Romancing the Earl Read online

  Romancing the Earl

  Darcy Burke

  Darcy Burke Publishing

  Contents

  Romancing the Earl

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by Darcy Burke

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Romancing the Earl

  Major Elijah Hollister never wanted to be an earl, particularly not when it meant losing his brother. When a bold adventuress shows up at his door seeking a treasure map, Elijah suspects his brother’s death may not have been accidental and that the lady knows more than she’s willing to share. Whether she’s a friend or foe, Elijah plans to keep her close—and hope the temptation of her kisses doesn’t ruin them both.

  Miss Catriona Bowen can almost taste the fruits of her years-long quest to find one of Britain’s greatest treasures. The discovery will deliver the recognition and respect she deserves as an antiquary, despite the fact that she’s a woman. However, to find the map that will lead her to success, she must ally herself with a stoic, yet provocative earl with a different goal. And when a villain threatens their lives, she realizes too late that love is the greatest treasure of all.

  Don’t miss the rest of the Legendary Rogues!

  Love romance? Have a free book (or two or three) on me!

  Sign up at http://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub for members-only exclusives, including advance notice of pre-orders and insider scoop, as well as contests, giveaways, freebies, and 99 cent deals!

  Want to share your love of my books with like-minded readers? Want to hang with me and get inside scoop? Then don’t miss my exclusive Facebook groups!

  Darcy’s Duchesses for historical readers

  Burke’s Book Lovers for contemporary readers

  Romancing the Earl

  Copyright © 2015 Darcy Burke

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 193971334X

  ISBN-13: 978-1-939713-34-6

  This 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 purely coincidental.

  Book design © Darcy Burke.

  Cover design © Elizabeth Mackey.

  Editing: Eliza Dee.

  Copyediting: Martha Trachtenberg.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Created with Vellum

  For Rachel

  * * *

  A terrific author, a loyal and beautiful friend, and

  the best chocolate martini-maker ever.

  Chapter 1

  Wiltshire, July 1819

  “My lord, you have a visitor.”

  My lord. Would he ever get used to that? Like as not, he supposed, particularly after being called by a military rank nearly all of his adult life.

  Major Elijah Hollister—rather, Lord Bloody Norris—looked up from the ledger he was studying. The enormity of inheriting an earldom when he had never planned on doing so weighed on him, almost as heavily as the shocking death of his brother Matthew, the previous earl, last year.

  “Who is calling, Garber?”

  The butler, a rigid, somewhat austere man who appealed to Elijah’s desire for order, stood in the doorway, his dark blue costume plain but immaculate. “She did not present a card, my lord, but says she is Miss Catriona Bowen. She is accompanied by someone called ‘Grey.’”

  Elijah arched a brow, but said nothing.

  “Would you like me to inform her that you are busy?”

  Elijah glanced down at the ledger and decided an unexpected visit would be more diverting than trying to make sense of these numbers. Besides, he’d yet to make the acquaintance of more than a handful of people since arriving in Wootton Bassett just a fortnight ago. “No, I’ll come. Where is she?” He stood up from the desk and walked around it.

  “The Egypt Room, my lord.”

  Elijah fought a grimace. That was his least favorite room. The entire house was overdecorated and stuffed to the brim with antiquities the former earl—that is, the cousin who’d held the title before Matthew had inherited it two and a half years ago—had collected. However, the Egypt Room was particularly offensive and, frankly, disturbing, with a pair of sarcophagi flanking the massive fireplace and an array of paraphernalia that had no doubt been stolen from someone’s tomb.

  Elijah left the study, which he’d already begun to simplify by removing much of the former earl’s collection. The ballroom was quickly becoming a depository for the excess of artifacts, which Elijah planned to sell at the earliest opportunity.

  A medium-sized saloon, the Egypt Room was located at the back of the house with a view of the gardens. The day was overcast and mild, a far cry from the burning Australian summers he’d become accustomed to over the past five years.

  His guest, a young woman with striking dark, nearly black hair turned from the windows where she stood with the second woman, a much taller female wearing a wide-brimmed hat, which he couldn’t help but notice she’d failed to remove, and a stoic expression. Elijah had no trouble discerning who was Miss Bowen and who was “Grey.”

  “Good afternoon,” he said, striding into the room.

  Miss Bowen moved forward and smiled at him, her dark pink lips curving up and forming dimples in her cheeks. She was quite pretty, though in an unconventional way, with her dark hair and eyes and a complexion that could be described as the color of tea with a spoonful of milk. In a room of flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned debutantes, she would gleam like a vibrant jewel.

