A housekeeper with a dangerous secret; an earl with an emotional wound: The Reluctant Earl Historical Regency Romance by Pamela Gibson Book Tour & Amazon GC Giveaway
A housekeeper with a dangerous secret; an earl with an emotional wound.
Can love survive amid a maelstrom of secrets and lies?
The Reluctant Earl
Heirs and Graces Book 1
by Pamela Gibson
Genre: Historical Regency Romance
Gerren Stafford, sailor and Cornish wrestler, ran away to sea when his gentle older brother was taunted and killed in a duel, and vowed never to set foot in his homeland again. When a stranger informs him he is the new Earl of Siltsbury, Gerren reluctantly returns to England with a hidden purpose, and to assume a role for which he is woefully unprepared.
Then he meets Anna.
Anna Jeffries is a baroness who is keeping her aristocratic connections a secret. She uses her new position as Siltsbury housekeeper to hide from her late husband’s successor, a man she suspects arranged her husband’s death and is now threatening her with harm if she “dares to spread her vile rumors.”
Drawn together by friendship, loneliness, and hidden emotional wounds, Anna and Gerren find solace in passion. But can they find an enduring love or are there too many secrets and lies between them?
Excerpt 1.
When the wrestling match began Gerren circled
his opponent, slightly bent at the waist, his arms hanging loosely at his
sides. Then he made his move. He aimed for the legs then picked up the man and
slammed him on his back, getting an elbow in his nose for his effort. When the
fellow rose, they danced around until a second slam kept his opponent on the
floor. It took five minutes, not ten, to be declared the winner. The man
signaled his moves and Gerren read them easily.
Wiping away the blood trickling over his
mouth and chin with the back of his hand, he concentrated on his next opponent
and easily outwitted him. Some nights the matches were more even and despite
the rules, he’d had fingers broken and a shoulder dislocated that a sawbones
had to wrench back into place.
The last brute was a big ‘un, taking all of
his strength as they danced around each other in a gruesome minuet, grappling,
grunting, and finally slamming each other to the floor several times. At the
end of the hour Gerren had more pins and remained undefeated. When the
announcement was made, the crowd went wild. The noise in the crowded room
didn’t abate until someone began singing a bawdy song and others joined in.
Gerren slipped away to his personal bucket of
water outside the back door where he could clean himself in peace. When he
finished wiping the blood from his face, he wasn’t alone.
Shiny boots appeared first, followed by a
silver-headed walking stick. Sluicing the last of the water over his head and
shoulders, he toweled himself dry and hoped he wouldn’t miss that nice tankard
of ale waiting for him down the street.
“Oy, what do you want? If it’s to rebuke me
for winning when you bet on the other lads, come back next week and wager on
the winner this time.” Gerren set his towel aside and pulled on a clean shirt.
“State your business. I have a place I need to be.”
“Are you Gerren Stafford from Falmouth?”
“I am although I make my home here in
Kingston for now. Haven’t been back in a dozen years. Why?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately.”
Gerren glanced at the darkened alley behind
the warehouse. “I guess you can say this is as private as it gets. State your
business.”
“Your father was Charles Stafford, younger
brother of Mathew Stafford, the late Earl of Siltsbury. Charles predeceased his
two older brothers.”
“You been studying my pedigree? Say what
you’re here to say and be done with it.”
The man took a packet from an inside pocket
of his coat. “Gerren Alexander Stafford, my name is Harold Jenkins. I’m the
solicitor for the Siltsbury estate and I’ve been looking for you for more than
a year.”
“Out with it, man.” Gerren’s body, even in a
win, took a beating and he wanted his ale and a woman’s soft bed and body. He
had no patience for a fool on a fool’s errand.
“In November, 1818, Mathew Stafford, sixth
Earl of Siltsbury, succumbed to a wasting disease in Baltimore, Maryland. He
had no male heir, nor did he have any living brothers. Your deceased
grandfather and your father were the only ones with male issues and your
uncles, like your father, have all predeceased you.”
“What in bloody hell is this about?”
“Congratulations, my lord. It is my duty and
my pleasure to inform you that you are the new Earl of Siltsbury and I’m here
to take you home.”
Excerpt 2
He stopped pacing and stood in front of her.
“You seem pensive. Is there something about London that makes you nervous?”
Her eyes—wide and as blue as the waters of
the Caribbean in full sun—seemed frightened. “I’m your housekeeper and I go
where you tell me to go.”
Where he’d like her to be right now was
upstairs in his bed. If he was a complete rogue, she’d be there. He’d grasp her
hand, never breaking eye contact, haul her to her feet and nibble on those
delectable lips before leading her up the stairs.
Tamping down his lustful feelings, he turned
and faced the wall of books, hoping the bulge growing in the front of his
breeches would lessen before he faced her again.
“That didn’t answer my question.” He reached
up and pulled out a thin volume. Cicero. In Latin. “Tell me what’s
bothering you.”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“You’re not being truthful. I can hear it in
your voice.”
She rose and stomped over to where he stood.
