey, what have you gotten us into?” Gillian muttered to herself. She hastily examined the addresses of the buildings nearby, recalling the location from a letter Audrey had shown her earlier that morning which contained directions to the club.

The letter said the club was inside a tall white building two doors down from Twinings tea shop. The door knocker was an iron gargoyle’s face sneering at all visitors. As she reached the rather unremarkable structure that supposedly housed a den of devil worshipers, Gillian studied the door. Her heart tripped a few beats as nerves threatened to freeze her in place.

There was no other option than to go inside. Audrey, her wayward mistress, was also her friend, and earlier that evening she had promised Gillian she would not go to this place. Yet when Gillian had awoken and found Audrey gone, she knew where her mistress must have gone.

She lied to me. No doubt out of some silly notion that she’s protecting me, but she isn’t.

Gillian would have charged into the fires of hell to protect her mistress. They were the same age, only nineteen, and in another life they might have been close friends, meeting for tea at Gunter’s or going off to balls together.

In another life… If she had been born an heiress to her deceased father’s estate instead of the daughter of an earl’s mistress.

Her half brother, Adam, was now the Earl of Morrey, and her half sister, Caroline, didn’t even know she existed. The previous Earl of Morrey had been careful in keeping his longtime mistress, Gillian’s mother, well set up in a house in Mayfair and had even seen to Gillian’s education, but even with such aid, her future had held limited options.

Gillian raised a gloved hand to the grotesque gargoyle and rapped the knocker twice loudly. Her breath held fast in her lungs, and she waited, her body shaking at the thought of the nature of the men inside. When the door finally opened, a grim-faced butler looked her up and down, before his lips curled back in a cruel smile.

“A little late, but ’tis no matter. They’ve plenty of energy tonight to see to every lady.” He waved for her to enter. Gillian hesitated before taking a tentative step forward. Her skin crawled as the butler came too close when he closed the door, sealing her inside. She tried not to think about what his greeting suggested.

“This way.” The butler led her down the corridor to a chamber and opened a door for her to enter. The drawing room, if indeed it could be called that, was outlandishly decorated with dark brocade furniture and red satin walls. These dubious men were certainly trying to create a sinful and seductive atmosphere, but rather than tasteful, it seemed crass. Yet they were clearly prepared for guests. A fire was lit, and a tea tray was on the table.

“Freshly brewed,” the butler assured her. “Help yourself. When they are ready, you will be summoned.”

Gillian murmured her thanks and settled herself on the couch. She reached up again to make sure the domino mask hadn’t slipped. It was still fixed securely over her features.

Where was Audrey?

She had left half an hour before Gillian woke, according to the other servants in the Sheridan household. Had she sought out the protective escort of Charles Humphrey as she’d said she planned to? Gillian dearly hoped so. Otherwise, Audrey was putting herself at great risk. The Earl of Lonsdale was an eminently trustworthy gentleman, but he had a wicked reputation that would allow him entry to this club.

Earlier that day Gillian and Audrey had been warned by a man of their acquaintance not to seek out this hellfire club tonight. One of its members, Gerald Langley, had vowed vengeance upon Audrey—or rather, upon Lady Society, Audrey’s anonymous identity as the writer of a social column. She had destroyed his reputation. Her remarks in the Lady Society column had been accurate and honest, but the outright cut direct from all of the ton against Langley had made him desperate for revenge.

Fortunately, he did not know Audrey was Lady Society; that was at least one small blessing. But Audrey and Gillian had been warned that Langley would lure Lady Society to his devil’s lair with the threat of debauching virgins against their will, among other things, and Audrey was not the sort of woman to turn back on a challenge. But they’d had a plan, one they’d made together earlier that morning. They were to reach out to a few female members of that silly hellfire club and switch places with them for a proper payment. Yet after the adventures of the day and the dangers Gillian had faced when a man had attacked her, a man she suspected was in league with Gerald Langley, Audrey had promised to abandon the plan of going to the club tonight. Yet when Gillian had woken from her rest, she’d found her mistress gone. Had Audrey contacted one of those women? Surely she had.

Gillian stood and paced about the room, worry growing in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t like that she was alone and liked even less that she didn’t know where Audrey was. They were supposed to be here together, facing the dangers of this club side by side. She bit her lip nervously and after a moment decided to have a quick cup of tea. She hastily prepared a cup and drank it, hoping to calm her nerves. Then she set it down, hating the bitterness and wishing there had been sugar, but there hadn’t even been a pitcher of milk. Only true devils would serve tea without access to milk and sugar.

Gillian was unable to ignore the stifling heat from the fire. The house around her was silent except for the occasional bark of distant male laughter from another room. Each time she heard that sound she tensed.

Part of the wall suddenly detached and revealed itself to be a door. A figure in black breeches, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat emerged. He wore a domino mask that had the delicate outline of a devil’s features painted in red over the black.

