The Girl Who Seduced an Earl - Book 2: The Girl Who Seduced an Earl, #2

By Sharon Page

Emma and Dorian's sizzling story continues.

She is the one woman in England who has refused to seduce the earl…

Emma Taylor was forced to become a courtesan to support her sister and protect them both from their vicious stepfather. Now she must win ownership of her brothel and gain her independence to ensure she keeps her sister safe. To win, she must drive the gorgeous, determined Dorian, Earl of Haydon, mad with frustration. And she must never, ever fall in love.

But as she learns more of the pain of Dorian's past, Emma finds it harder and harder to resist her heart's desire to become closer to the enigmatic earl.

Driven to solve his mother's murder, Dorian's drive for justice brings back the agony of his past, and he can find solace for his pain only with Emma. This makes him more determined to make Emma his treasured mistress.

To his surprise, she refuses to his offers of wealth, luxury and privilege. Refusing to surrender, the earl concocts a wicked plan to capture her heart. But he doesn't know Emma holds a dangerous secret that could cost her life.

Then, on one scandalous afternoon, Dorian makes a shocking admission to Emma—one that changes everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon Page
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780994761132

Sharon Page

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Sharon Page graduated with a degree in Industrial Design (School of Engineering) and worked for years, by day, in the structural engineering field. By night, her secret identity was “Romance Author”. After selling her first book in 2004, Sharon has indie and traditionally published over 20 novels and novellas. Her books have won many awards including two RT Bookreviews Reviewers Choice Awards, two National Readers Choice Awards, the Colorado Award of Romance, and the Golden Quill. Sharon was nominated by RT Bookreviews in 2013 for Career Achievement in Erotic Romance. When not writing, Sharon enjoys time with her family, downhill skiing, and playing tennis. Writing romance has long been her dream and she is thrilled to share her stories. Sharon loves to hear from readers and can be reached at https://sharonpage.com/.

Book preview

Chapter One

London

April, 1818

Twenty-four-year-old Dorian Waverly, the Earl of Haydon, returned to drawing room of the brothel he had purchased and disappointed twelve enthusiastic courtesans by telling them he was leaving.

Sally, the eldest in the house, was reclining on the settee, wearing a silk robe that only partly hid her generous assets. She jerked upright in shock, leaped off the sofa, and caught him at the doorway by grabbing his wrist. What? I mean, I beg your pardon, milord? Don’t you want to stay and play with us?

Her lower lip stuck out in the pout of a woman rejected.

Gently escaping her grip, Dorian looked around the room. He had twelve lovely women ready to pleasure him in every way imaginable. But he was not interested.

The only woman he had wanted was Emma Taylor, the courtesan who blamed him for stealing this brothel out from under her nose.

Even though he and Emma had just shared an intense session of love-making in an upstairs hallway, he wanted more with her. He hungered so badly for her it was like an obsession. He wanted to find out about her—about the mysterious secrets she held.

But her secrets had to wait.

Milord? Sally was staring at him curiously. When she got his attention, she batted her lashes and cupped her enormous breasts in her hands through the silky robe. Come and join us.

Alas, no. I have to go.

Leaving them open-mouthed with astonishment, Dorian took his leave. He went out to his carriage and instructed his coachman to go to a house that he had not visited in years. The London residence of the Duke of Moyne. His father’s home.

His father was the man who had obsessions. His father was also a brutal man who used violence and fear to get what he wanted.

Dorian had vowed he would never be like his father. But he now had another obsession—finding his mother’s killer. And finding out if his father was the murderer.

His father was away up north, purchasing horses. But even when his father was not in residence, Dorian normally did not have enough control over his rage to go to his father’s house—the house where he had suffered beatings and pain.

Sex with Emma had distracted him from the pain that haunted him when he remembered the past. It had left him satiated, relaxed, able to control his emotions. Able to focus. He would be able to enter that damned house without giving into violence or losing his mind—all because he had made love with Emma.

His carriage reached the house on Park Lane and rumbled up the gravel drive. Footmen in livery hastened to greet him. He might be despised by his father, but he was the heir, an earl, and thus servants scurried upon his arrival.

Dorian jumped down without waiting for the steps to be lowered, nodded to the footmen, strode up the steps and into the house. Once, he would have suffered hell walking into this foyer. Now, as he walked into the house, he did not think about his past. Instead, he focused on how loudly Emma had squealed in pleasure.

His father’s major domo, Pauncefoot, a portly man of sixty who had worked his entire life for the family, stood waiting in the foyer and took Dorian’s coat. My lord Haydon, a pleasure to see you again. It has been a long time.

No amount of time spent away from his father was long enough, Dorian thought. He had thought he’d lived through hell for much of his life. Now he felt plunged into the center of it. On one hand, his father could be guilty of a horrific crime. On the other, his father could be completely innocent, and his mother had been killed by an intruder. He had devoted his life to angering his father as vengeance because he believed his father drove his mother to suicide. If his father was innocent, that had been...pointless.