  “Good afternoon, my lord. I must beg your forgiveness for our presumption in visiting. I hope you won’t mind. I am Miss Catriona Bowen and this”—she gestured to the other woman who angled her body toward Miss Bowen—“is Grey.”

  Elijah glanced at the single-monikered woman and decided she’d make a good soldier. She was tall and stoic, with an air of self-discipline about her. Something about the way her gaze followed Miss Bowen yet seemed to still fix on him invoked a sense of fierce protectiveness. “Your visit is not presumptuous,” he said. “As I am new to the district, people have come to extend their greetings and I expect them to do so.”

  Her smile faltered a bit and she blinked. “Yes, well, I am not from the district. My apologies. I am imposing. You are new to town—to England, from what I hear—and are likely trying to find your way as the new earl. Yes, I’m being quite presumptuous,” she said firmly, almost insistently, as if she would argue with him about her cheek. He fought the urge to smile at that. Miss Bowen not only didn’t look the part of the typical young miss, she didn’t act it either. And that made her . . . interesting.

  “Then do tell me why you’ve come,” he said.

  “Certainly.” She walked to a dark blue settee. “Shall we sit?” Grey moved to stand next to the piece of furniture.

  “Of course.” His hosting duties required some refinement. But then, what about him didn’t? He�
�d spent the last five years on the other side of the world. Nothing was less refined than dwelling in a penal colony.

  Her smile returned as she perched on the settee, and Elijah decided she wanted something. Why else would she behave so boldly—and be proud of doing so—and continue to smile at him as if he could make all of her dreams come true?

  What a ridiculous notion.

  “I’m visiting my friend, Lady Miranda Foxcroft. I think you’ve met her?”

  He had, as well as her husband. “Yes, I’m surprised she didn’t accompany you.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t inform her of my intention to call on you. You see, my errand today is rather . . . secret.”

  What sort of game was she playing? He didn’t have time for nonsense, not when he was drowning in estate business and overwhelmed with creditors demanding to be paid for the bills his brother had run up during his brief time as the earl. “Miss Bowen, how can I help you?”

  Her face brightened. “Yes, that’s precisely it. You can help me. I’m an antiquary and I’m looking for a small tapestry that Lord Norris—the previous”—she shook her head—“that is, the previous-previous, maintained in his collection.”

  Blimey, another antiquary. Perhaps she’d be interested in taking some of this lot off his hands—provided she could pay for it. He had creditors to satisfy and an entire estate to overhaul. He looked at her intently. “Have you any idea how many tapestries Norris—the ‘previous-previous’—kept in his collection?”

  Her eyes were warm as she nodded. “I do. I’ve toured Lord Norris’s collection on multiple occasions. It’s exemplary.”

  It was bloody obnoxious. “I couldn’t say.”

  “No, of course not. You’re a soldier, not an antiquities expert. I can describe the tapestry for you. It’s a medieval battle scene, about three feet square.” She gestured the size with her hands. “I believe it’s the only tapestry of that dimension. It’s a bit of an oddity. Lord Norris used to display it in the upstairs gallery; however, he liked to move his treasures around from time to time, and of course who knows what’s happened in the years since he passed.”

  “While my brother was the earl.”

  “Right.” Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. However, I haven’t seen the tapestry you describe and I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to look. I’ve only just arrived a fortnight ago and I’m still trying to find my footing.”

  “Of course you are, and this is why my presumption is terrible.” Her forehead creased into attractive little pleats. Attractive? “I’m so sorry for bothering you. However, I’m afraid my need for the tapestry is quite urgent. I should like to buy it.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to charge you for it. I will, in fact, be selling the entire collection, but I need to consult with an antiquary before I do so.” He’d received a letter from a Lord Septon, an antiquary who’d offered to assist him with cataloging and evaluating the collection, and he planned to respond to him with haste.

  Her face split into a beatific smile. “That is where I can help you. I can tell you precisely what the tapestry is worth, and I can pay you for half of it now.”

  Oh yes, this woman had cheek to spare. “That’s a bit dubious, isn’t it? You telling me the price for something you clearly desire most fervently.”

  Her expression dimmed, but only slightly. “I’m a trustworthy sort.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “So you say, but I don’t know you at all. You’re here on a secret errand so that I can’t even verify your identity with Lady Foxcroft. In my situation, would you trust someone such as yourself?”

  He chanced a quick look at Grey, who still lingered beside the settee, to gauge her reaction. Her gaze was steady, confident. If she took issue with his question, she didn’t reflect it. And why should he care? Was she Miss Bowen’s bodyguard? He realized that was precisely what she seemed.

