Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance #6) (A Historical Romance Book): Valiant Love, #6

By Deborah Wilson

What happens when an earl weds a lady so that he can seek his revenge though marriage?

Lady Lucy Newpark has been living the life of a servant in order to save her nephew.

She'll do anything to protect the innocent boy…

Even engage in an ugly plot to cage and keep wealthy lords.

But one imprisoned lord in particular, with just a look, makes it hard for Lucy to remember why she is in this mess, much less how to take her next breath.

The Earl of Ganden.
 

Kent Harris has always been sure of two things:

1- His title as the Earl of Ganden.

2- He can never trust anyone – especially women.

After suffering at the hands of his parents, the men Lucy work for are but a walk in the park.

But it's the woman who's given him a hope for the future.

Until she betrays him.
 

Now free to do as he pleases, Ganden will stop at nothing to get his revenge.

But revenge is quickly set aside when the feeling Ganden tries to fight off returns.

Hope.

But is hope enough to change his heart of stone?

What about love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deborah Wilson
• Release date: Feb 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393989837

Deborah Wilson

As a young girl, Deborah has been an avid fan of Regency authors such as Jane Austen. Deborah has always been in love with the Regency era. Despite the fact that this era is filled with great social, political, and economic upheavals and happenings, yet there is still plenty of room for episodes of romance happenings. In this era, love was pure. In this era, one can still find men and women who would have the courage to express their love while living amongst strict social customs for courtships. In such times, romantic gestures could be small yet they have a beautiful, meaningful impact. It is Deborah’s desire that through her writings, one will find the courage to love, to profess love and to pursue love. And the reason is simple. Everyone deserves to love and be loved. Pure and simple. Deborah is the author of ❦ VALIANT LOVE ❦ series. While the wealthy and titled men and women of the early nineteenth century were known for their extravagance in dress and decor and the rules that governed ‘polite society’, she wanted this series to focus on something different. Honor. What makes a man or woman honorable and where does love fit into all of this? “Let good be thy fortune and honor thy wealth.” Read and find out now for yourself Sign up now to Deborah’s VIP email list. Why? You will never miss a new release. You will be notified by Deborah personally as soon as her next book is out. →⟫⟫ http://eepurl.com/dHxqRD And please don’t forget to connect with Deborah on facebook. She loves hearing from her readers and sharing her thoughts and writing progress. →⟫⟫ https://www.facebook.com/deborahwilsonbooks

Book preview

0 1

*   *   *

London

June 1819

Kent Harris, the Earl of Ganden, opened the first door he found, looked around at the empty space, and then slipped inside. He sighed as the door closed behind him. The sound of the cheering, music, and laughter faded beyond the walls.

He moved farther into the drawing room and then took a seat by the fire. Closing his eyes, he pulled in one long breath after another, trying to relax.

He’d been very close to punching a few lords in the face. Very close to picking the most annoying one of them all up and tossing him out the window.

As the thought formed vividly in his mind, it soothed him. He could almost hear the shattering glass that would cause the party to fall into silence. Sweet silence.

Hazel eyes flashed in his mind. Warm. Inviting.

Kent’s eyes shot open. His heart raced. His body responded to the promise that had been in her gaze. After two years, the woman still had that effect on him.

Harlot.

It wasn’t her real name, but it was the only one she’d ever given him. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Where are you? he whispered into the room.

When there was no response, he felt every muscle in his neck stiffen. Had he been home, he might have broken a glass or two and simply listened to the echo of destruction as it rang through his mind. But he couldn’t do that here. He needed to control himself. He needed peace.

He thought of something else. Anything else.

Grass. Trees. Cool water.

He was nearly calm when the door opened and four men came in, one right after the other.

Two months ago, if anyone had asked him if he’d had friends, he’d have choked them for such a personal question and told them no. Now, he could say he had four.

He met their eyes and told himself to remain calm. Gentlemen.

The Duke of Astlen took a position on the wall. I’m quite proud of you. I thought surely, Lord Hobbin would have been flying through the window after his questions. His smile reached his brown eyes.