“Good evening, my dear,” the man purred as he held out a hand to her. His long fingers were white and strangely menacing.

Gillian gulped. “My friend and I were supposed to be here together. She will be wearing a red dress. Has she arrived yet?”

“Ah…” The man’s lips twitched. “The lady in the red dress. She is here, waiting for you.” The mask did little to hide the cruelty in his eyes, and she shivered.

“Waiting?” Gillian wished she had even a tiny inkling of what was about to happen, but she didn’t. She was running headlong into this dark and dangerous world of devils.

The man curled the fingers of his still-open hand, beckoning her. “Yes, we are about to begin the feast.”

Gillian came toward him, and he reached down and took one of her gloved hands. She allowed him to lead her into darkness.

James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke, stared at the card tables in the private gathering place of what London knew existed only in rumors. The Wicked Earls’ Club. Members could be identified by a small silver pin they wore in their cravats. Once it had been a guild of prominent and powerful men who met in secret to make deals and curry favor, but their purpose had dissolved into a more corrupt world. It was not a place of malevolence or evil, but as James considered the men around him, their eyes locked on the flipping cards, the bottles abundant on the tables and the occasional woman draped over men’s arms, breasts spilling over to please the eyes of every man in the room, there was a darkness of a kind here. The darkness that came from broken lost souls.

Souls like mine.

A dark figure loomed in the back of the room, and James recognized him, the leader of their club, the Earl of Coventry. Coventry gave James a small nod in silent greeting. James returned the nod and surveyed the room again. The ranks of the club had thinned in recent years, and he smiled at the thought of so many of his friends settling down with wives. Marriage to good women had a way of keeping men away from clubs like these.

“Coventry looks pleased with himself,” someone muttered beside James. To his left he saw his friend Pierce Chamberlain, the Earl of Wainthorpe.

“Wainthorpe, I didn’t expect to see you tonight. I thought you were among those lucky enough to be basking in marital bliss.”

Wainthorpe cracked a smile, which lightened the small scar of his temple. “I will agree to the bliss, but if you dare breathe a word to anyone…” Wainthorpe growled.

James chuckled at his friend’s reaction. Wainthorpe acted rough but was one of the most softhearted men James had ever met.

“Your secret is safe with me,” James promised. “What did you mean about Coventry?”

Wainthorpe crossed his arms and scowled. “Every time one of us gets leg-shackled, he starts grinning from ear to ear as though he played some part in our marriage or is somehow profiting from it. Damned odd.”

For a moment neither man spoke. “What brings you here tonight, Pembroke?”

“Trying to drown my sorrows,” James replied sardonically, but bitterness clung to his words because they were true. Earlier that day he had met the most wonderful woman and then promptly lost her. Gillian Beaumont was a complete mystery to him, and he feared he might never see her again.

“Oh Lord, come and have a drink with me and tell me all about it. As a married man, I can offer solid advice on the fairer sex. None of it will be worth a halfpenny, though.”

Wainthorpe’s teasing made James smirk again. They took two chairs at a table far enough away from the men playing cards that they could speak without being distracted by the games. A bottle of scotch sat on a silver tray with several glasses, and Wainthorpe poured them both a healthy amount of the drink. They clinked their glasses in a toast, and each took a sip.

“So let’s hear about your sorrows.”

James sighed. “I met a woman today at a modiste’s shop. I was with my sister, Letty, and we made the acquaintance of Miss Gillian Beaumont. You don’t happen to know her, do you?” He’d spent all evening asking everyone he knew if the name was familiar, and so far no one had given him any positive responses.

“Beaumont?” Wainthorpe rolled the name over on his tongue, tasting it. “I knew a man named Beaumont, the Earl of Morrey. His son, Adam, is now carrying the title. Decent fellow. His sister is quite lovely, but her name is Caroline. Not Gillian.”

“A distant cousin, perhaps?” James wondered aloud.

“Perhaps.” Wainthorpe poured himself another drink. “I could put my cousins on the matter. They’re quite good at tracking ladies down.”

James snorted. “Lord save anyone who tried to hide from your formidable but lovely cousins.” James hastened to add the last bit lest he upset his friend.

“So the woman has you tied in knots, you say?”

“Yes.” Tied in knots was the right way to put it. After stealing a few kisses in a bookshop, he could still feel her lips against his own like a phantom presence, and her sweet taste still haunted him. Had finding her been simply a matter of curiosity driven by lust, that would have been one thing, but he had a dreadful feeling that she was in grave danger. And he couldn’t bear the thought of that, not if it was in his power to protect her.