  Miss Bowen blinked at him. “Of course I would. I know myself to be quite honest and ethical.”

  He couldn’t help it—he laughed, and she looked a bit startled by his reaction. “I’m still skeptical—perhaps it’s the soldier in me. However, it’s a moot point since I don’t know where the tapestry is and I don’t have time to find it. I will, however, contact you after I’ve located the piece and ascertained its value from an objective source.”

  She scooted forward and squeezed her hands together on her lap. “I understand your hesitation, but perhaps I haven’t made my need for this antiquity plain. I require this tapestry immediately, my lord.”

  Her insistence and passion—passion?—was most curious. He might not have time for her nonsense, but he was intrigued. He sat back and set his hands on the arm of the chair, then speared her with an intense stare. “Why?”

  She glanced at her maidservant or chaperone or whatever-she-was, who seemed to slightly nod her head as if they’d silently communicated something. When Miss Bowen returned her attention to him, her gaze was frank. “Because I need the tapestry to find something.”

  That made no sense whatsoever. “How?”

  She stared at him and he could almost see her mind churning. “It contains a . . . map.”

  Just like that, Elijah snapped to attention as if his commanding officer had just stalked into the room. He leaned forward once more and slitted his eyes at her. “Like a treasure map?”

  Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say anything about treasure.”

  No, but he could tell from her reaction that treasure was precisely what she was looking for. Suddenly, the note Matthew had penned just before his death took on a whole new meaning. Instead of the drunken ramblings of a man who’d always dreamed of a grander life, it now seemed like something far more disturbing.

  “What do you know of this map?” Elijah asked.

  “It’s a medieval battle scene and was likely stitched in the early to mid-fifteenth century.”

  “How is it a battle scene and a map?”

  For the first time, uncertainty crept into her gaze. “I don’t know. It only ever seemed to be a battle scene to me. And don’t ask how I know it’s a map. I’m afraid I can’t disclose more than I already have. As I said, this is a secret endeavor. I shouldn’t have even told you this much, but you must understand how important it is that I obtain this tapestry.”

  “What I understand is that you are likely trying to fleece me of something that is already quite valuable and possibly represents even greater value.”

  Grey shifted her position, moving a few steps toward Elijah’s chair and lessening the distance she’d have to cover should she decide to launch an attack. He shook his head, wondering why he’d assumed she was on the offensive. He’d likely thought that because though he’d left military life, he simply couldn’t ignore his military sensibility.

  She shook her head. “I’m not trying to fleece you at all. The treasure it leads to is not monetarily valuable. It’s only important to the study of history. My brother is the Keeper’s assistant at the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford and I plan to give it to him for display. The amount I would offer you for the tapestry is more than fair.”

  Yet she hadn’t stated it as of yet. Elijah’s wariness intensified. Matthew had indicated the treasure was valuable. Had he been mistaken, or was she lying? “How much?”

  “Two hundred pounds.”

  Good Christ, where had she gotten that kind of money? “You actually have a hundred pounds with you to give me today—you did say you had half?”

  “Yes.” She darted a glance at her indomitable companion. “I am prepared to pay you a hundred pounds. But first we have to find it. I know Lord Norris kept an inventory. Perhaps that will reveal its location. Might we review it?”

  There was an inventory and Elijah had given it a cursory overview. However, it wouldn’t help them. Not with this. “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. I’m fairly certain the map is gone.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open for t
he barest second. “No,” she breathed. “It can’t be. You said you didn’t know where it was; you didn’t even know what I was talking about.”

  “I didn’t until you called it a map. My brother wrote a letter to me shortly before he died. In it, he mentioned a treasure map, but not a tapestry. I discounted it as the product of his fanciful imagination, something he was prone to.”

  “Then it’s still here.” Her tone carried hopeful excitement.

  Surprisingly, he sympathized with her plight. He might not share her enthusiasm for this tapestry-map, but he knew what it was like to want something most desperately and realize you’d likely never have it. “It is not, I’m afraid. Several people offered to buy it, and someone attempted to steal it, prompting my brother to hide it. I now wonder, however, if one of those buyers was as eager as you to find the map.” Had she been one of the interested parties?

  Miss Bowen lifted her hand to her chest. Her eyes widened with concern. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Tell me, Miss Bowen, what do you know of my brother’s accident? Given what you’ve revealed about the importance of this tapestry, I find I must ponder whether it was an accident at all.”

  Cate tried to mask her inhalation and failed miserably. She needed to work harder to be guarded, like Grey. But if he was saying what she thought he was saying . . . “You can’t think I had anything to do with his death?”