Hobbin had been asking the five of them about their captivity. Two years ago, they’d all been prisoners of a madman, taken because of their wealth and their titles, and chosen because few would miss them.

Kent’s anger made many men fear him.

Hobbins was very close to discovering whether he could fly, Kent admitted.

But you didn’t toss him out, the Marquess of Denhallow said as he picked up a chair and moved it to sit directly across from Kent. Taking the seat, he asked, Why didn’t you?

Many found it hard at first to meet Denhallow’s eyes, and not because they were a wild black but because of the scars that ran down his face. They were little more than silver lines now, but two years ago, when they’d been fresh, they’d been hideous.

Kent shrugged. It’s not my house. I didn’t want to pay for the glass.

The Marquess of Fawley laughed. He’d taken a position at Kent’s back. He leaned against the chair’s high back as he smiled down at Kent. I’m surprised something as simple as that stopped you.

I also didn’t wish to make the party about me. Kent met Denhallow’s eyes. Congratulations to you and your bride. Denhallow’s wife was with child. The party was to celebrate the news. Only a dozen or so guests had been invited, yet Kent could barely stand any of them.

Except for the four men who stood in the room. They were the only ones who knew a hint of the pain that he had suffered.

These men and the woman from his past that he had yet to find.

The Viscount of Coalwater, the last of their group, said nothing as he moved to the fireplace, but his blue gaze remained on Kent.

Kent looked around at the men. Did you all come looking for me?

Yes. Denhallow said. There is something I want to tell you.

Kent stared at him as apprehension began to beat into his blood.

I don’t think you should tell him. Astlen said from where he seemed to be sleeping on the other couch.

Tell me what? Kent looked at Denhallow again.

Denhallow paused and then said, I saw Harlot.

Kent felt a hand pull him back. It was only then that he noticed he’d moved at all. He’d shot forward in his seat, likely about to attack Denhallow, but for what reason, he wasn’t sure.

Fawley held him on one side. Coalwater, who’d likely slipped over while Kent wasn’t paying attention, held his other side.

He looked over and saw Astlen was sitting up, likely ready to jump in if the other two failed to hold him back.

I told you he wasn’t ready. Astlen said. Don’t tell him.

I’ll kill you! Kent shouted. I’ll break your arm off and choke you with it.

Fawley threw his head back and laughed. Truly? I would like to see that.

Denhallow glared at him and then at Kent. Perhaps Astlen is right. You’re still too angry.

No! Wait. Kent closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. Then another. I... I’m calm.

Harlot. He was closer to finding her than ever before. Denhallow had the answers, and he needed them.

Where is she? Kent asked.

Denhallow leaned back in his chair. Before I tell you...

Kent held back a growl. He didn’t want to wait. He’d waited long enough. He wanted answers now.

Denhallow crossed his arms. I want you to tell me why I should tell you where she is?

She’s mine! Kent said.

What for? Astlen asked. To kill? To love?

Doesn’t matter. Kent said. She is mine to deal with. Not yours! Not any of yours! If they so much as touched a hair on her head...

Tell me your connection with her, and I might tell you. Denhallow said. Otherwise, you can fight me all you want, but you’ll get nothing from me.

Kent cursed. If there existed men as stubborn as him, they were all in that very room. I... don’t wish to share it.

Then I won’t share what I know. Denhallow stood.

Kent tried to as well, but three large men— because Astlen had his throat— were holding him down. Wait. He cursed again. Fine, I’ll tell you.

Denhallow sat again. Start from the beginning.

The noise of the party played softly in the silence.

Kent closed his eyes, cursed again, and then said, No interruptions. No questions. I have a right to keep some things...private.

Denhallow nodded. Very well. Begin.

Kent sucked his teeth. It was four years ago.

∫  ∫  ∫

0 2

*   *   *

Somewhere in England

August 1815

Lady Lucy Newpark jumped as the door slammed behind her. Pressing herself into the corner of the kitchen, she watched as Mr. Goody removed his domino and began to pace.

The light from the fireplace played upon his scowling face. The wind whistled outside like an approaching storm, but it could barely be heard over the raging shouts coming from the basement.