Earlier that evening, he’d escorted her home after she’d received a letter at Gunter’s. When he’d let her out of the coach, she’d been attacked by a lowly coward of a man and rendered unconscious, and the letter she’d received had been stolen. When James had pressed her for details, she’d refused to share anything with him. He’d had no choice but to drop her off at the townhouse of a friend, Viscount Sheridan, and then she’d vanished. He intended to seek out Cedric Sheridan tomorrow and ask who his mysterious guest was and why she might be in danger.

“Well, you can begin your quest tomorrow, eh? You don’t want to be out on the streets tonight. Gerald Langley, the one from the Lady Society column, is meeting with that hellfire club he runs. Sometimes that lot gets a bit unruly and takes to the streets. Anyone in their path can find themselves in danger. They almost killed a man a few months ago. They were ready to throw him in the Thames until the Bow Street Runners came upon the scene.”

“What? That’s awful!” James remembered reading something about that Langley fellow. The man had made a wager with… James’s blood froze in his veins. Langley had made a hefty wager to anyone who would seduce a lady named Alexandra Rockford.

James’s friend Ambrose Worthing had taken up the wager, but only in order to spare the lady, and he’d later confessed his involvement in the Lady Society column. That column had irreparably damaged Langley’s name. Langley had been spreading rumors around town that he would not only unmask Lady Society but do her harm as well.

And today, Ambrose Worthing had given Gillian a note that had resulted in her being attacked. Surely she…can’t be Lady Society?

“Where does Langley’s hellfire club meet?” James demanded, praying Wainthorpe would know.

“On the Strand, or so I hear. Nasty devils. Langley likes to lure virgins to the meetings with promises of finding wealthy husbands, and well, you know…” Wainthorpe didn’t finish, but his dark scowl told James everything he needed to know.

James leapt from his chair. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for the drink.”

“Where are you going?” Wainthorpe stood with him, worry knitting his brows.

“To stop Langley. I have a suspicion my mysterious Miss Beaumont might be Lady Society.”

“What?” Wainthorpe gaped. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“No, go home to Bianca. Lord knows what mess tonight will bring. I don’t want to risk your reputation, and I suspect bringing others might put me in more danger, not less.” James smiled at him.

“Send word if you need me,” Wainthorpe called out as James left the club.

James hailed a hackney as he rushed down the steps of the club and into the street, telling the driver to take him to the Strand. He only prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

2

As James reached the Strand, he scanned the darkened streets and buildings. Fear for Gillian built inside him like a storm catching on the winds. She was a gently bred lady who shouldn’t have to face the horrors of a hellfire club, especially if they learned she was Lady Society. While he trusted she was quite capable of taking care of herself, he was afraid that she was walking into a trap and didn’t know it. He had to find her before something happened to her.

With luck, she wouldn’t be here, and he would spend the rest of the night watching some fools pretend to throw a black mass and worship the devil. He prayed fervently it was the latter.

He caught a glimpse of a man in a black cloak and a mask walking down the street. He was undoubtedly a hellfire member. The man paused, glancing about before he headed up the steps to one of the rather unremarkable buildings on the street.

James flung a few coins at his driver and bolted after the figure. He caught up with him just as he was about to lift the knocker. There was only one way inside he could think of, and he had no regrets about his course of action.

“Pardon me,” James said.

The man spun to face him, startled. “What the—”

James’s fist caught him square on the jaw. The man dropped like a stone and went silent. James dragged the man back down the steps and tucked him behind some bushes planted near the entrance. He slipped the domino off the man’s face and pulled it down over his own head and took the cape and fastened it around his shoulders.

He pounded a fist on the door, not even bothering with the knocker. James’s heart thundered as he waited, the silence of the street drowning him with its dull roar. After what felt like an eternity, a man answered, a butler from the looks of him, but he seemed far too arrogant, with a hawkish nose and beetle-black eyes that stared at James.

“Yes?”

“I’m here…for the feast.” James prayed he was close to whatever nonsense these men were involved with. The butler studied him for a long moment. James stood, silently praying that the butler wouldn’t realize he wasn’t a real member of the club.

“Ah, you must be the Lord of the Undead. You are late. The others are sitting down at the feast. The ladies have arrived, and you don’t want to miss the festivities.”

Lord of the Undead? James didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the title.

“Very good,” James muttered and entered the house. The butler was watching him carefully, and he waited for the man to indicate where he should go.

“Well don’t stand there!” he barked. “Show me to the room.”

The harsh words deflated the man’s arrogance. He snapped to attention and gestured for James to follow him down the hall.

“Apologies, my lord. I assumed you knew the way.”

“I was drunk the last time I was here. How can I remember?” Being deep in one’s cups was always a decent excuse for not knowing what had happened at a previous engagement. And unshakable confidence had a way of preventing unwanted questions.

The butler’s face was still ruddy as he opened the door into the appointed room. There was a large table, and a dozen men were sitting down, drinking. At least six or seven empty bottles of wine were toppled over. The candles were burning low, and shadows played on the walls and the faces of the masked men as they drank and talked. The table was set for dinner, but no food as yet had been served.

