The Unaffected Earl
Can she thaw the ice that encases his heart?
They call him the Unaffected Earl…
Many seek his favor, men and women alike, but few glimpse what lies beneath the Earl of Brantford’s aloof exterior.
She was the woman everyone wanted…
Rose Hardwick was the most sought-after debutante in London until scandal touched her family and made her a social pariah.
He alone has the power to help her…
Rose is determined to prove her father innocent of the crime of treason, but first she must convince the Unaffected Earl to help her. When circumstances force them closer together, will she be able to thaw the ice that encases his heart?
The Unaffected Earl is book 3 in the Landing a Lord series.
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Excerpt:
June 1807
THE EARL OF BRANTFORD left the shadows and approached the dark-haired man who waited outside the cell housing the most recent prisoner of the Tower of London. He gave a curt nod to the guard who also stood outside the cell. The guard gave no indication he’d seen Brantford’s silent command, but he moved away. Not far enough that anyone could accuse him of shirking his duty, but the distance ensured Brantford had privacy for this conversation.
He got straight to the point. “You need to keep her away from here.”
The Earl of Kerrick showed no hint of surprise at seeing him. “I cannot control what Rose Hardwick chooses to do. I couldn’t when everyone expected us to wed, and I certainly can’t now that she’s given me my freedom. But I can keep her safe. For everything she’s sacrificed to bring Catherine and me together, it’s the least I owe her.”
Brantford tamped down the irritation that sparked within him at the reminder of the other man’s former relationship with Rose. It had never been more than a courtship—one Brantford himself had ordered Kerrick to pursue—but the casual reference to their short-lived betrothal served as an unwelcome reminder that a small part of him had wanted to perform that particular duty.
“If you wish to keep her safe, you’ll ensure she doesn’t repeat today’s visit. Coming here makes her a target.”
Kerrick knew he spoke the truth. Brantford could see it in the tightening of his jaw. Neither of them believed that Rose’s father had acted alone. And if the man they suspected of actually committing the treasonous acts to which Worthington had confessed even suspected he’d shared any information with his daughter, he wouldn’t hesitate to silence her forever.
“What would you have me do? Restrain her and force her to stay away? Rose’s mother only agreed to allow her to remain with Overlea when she left London because of her friendship with Catherine. Being under the protection of a marquess was more than the poor woman could have hoped for after Rose ended her betrothal to me. But Overlea isn’t about to keep her locked in his home. He’d bring her to the Tower himself, but we all know I owe her at least this much. After the turmoil of the past few days and the way everyone has turned their back on her, I’m not about to keep her from seeing her father.”
Brantford wanted to insist he do just that—lock Rose Hardwick in her bedroom and post someone outside her window, if need be, to keep her safe. But knowing that would never happen, his thoughts turned to the next best course of action.
It was obvious that Lord Worthington had confessed to treason to protect his wife and daughter. It wouldn’t take much effort to convince the man that the best way to keep his daughter safe would be to refuse to see her. After being turned away a few times, Rose would eventually stop visiting. Hopefully that would happen before she attracted further attention. Damn her stubborn hide—she would be safe now if she’d fled London with her mother.
Brantford turned to leave, deciding it would be best to return later, when he wouldn’t be in danger of seeing the woman who was occupying far too much of his thoughts of late. So of course the door to the cell swung open just then and Rose Hardwick exited the room where her father was being held. Her head was bowed, but despite the defeat evident in her posture, he was struck, as always, by her beauty. It had been almost one week since he’d last seen her, when she’d arrived at Kerrick’s town house to inform him she’d taken steps to set him free from his promise to wed her. It had been a betrothal neither wanted, but with Kerrick’s name, Rose would have had some protection from the cruel tongues that even now ripped apart her family’s reputation.
Brantford had hoped never to see her again.