The noise had started two days ago and had barely stopped since then. Yet unfortunately, the screams fell on deaf ears.

Outside, it was far too black a night for Lucy to see if a storm actually approached. Unlike the lights of London, the country, with its wide vast spaces, left one isolated.

The home Lucy stood in was far enough away from civilization so that no one could hear the screams and shouts that shook the walls. And none of the shouts she’d heard in the last two years compared to what she’d heard this week. The newest man Mr. Goody had brought was furious.

And he had every right to be. One didn’t usually enjoy being kidnapped, she supposed.

Mr. Goody stilled, catching her attention. Then he turned his gaze upon her. Harlot. That was his name for her. They’d decided when she first started working for him that he would never use her name as a way to save whatever remained of her reputation.

He’d bestowed the name Harlot upon her, and she’d not fought it.

She rarely fought anything he said or did...unless he was trying to make advances upon her. So far, she’d managed to avoid getting too close. Thankfully, he seemed far more interested in other things.

Prepare tea for our new guest, Mr. Goody said. and lace it with enough opium to bring down a horse.

Lucy took a deep breath and tried not to show either her fear or disgust for the man before her. Why have you taken someone else? Why do you take people at all? I don’t understand. Mr. Goody had already taken one man two years ago, a very young lord who he currently had chained to a bed upstairs.

She’d been glad to learn he didn’t use the boy for sexual reasons. Neither did he beat him severely enough to kill him or wound him terribly.

Yet, nothing made sense to her.

"It is not for you to understand, Harlot. he sneered. Lord Maltsby made it clear that you were do whatever it was that I needed you to do, without question. Otherwise, he’ll beat George. Is that what you want? He smiled at the thought. He’ll likely beat the boy severely enough to permanently injure him." 

No. Her lips trembled, and tears filled her eyes. George was her nephew, the son of Lord Maltsby and Lucy’s deceased sister, Jessica.

And if there was anyone she hated more than Mr. Goody, it was Lord Maltsby. The man owned her, because he was George’s father and Lucy would do anything to protect her nephew.

George was nothing more than a bastard to Lord Maltsby. How Jessica had thought she loved him, or trusted him enough to let him know about the boy, Lucy still didn’t understand.

Yet there she was, working so that she might spare George a life of pain and torture, working for a man who lived to do just that—torture people who had done nothing wrong.

Who is he? Lucy asked as she moved to fetch the kettle.

Mr. Goody was a young gentleman, yet Lucy had never met anyone so cruel. I’ve caught the Earl of Ganden. he told her, a smile in his voice.

An earl this time.

He already had a duke and viscount in his possession. The man was clearly growing a collection of lords.

Getting a tea pot, she moved to the cabinet. Won’t someone come looking for him? He’s an earl. She’d said the same thing when she’d discovered the duke. The viscount didn’t speak at all, so she wasn’t entirely sure anyone missed him.

She’d been in the house in the middle of nowhere for two years now, caring for the Viscount of Coalwater and the Duke of Astlen, which she found pretty easy to do. Coalwater, who was only seventeen, was a calm gentleman who did whatever it was Mr. Goody told him to do. Astlen was the same, seeming to do anything to avoid being punished by Mr. Goody. Lucy thought he might be trying to gain the man’s trust, but she wasn’t sure.

Both lords slept and ate when instructed. Coalwater nodded his agreement with whatever outlandish comment Mr. Goody made about himself, and Astlen gave Mr. Goody the praise he sought.

So, why did Mr. Goody need another?

Mr. Goody was obsessed with the ton. He very desperately wanted to be a part of the sacred fold but blamed his mother for being rejected from the balls and parties that took place during the Season. Mr. Goody’s father was Lord Goody, but his mother had been a maid before they wed.

Lucy didn’t think Mr. Goody’s parentage had anything to do with his being blackballed from Society. He was simply a horrible man.

I’ll worry about whether people will come looking for the earl, Mr. Goody said. You just make sure he’s asleep by the time I return. I’ll never find peace with all that shouting.

