The Earl's Temptation

The Earl’s Temptation STEAMY REGENCY ROMANCE NOVELLA SINNERS AND SCOUNDRELS VIOLA GREY Copyright © 2023 by Viola Grey All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents 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 Epilogue Also by Viola Grey About the Author One LONDON, 1819 The morning air was wonderfully fresh and brisk as Honora cantered gleefully through the paths of Hyde Park in the pre-dawn light. She had given her stallion, Samson, a good gallop since there was no one around to witness her tearing through the park like a mad woman, besides the grim-faced groom who followed her at a respectful distance. She knew Fobs would be grouching over his aching joints, but perhaps also watching with pride as she put her mount through its paces. He had been the one to teach her to ride, after all. Breathing fast, face flushed with exertion, Honora turned the horse for home. Her morning ride was the best part of her day, but London was beginning to stir and soon the roads would be clogged with carts, carriages and dust. She much preferred to be home in time to miss out on all that. As she trotted through a thick copse of trees, Honora heard the sound of someone riding up ahead, off to the side and hidden by the thick foliage. Assuming it was a peer out for their own morning exercise, she thought nothing of it, slowing down somewhat as she looked around for Fobs. He seemed to have fallen behind, and Honora chuckled, most amused that she had managed to outpace him for once. Not wanting to let her mount cool too quickly, she craned her head around, searching the distance for the groom. A cracking shot rang out just as she leaned back in the saddle, a bullet grazing the upper part of her arm with a slice of burning pain as her horse shied up onto its back legs in alarm. Stunned, Honara cried out as the arm went numb, the fingers nerveless, and despite her years in the saddle, she slipped from the seat, falling to the ground in a tumble of limbs and shocked astonishment. Gathering her wits through sheer force of habit, Honora instinctively rolled away from Samson’s flailing hooves, but not quickly enough, as one glanced across her skull, nothing but her thick beaver hat to protect her from the blow. And then, all was dark. * * * Blinking her eyes against the brilliant morning light, Honora rolled over on the ground, falling to her back and gingerly touching her fingers to the lump above her temple. Groaning with pain, she looked around to see a white-faced Fobs vaulting from his bay gelding to come to her aid. “No!” she cried, waving towards the direction the shot had fired from. “Go after them,” she hissed, trying to push the man away as he crouched over her. Who the hell was shooting off a gun in the centre of London? She could have been killed. “Not a chance, mistress,” grunted the groom, kneeling beside her and tugging out a handkerchief to tie it tightly around her upper arm, staunching the bleeding. “Besides, them’s long gone by now. Let us not forget your brother would have my hide if I didn’t get you home in one piece. Although, I might still face flogging for this anyway.” “Oh, phooey, Fobs. I’m in one piece aren’t I?” sighed Honora, crawling onto her knees and fighting her way to her feet, kicking aside the long train of her plum velvet habit with frustration. Just barely, she acknowledged ruefully to herself. Fobs frowned, but steadied her as she wobbled. “Tsk, we need to get you somewhere safe, mistress, ‘fore the shock sets in.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a metal flask. “Here, sip on this. It should tide you over.” Honora grimaced, tilting the flask to her lips she swallowed cautiously, then coughed as the raw, harsh burn of the spirits hit her throat. Taking another brisk swig for good measure, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, noting with strange detachment how her fingers shook. “Good gracious, Fobs. How can you drink that stuff?” The man laughed, tucking the flask away in one of his many pockets. “Not as fine as you’re used to, I’m sure. But it’ll put a spit of fire in your blood till we get you home.” Gingerly, she allowed Fobs to lift her up into the saddle, grateful that it was only a short ride to the Mayfair townhouse. They walked the horses slowly towards the entrance of the park, Fobs leading Samson as Honora concentrated purely on staying in her seat. Luckily, there was no one around to see her in such a state. It would be almost impossible to prevent a small scandal from erupting around her if there had been an audience to her tumble. It was almost the middle of summer, and although most of the ton had deserted town for the cool reprieve of the country, her brother was a dedicated member of Parliament and always sat till the very end. In fact, some years they hardly left town at all, what with Benedict so engrossed in parliamentary affairs and intrigue. Finally, they found their way to the mews at the rear of the townhouse, Honora fighting dizziness as the housekeeper, Mrs Kindling, rushed from the servant’s entrance and clucked around her like an enraged mother hen. Within minutes she had been led to her chambers, where she fell gratefully onto her bed and