His brain could not continue in this torturous circle. That indeed was hell. Only answers would give him a path forward.

Is my father’s man of business in his offices? he asked.

The major domo nodded. Taking his leave, Dorian walked to the portion of Moyne House that housed the offices. It was closest to the mews, so that when the scent of horse dung wafted in through open windows, the staff got to smell it instead of the duke.

Knocking on the door of Horatio Selbrooke, Dorian waited until a raspy voice bade him to enter. The elderly man was now eighty, but he continued to work every day, tending to the estate’s business.

Now he gave Dorian the sort of look an indulgent father gave to his favorite, but eternally disobedient son. What trouble are you in this time, Lord Haydon?

No trouble, he answered casually.

Indeed? A rumor has reached my ears that you have purchased a house of ill repute. But of course, this could not be so.

Afraid it is, Selbrooke. I bought it from gaming winnings, not from my allowance. Dorian received an allowance from the ducal estate, which he had invested. Not that he would ever reveal he acted responsibly.

The rumor has left your father quite enraged, my lord. Such a shock is not good at his age.

Dorian did not respond. He needed his father alive. But his father was a tough, self-centered monster. He did not believe the duke was about to die any time soon. If Selbrooke thought to play on sympathy, he was wasting his time.

Selbrooke let out a sigh. He wagged his finger. Your wild streak will rapidly lose its charm as you grow older, my lord. You’d best rein it in now and take responsibility.

I have. Dorian paced in front of the window. Outside, his sister sat in the yard with his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Moyne, in the shade of a tree heavy with spring blossoms. His grandmother was reading. Abigail studiously applied watercolor to a paper set up on an easel. I now have responsibility for thirteen courtesans. I was asked just this morning to weigh in on what to do when the women are having their monthly courses.

Selbrooke’s face must look just the same as his had done when Emma had brought this up. The eighty-year-old looked like he wanted to run for his life.

Never mind, Selbrooke. I won’t bore you with the gory details of brothel ownership. Not all fun and games. I came to track down some of the former servants. Ones who worked at Longhollow. The country estate where his mother had been murdered.

Indeed?

I’d like to find my father’s valet and my mother’s lady’s maid. The housekeeper. The butler. Some of the maids. The head groom. If there had been a stranger in the house, some of the servants might have seen him. The groom might have seen someone suspicious outside on the grounds.

No one had ever come forward to say they had seen a stranger in the house. If Abigail’s memories were right, why hadn’t someone else seen the man and woman?

Or had they—and knew the man had been the duke and the woman was his mistress?

The old man’s eyebrow rose. Why do you wish to speak with the former staff?

If staff had been bribed to cover up the truth, likely Selbrooke had been involved. Dorian watched Selbrooke closely. I want to find out what really happened on the night my mother died.

Chapter Two

In the country, outside London, spring had come in full force. Dorian drove his phaeton with speed along a lane of cottages in a small village. Birds swooped, hundreds of leaves seemed to unfurl around him by the second, and the sky was bright with warm sunlight.

It was the kind of beautiful day that should be savored. Instead, hot rage filled him as he raced to the house of the retired housekeeper to question her about murder.

Selbrooke had readily given him this address. The man had remained expressionless at Dorian’s pronouncement that he was investigating his mother’s death. But the fact that Selbrooke could immediately tell him the location of the housekeeper who had been retired for ten years implied the estate had paid her off—and was likely still doing so.

Had his father bribed the servants for their silence?

He was about to find out.

He reached the picturesque stone cottage as described by Selbrooke. Rose Cottage, named for the climbing roses that ran up every wall.

Dorian parked his phaeton, tied the reins around a tree, then strode to the front door. In a few minutes, he might have the truth. He was prepared to bribe it out of the woman. If she had taken his father’s money for her silence, he was going to offer her more money until greed made her spout like a fountain.

Clenching his fist so tight he split the seam of his glove, Dorian rapped on the door. Minutes passed and he still stood there.

Then he heard it. A sound inside. A window was open to let in the spring breeze and he heard floorboards creak inside the house.

He went to the window and had to lean down to call inside the low, ancient cottage. He struggled to sound calm. Open the door, Mrs. Holmes. It is the Earl of Haydon and I have come to ask you questions. Questions for which I am prepared to pay.

Footsteps approached the door. It was flung open and a tall, thin woman looked out at him. He barely remembered the housekeeper, who had always seemed frightening and severe when he was a young boy. She had aged—he remembered her with dark hair. Now, her hair, pulled back in a severe bun, was iron grey. Her face was white as parchment. My lord, I’m afraid I do not understand why you have come.

Guilt was written in her hesitant manner, in her watchful, fearful eyes.

I’ve come to find out the truth about my mother’s death, Mrs. Holmes.

I—you—you’d best come in, my lord. She retreated from