He left the kitchen, and Lucy took a calming breath. Her fingers shook as she arranged everything. Dousing the tea with opium made her stomach turn, but what else was she to do? If she disobeyed...

George was only five.

I have to do this, she whispered as tears slid down her cheeks. I’m sorry.

With the tray in hand, she left the kitchen and walked toward the door that led to the basement. The shouts grew louder with her every step. If Mr. Goody hadn’t told her that an earl was in the basement, Lucy would have thought he was harboring a wild animal.

Let me out of here, you coward! the man from below shouted. His voice was deep and full of rage.

Lucy swallowed and started down the stairs. Lamps burned along the way. She was halfway down the stairs when she finally saw him. She stilled.

Chained to the stone wall was a bear of a man. He was large, his arms and legs the size of the columns. His face was twisted with a fierce cruelty. His eyes, a green that should promise life, whispered death deep into her blood.

Blood dripped from his lip and stained his rumpled shirt. His trousers were torn. Blood marked him everywhere. How many times had Mr. Goody beat this man?

He was kneeling. More chains cuffed his ankles and throat. The dark iron links held when he jerked toward her.

Still, Lucy screamed.

Who are you? His voice and stare demanded an answer.

She blinked and was surprised she’d not dropped the tea when she’d shouted. Taking a breath, she moved the rest of the way down the stairs and tried to figure out how she’d manage to get this man to drink the tea.

The Viscount of Coalwater, bless his heart, was a saint. Even Astlen held the charm she’d heard whispered about while living in London. They both seemed to understand that Lucy was just as much a prisoner as they were.

The only difference between her and them was that her chains were invisible. Yet they were just as strong.

Love bound her to her duties.

She took the final step into the basement and moved to a table in the corner of the room, giving her back to Mr. Goody’s new guest. The wind whistled again, and Lucy heard dripping in the room. A storm had begun, after all, yet she’d not heard it because of Ganden’s shouting and growling.

Luckily, it was August and the night would not be cold for the earl, though she doubted he’d be comfortable in his current position.

I asked you a question. the earl said.

She shivered, both fearful and strangely glad for his ability to fight. She’d never had the strength. Yet here he was chained, and he was resilient where she knew others would not be.

Harlot. she said. Coalwater had never asked for her name.

Astlen had in that first month when he’d tried to plot his freedom. Now, the duke knew better.

Harlot? Ganden asked. Is that what your mother named you?

She turned and looked at him.

Or perhaps... His eyes were cold. You earned it somehow?

Her cheeks stung, and she turned back to the tea. I’ve brought tea for you.

I’m sure it’s been drugged, as was my meal at the brothel. I don’t want it.

So, that was where Mr. Goody had caught the earl. She wondered if that was the same story for Coalwater.

She picked up a cup and turned back to him. You must drink it. It’ll help you sleep.

He frowned. I have no plans of sleeping here. Unchain me. I will pay you if you let me go.

I don’t have the key.

His brows furrowed. Then go get it. He clearly did not enjoy being defied.

She evaluated his chains before moving forward. You’ll go when the master is ready to let you go.

He bared his teeth and then shouted, I’m not drinking that! Do you hear me! I’m not drinking anything you give me.

∫  ∫  ∫

0 3

*   *   *

Kent watched as Harlot’s eyes flashed. Her entire body stiffened and drew into herself. He told himself he was glad of it, even though the reaction reminded him far too much of everyone else in his life, his mother included.

But he didn’t allow his thoughts to punish him. He had every right to be angry at the man who’d taken him and at the woman who stood before him.

The maid took another step toward him. Please, just drink it. Then I’ll leave you alone.

No.

She stared at him and then sighed before lowering her gaze to the liquid in the cup. I cannot force it into your mouth.

At least you know. he said.

Her eyes came back up. They were gold, like two shiny coins. What will it take for you to drink this?

There is nothing you can do or say that will make me accept that cup. he told her.

He allowed his eyes to roam her body then and judged what he saw. She was a small woman. Short. Her humble uniform was a dull blue and seemed to fall in a way that suggested she didn’t have much to offer a man underneath it. Small curves. She’d have passed for a child if it weren’t clear from her speech and attitude that she was a woman.