Instead of her normal curls, she wore her reddish-brown hair tightly bound. But that wasn’t the only change in her appearance. When she lifted her face to look at Kerrick, Brantford could see the signs of strain the past few days had wrought. The dark shadows under her eyes were new. She’d attempted to conceal them with powder, no doubt in an attempt to keep her father from worrying about her, but no amount of cosmetics could hide them completely. And there was a tightness to her features, an air of fragility about her that made him want to take her into his arms and protect her from the world. He wouldn’t, of course, and it rankled that this woman could bring out such emotion in him. Emotions were a sign of weakness, and he would do nothing to betray himself. He’d learned that lesson at his father’s knee while still a lad.
When Kerrick offered her his arm, she gave him a weary smile before taking it. Brantford knew for a fact that there was nothing untoward between the two of them, but he couldn’t stop the annoyance that flared to life as he watched them standing together.
She noticed him then. She must have assumed he was the guard when she’d first exited her father’s prison, but when she recognized him, her blue eyes hardened and her delectable bow of a mouth firmed into a straight line.
For some reason Rose had gone from seeming indifference toward him to an active dislike, and he couldn’t fathom why. He’d barely spoken to her, making sure to keep his distance whenever they happened to attend the same social events. He couldn’t account for her sudden hostility, but he wouldn’t allow it to affect him.
“Miss Hardwick,” he said, inclining his head by way of greeting. Given the grim nature of her visit, there wasn’t anything he could say to her beyond that. He’d called upon her mother the day before, catching her just before she’d quit London, but the woman hadn’t been able to tell him anything. Rose had already taken up residence at the Overlea town house, a fact that suited him. If Lady Worthington knew nothing about her husband’s actions, it was unlikely that he’d be able to learn anything from their daughter.
Rose turned away but said nothing. There was nothing to say, after all.
He met Kerrick’s gaze, sending him a silent command to do whatever he could to keep Rose away. The other man’s brows drew together briefly before he led Rose down the hallway.
Never mind. Brantford would handle the matter. He’d allowed others to question Worthington, and their efforts hadn’t borne any fruit. He’d also ensure Rose’s father would take the necessary steps to keep any further harm from coming to his daughter.
Knowing the guard would do nothing to bar his entry, Brantford approached the cell. Catching Worthington by surprise so soon after his daughter’s visit might be an advantage. If the man was affected even half as much as his daughter had been, it might give Brantford the edge he needed to break his silence.
Since Worthington was merely a viscount with only a meager amount of wealth, he hadn’t merited one of the more elaborate rooms in the Tower. Rooms that had once housed royalty.
No, this room barely contained the necessities. A small cot in the corner served as a bed, a small screen in another corner hiding the chamber pot. One that hadn’t been emptied for some time if the smell that permeated the air was any indication. The air hung heavy and damp. There were several small windows high along one wall, but the daylight that entered did little to alleviate the gloom of the cell.
He’d been in many such cells during his time working for the Home Office, and none of those visits had ever affected him. After all, one gave up all right to luxury and comfort when they committed treason. But today, knowing that Rose had been in that room mere moments before, knowing that she’d looked upon the defeated man hunched over on the edge of the small cot, Brantford felt an unaccustomed heaviness in his chest.
Not for the man seated before him but for his daughter who’d been forced to see him that way.
If he had a heart, he supposed he would have felt sorry for Worthington as well. Instead, all he could summon was annoyance. And if he was being honest with himself, a hint of anger at what the man had done to his family.
When all this had started, Brantford had hoped the rumblings his agents had uncovered about Worthington selling English secrets to the French would come to naught. It had been a vain hope, but he’d wanted to find something—anything—that would lead to another explanation. But now that Worthington had confessed, that hope was gone.
Worthington hadn’t heard him enter, his demeanor that of a man who was deep in thought. Brantford crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair Rose had no doubt been sitting in during her visit, breaking into the man’s reverie with a suddenness that made Worthington jump.
Worthington’s gaze hardened when he realized Rose hadn’t returned to see him. It appeared the man’s defenses hadn’t been shattered after all by his daughter’s visit.
Brantford started on his questioning, but he already knew he would learn nothing new. He wouldn’t leave this room, however, until he’d extracted Worthington’s promise to turn away any future visits from his daughter.
©2018 Suzanna Medeiros