“Your ears are hearing something that isn’t there. All is well. I assure you.”
“Fine. I won’t pry. Just know that you have
nothing to fear. You have someone who will always defend you.”
He studied her then, a defiant woman with
fire in her eyes and a stubborn set to her mouth.
An impulse overcame his good sense. He
reached out and traced her lips with his forefinger. She stilled and seemed to
hold her breath. If he dipped his head slowly, his lips could cover hers. A
sound, like a whimper, seemed to escape from her throat.
Don’t
do it. Don’t do it.
He tilted her chin and lowered his mouth to
hers, waiting to see if she’d pull back.
She didn’t.
Her eyes closed and she swayed toward him,
giving him the encouragement he needed to wrap his arms around her and press
her body to his. She was all woman, soft and lush, smelling of rose petals and
tasting of something sweet. He pressed his lips to her cheek and the spot below
her left ear, then back to her mouth, deepening the kiss until she moaned and
tightened her grip, allowing his tongue to twine with hers.
He broke off the kiss and stepped back.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” He held his
palm to his forehead.
“No. You shouldn’t have. Nor should I have
encouraged you.”
“Will you accept my apology?”
“Yes, if you’ll accept mine. I should have
slipped out of reach. I could have easily.”
“But you did not.”
“No.” She whispered her response, her eyes
cast down. “It cannot happen again.” She curtsied formally and fled.
He’d done it now.
He strode to his desk and sat, staring at the
bookshelves, in his mind once again tasting the delectable Anna Jeffries,
feeling her soft breasts against his chest. It was not like him to lose
control, and he was a rogue of the first order by doing so.
But
she didn’t pull away.
Excerpt
3.
Scooting closer, he took her hand and
intertwined his fingers with hers. The physical contact always made his need
for her strengthen, but she was a human being needing comfort. He hadn’t meant
for her to cry.
“I apologize if I’ve upset you. Kissing you
again was wrong.”
She squeezed his hand. “My day did not go
well and I am feeling sorry for myself. I’m in a mood, that’s all.”
“What kind of mood?” He turned his body to
face her, reaching over to undo the strings of her bonnet so he could stroke
her cheek with his free hand.
She put her hand over his. “You said you
weren’t going to apologize and I’m glad. If anyone apologizes, it should be me.
You’ve given me the honor of helping you relearn the ways of the ton. You’ve allowed me to be your
friend. I’m guilty of taking offense when you’ve tried to be kind and of
showing my emotions when I should be hiding them.” She hesitated. “You’ve
kissed me and instead of reminding you that you should not, I-I enjoy it.”
“As do I. You haven’t given offense, Anna.
May I call you by your given name? I do worry that you are keeping secrets.”
She breathed deeply and nodded as if she
weighed her response. When she continued to look into his eyes he sensed she’d
made some kind of decision.
“Sometimes loneliness overwhelms me. It’s as
if a hole has opened in my heart that keeps getting wider. I see and interact
with people every day. But there’s no one with whom to share my concerns, or
even small moments of joy like discussing a passage in a book or how wonderful
it feels to dance barefoot in the moonlight.”
“You have me. We danced in the old nursery,
not in the moonlight, and we kept our footwear on. We’ve briefly discussed
books, and I’ve offered several times to be your confidante.”
He put his arm around her and drew her head
to his shoulder. “I’m not belittling your concerns. I know exactly what you
mean. When Jenkins met me in Kingston after a wrestling match and told me how
my life was going to change I wanted to resist, to disappear, to keep my life
unaltered. Then he spoke of duty and people who depended on my return and my
obligation to my ancestors to continue the line. I left everything and everyone
I knew and came here where I am like a fish out of water. But thanks to you, my
journey has eased. You, Anna, are my friend. No one in the world is worth more
to me than a loyal friend and I thank God I have you or by now I would have run
away and boarded the first ship that was bound for Jamaica.”
She gazed at him with pain in her eyes and he
was lost. He bent his head and took her lips in a gentle kiss that grew in
intensity and need. He coaxed her lips open and deepened the kiss until she was
in his lap and their bodies were pressed together.
He forced himself to stop. “I’d love to
continue, my dear, but we’re in a public square where anyone can see us at any
time,” he whispered, but didn’t let her go, knowing she could feel his need
beneath her bottom, while not wanting to frighten her.
He kissed her ear, her neck and back to her
lips. “I want to make love to you, Anna. There, I’ve said it. You’ve probably
sensed it before, but now it is in the open. But the house is small and we are
all living on top of one another. So it won’t be here, even if you wished it
too.” He hesitated, afraid to ask the next question.
“Do you? Wish it?”
She gazed into his eyes. “Come with me.”
Author of eight books on California history and twenty-two romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who retired with her husband to the Southern Nevada desert. Having spent several years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of Ralph, her Siamese cat. She loves dry red wine, all kinds of chocolate, old Jimmy Buffet sailing songs, and curling up with a good book. You can find her in these places:
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Thanks for featuring my book. I had fun writing it.
ReplyDeleteThe excerpt sounds good. I would enjoy reading this book.
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