She was very pale, her face pleasant, and her lips naturally curved with innocence. She appeared nearly angelic, a quality that likely got many a man to do as she asked without question.

Kent would not be one of them.

You’ll only ache all night if you don’t drink it. she told him. This will help you relax.

You know what will help me relax? Being unchained! He thrust his body forward and watched her jump back. Unchain me! He’d nearly called her Harlot, yet for some reason, he didn’t feel comfortable doing so. He knew that wasn’t her name.

He wondered why she’d call herself such a thing.

Was she a harlot or the angel she appeared to be?

Perhaps, Kent should try another tactic.

Do you enjoy your position here? I can find you better work in the city. I know that’s where you come from. He could hear it in her speech. She had the refinement that most servants picked up from working around their betters for some time.

Had she been a lady’s maid?

Those golden eyes—which had rare flickers of green and blue—flashed. How do you know I’m from the city? Forget working as a lady’s maid. She nearly sounded like a lady herself. Wherever she’d been before, she’d certainly not been a scullery maid.

She was pretty. Her daintiness could easily make a man feel protective, strong where she was clearly weak. Perhaps, she’d been removed from her house of employment because of her attractiveness. He imagined a mistress tossing her out because she tempted the master of the house far too easily.

He wondered at her hair color. Her brows were dark.

Kent avoided answering her question and instead stayed on the track he was laying out...all the while trying to ignore the pain growing in his shoulders. The awkward position was making them throb. Perhaps you would rather not ever work again? I can give you my protection and enough money to settle you anywhere of your choosing. He was being honest. So far, this woman had done nothing to wrong him.

If freed, he would help her. He had enough wealth to see it easily done.

Again, she looked surprised, and he saw contemplation in her gaze...right before it died. You must be in pain. Let me take it from you.

He grinded his back teeth. He’d never been a very patient man. Release me, or you’ll regret it. I swear to you, once I am released, I will hunt you and everyone you love down. I will make you pay for this.

She stiffened and then looked him over, studying the chains once more, before moving closer.

Suddenly, a new scent presented itself.

He groaned. She smelled so sweet that his mouth began to ache. He was starving. He’d only stopped at the brothel for a meal. It had been the first place he’d come to on the road, and he’d not eaten all day. He’d been riding his horse and traveling without servants.

Kent had only swallowed a portion of the stew before he’d fallen asleep.

And that had been two days ago.

She lowered herself until they were face to face. Please. She held out the cup to his lips, and he noticed how her hands trembled. Did she fear him?

He turned his head away. No. I’ll not drink it. Why had his masked captor sent this woman to him? Did he think a pretty face would break his resolve? It was an easy thing to assume when one was accosted in a brothel. What do you want from me?

Nothing, she whispered. only to remove your pain.

He turned and saw that tears had made her eyes appear like glass. Did she weep for him?

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he pushed it away. No one wept for him. No one had ever cared.

He could disappear for days and would likely not be missed. He was an earl, but aside from his wealth, he had nothing and never would. But those thoughts didn’t sadden him in the least. His life was good. No one ever broke his trust, because he trusted no one. Not family. Not those who claimed to be his friends.

Not this woman with eyes the color of sun rays.

He jumped on his chains again and was surprised when she held firm.

I know the limits of your chains now, she said. You can’t hurt me even though you want to.

He didn’t want to hurt her. He’d never hurt a woman in his life.

But the man in the mask...Kent couldn’t wait to get his fingers around the man’s throat. Tell me why I’m here? Is it money he wants?

I don’t know. she said. But if you’re good, he won’t hurt you anymore. She lifted the cup again.

He was getting nowhere with her, and the pain was starting to shoot down his arms and through his back. It hurt to breathe. Sweat dripped down his face.

If you drink this, the master will move you somewhere more comfortable. she said.

He was no longer able to hide the full extent of the pain. He’d been beaten before his arrival. His muscles were weak. The rim of the cup touched his mouth, and he jerked his chin up, knocking the cup to the floor.

Its contents splashed before it rolled and settled between them.