James’s entrance went unnoticed, and he carefully slid down the side of the room, blending into the group of men. He stole an empty goblet from the table and filled it with wine, feigning a sip as some men laughed in the midst of a bawdy story.

“So I tell the chit she ought to polish my pole, and she says, ‘What pole?’ And so I showed her, and damned if she didn’t faint!” The men burst out laughing. Someone slapped James’s shoulder, so he smiled, baring his teeth in a subtle warning. But no one seemed to notice that he wasn’t one of them. The domino masks the men wore offered a decent amount of concealment, and he was grateful for that. The last thing he needed was to be associated with these bastards. This was all a pathetic excuse for them to explore their darker sides at the risk of destroying innocence.

“Gentlemen!” A man’s booming voice called the stories and laughter to a halt. Everyone, including James, turned to face the man who stood at the head of the long dining table. The fire in the white marble fireplace behind him snapped and cracked, and the light from the flames created an eerie silhouette of the speaker.

“Tonight, we have a feast prepared. As I mentioned at our previous meeting, we have several special guests, some ladies with whom you are well acquainted. They wish once more to participate in the dark arts, and we have two delicious young virgin beauties who graciously volunteered to sate our need for the blood of the innocent.”

There were cruel snickers, laughter, and muttered jokes about taking maidenheads. James clenched his fists. If he lost control, he might very well strangle someone. A woman’s innocence was no laughing matter, and he was quite certain, whoever these beauties were, they didn’t know they were about to be cast into the lions’ den.

“Are you prepared?” the man at the head of the table asked. The lords in the room burst into loud, obnoxious cheering and whistling. The dining room door opened, and six ladies entered the room. They were followed by a man who closed the doors behind them, sealing everyone inside. The ladies were escorted to the remaining empty chairs at the table.

“My friends, as the Lord of Lust, let me present our guests to you.” The so-called Lord of Lust began to name each lady. James studied the buxom and beautiful ladies beneath their half masks, each one smiling coquettishly as her name was called. The Lady of Sin, the Lady of the Night, the Lady of Dark Desire…and so on. But the Lord of Lust paused when he got to the last two.

There was a woman wearing a red gown and another in a purple gown, and despite the masks they wore, neither seemed all that excited to be present at the feast, given their frowns. In fact, both of them looked quite frightened, by the way their hands were white-knuckled into fists and their faces pale below their masks.

James recognized the purple gown with a wave of dread. It was the same gown he’d seen Gillian buying in the shop earlier that day. The image of her in the changing area wearing that dress as he’d caught a glimpse of her still haunted him in a bittersweet way. He couldn’t forget the vulnerable pools of her gray eyes or the way her lips had parted when she’d realized he was staring at her only partially clothed.

His worst fear had come true. Gillian Beaumont—his beautiful, mysterious Gillian—was seated at a table with the worst sort of men all around her, men who wanted a chance to force her to have intercourse.

Over my dead body, he vowed.

“Now, last but not least, we have a most esteemed guest amongst us. You recall the scathing, poisonous pen of that bitch queen who calls herself Lady Society?” the Lord of Lust spat. The men around him harrumphed, and a few pounded their fists on the table. Gillian and the other lady jumped a little in their seats.

“Well, tonight I set the perfect trap and lured Lady Society herself to my door. I let it slip at a ball the other evening that we would be meeting tonight and that she wouldn’t want to miss our entertainment.” The Lord of Lust prowled slowly down the room to the woman in the red dress and the woman in the purple dress. “But which is Lady Society, I wonder?” he mused aloud. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We will have the pleasure of having both of you.” He snapped his fingers, and the men on either side of the ladies suddenly grabbed their arms, jerking them behind the chairs and winding ropes around their wrists.

“How dare you, Mr. Langley!” the woman in the red dress exclaimed with a violent gnash of her white teeth, like a badger bent on attacking. “I’ll do more than write a bloody article destroying you. I’ll have your bollocks on a silver platter!” Where had he heard that voice before?

God’s teeth! The little spitfire was Viscount Sheridan’s younger sister, Audrey Sheridan. What was she doing here? He glanced at Gillian, who was biting her lip and jerking at the bonds, trying to free herself.

“How dare I? My dear lady,” the Lord of Lust growled, “you came here of your own free will. No one forced you here. I daresay there are few who would have any sympathy for a woman who willingly went to a hellfire club. Your reputation will be worthless, and your word unfit for print. And that’s only the beginning of what I have planned for you tonight. You wrecked my family, my name—everything! And I will destroy you for it!”

“You got only what you deserved, you bastard!” Audrey snarled with surprising ferocity for such a tiny, soft-looking little woman.

“And you have the mouth of a whore,” the lord growled. “I plan to treat you like one.”