She looked down at it and then back up at him.

No anger. Only sadness.

I’m trying to help you. she said as she stood.

The moment she moved away, taking her scent with her, the smells of his brick prison engulfed him once more. He almost shouted for her to return.

But then she did, with a wet cloth and a bowl of water this time. She lowered herself again, and he wondered how she could stand the smell of him.

Perhaps she couldn’t.

The cloth touched his skin, and its coolness nearly made him groan, but he held it back. He stood still as she cleaned his face with gentle strokes, then down his throat. When she stopped, he opened his eyes to find her staring at his chest with embarrassment.

She was clearly no harlot.

He found something about her hesitation arousing. He cursed and chuckled as he felt himself begin to rise. It was just what he needed at a time like this, another source of pain.

It was a good distraction from his reality, however.

The position he’d been chained it left no room to conceal his growing need.

She gasped softly, likely spotting his erection. Then her gaze flew away, and she placed the cloth in the water bowl. Would you like me to...?

Yes! Lust roared through his blood like an inferno. He wanted her hands on him and though he knew the thought to be shameless, given the circumstances, he couldn’t help himself.

Clean your chest? she finished without meeting his eyes.

That she’d not offered a different service didn’t calm him in the least.

Please.

She fumbled with his buttons before pushing the material—once fine silk and now nothing more than rags—as far down his arms as possible.

You may as well cut it off, he said. It hardly did anything to ward against the cool August nights.

She moved to the table in the corner and came back with a knife. The same one his captor had slashed his legs with. The wounds were shallow at best, however. The man in the mask didn’t want him dead. He wanted him humbled.

Are you sure this is all right? Harlot asked.

He nodded, then winced. The action had pulled on the muscles in his shoulders. The pain deflated his erection and then he watched as the maid cut away his shirt and went back to the table to refill the water bowl.

She cleaned him, and he groaned when she focused on his shoulders. When she got to his back, she kneaded his knotted flesh to the point that his vision was filled with the celestial heavens.

While the pain didn’t disappear completely, it did make it more bearable.

She took the dirty water away and returned with a cup again.

His anger returned.

An answer for a sip. she said as she lowered herself once more. But no personal questions. Only those that pertain to your situation.

He thought it over and grunted. You’re cleverer than you look. Very well. He was tired and hadn’t drank or eaten in days. I’m hungry. Could I eat first?

She moved away and left without a word.

It seemed forever before she came back. His mouth had never watered more than when he saw the meat and bread. She fed him, and he was so famished that he had tell himself to calm down before he bit into her fingers.

When he was done and his belly was satisfied, he asked, Why am I here?

She picked up the cup and stared at him. I honestly don’t know, but I can guess if you like.

He nodded.

The master...I believe him to be lonely. I think he wants company.

Company? he managed before he was forced to swallow a portion of the tea.

Once the liquid hit his mouth, he couldn’t stop himself from taking more than a sip. Why bother anyway? He’d be unconscious any minute now. He drank the entire cup, and she went to get another.

As she worked, he thought of what question was best to ask next. So, are there others?

Two others. she said as she came close again, bringing the tray with her.

How long will I be here? How long would he live?

Her eyes found his, and a sensation Kent hadn’t felt in years gripped his body.

Cold fear.

I don’t know, she said. But...the first man he took has been here for over two years.

Two years?

So, there was a possibility that he’d never get out. That this had become his life.

He’ll move you to a bed. she said in a rush. If you’re really good, he’ll allow you to join him for meals. That is all. You sleep, you eat, and you live to entertain his conversation. She gave him the tea again.

He finished the second cup as he physically and mentally hit the floor.

Years.

No. he said, suddenly full of panic. This would not be how his life ended. His blood pounded in his head. No!

Ganden, you must calm down!

No! He’d not given her his name.

Reviews for Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance #6) (A Historical Romance Book)

[C M · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Skip this one. Least favorite in the series so far. Weird Stockholm Syndrome romance, plus the hero was rather emotionally abusive. Its unfortunate, as the first 5 books in the series were worth it, but I don’t recommend this one.