Beauty and the Earl Read online

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  Rockland, Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2014 Patricia Grasso

  Exclusive cover © 2014 Laura Givens

  Inside artwork © 2014 Giovanna Lagana

  Copyright © 1998

  Previously published as To Love a Princess

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication

  reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means,

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,

  or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title

  is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 978-1-927555-40-8

  A catalogue record for the Ebook is available

  from the National Library of Canada

  Ebooks are available for purchase from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 978-1-927555-41-5

  Editor: Joanna D’Angelo

  Copyeditor: Giovanna Lagana

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Reggie: an old soul, my second alpha, lover of whipped cream and tuna. You demonstrated devotion and friendship by staying beside old Pip for 23 hours a day for the final six weeks of his life. As Dorothy says to Scarecrow, “I think I'll miss you most of all.”

  Reviews

  “Beauty and the Beast on a wild ride through London and Stratford-on-Avon” Rakehell.com

  “Skillfully done.” Romantic Times

  Doubleday Featured Alternate

  Rhapsody Bookclub Featured Alternate

  Also Available

  Douglas Series:

  Book 1 To Tempt an Angel

  Book 2 To Charm a Prince

  Book 3 To Catch a Countess

  Pagan Bride

  Coming Soon:

  Enchanting the Duke

  (Book 1 Lords of Stratford)

  Beauty and the Earl

  Chapter 1

  Stratford-upon-Avon, 1820

  He hated days like this.

  Trees colored themselves green, flowers bloomed in the sun’s warmth, chirping birds flew across a cloudless sky.

  The world was too damn happy.

  Miles Montgomery, the fifteenth Earl of Stratford, turned his back on the nauseatingly cheerful sight outside his study window. He shifted his gaze to the portrait over the hearth. Sweet Brenna, gone in the flash of a midnight fire.

  Out of habit, Miles reached to close the drapes and shroud his study in comforting darkness. He stopped himself, though, remembering his guests. John Saint-Germain, the Duke of Avon who was also his brother-in-law, and Prince Rudolf Kazanov had several business ventures in the offing and wanted to include him.

  Business ventures. Miles twisted his chiseled lips into the ghost of a smile. Since the fire, business ventures had filled his empty existence.

  Miles touched the mask that covered the left side of his face. His love, his face, his life had died on the fateful night of the fire. Now he needed to wait for his heart to stop beating.

  “My lord, His Grace and His Highness have arrived,” the majordomo announced.

  Miles touched his mask again. “Send them in, Pebbles.”

  “Come on inside,” Pebbles called, his hands cupping his mouth.

  Both the prince and the duke grinned at the majordomo as he passed them on the way out. Pebbles inclined his head as if he were the aristocrat and they the servants.

  Miles met the two men in the middle of the room. With a smile of greeting, he shook the prince’s hand first and then the duke’s. Both men were as tall as he, a couple of inches over six feet.

  Located on the second floor in the west wing of the manor, the earl’s study sat at one end of the Long Library. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in afternoon sunlight when the draperies were open, as they were now. Thousands of volumes filled the bookcases, and a thick red Persian carpet covered the floor. Over the main fireplace mantel hung an enormous portrait of a woman.

  “Brenna, my wife,” Miles said, seeing where the prince’s gaze had drifted.

  “She was a beautiful woman.”

  “Shall we get down to business?” Miles gestured across the chamber. He sat behind his desk while the other two men took the chairs opposite him.

  “Caroline misses you,” John said.

  “I will visit her soon.”

  “I’m surprised to see the drapes open,” his brother-in-law continued. “Normally, you sit in the dark. I was beginning to wonder if you were a vampire.”

  “I opened the drapes for you,” Miles told him. “Normally, you comment on my sitting in the dark.”

  Prince Rudolf chuckled, drawing their attention. “You bicker like my brothers and me.”

  “We are not bickering, Your Highness,” Miles said. “His Grace prefers to mind my business instead of his own.” Though he spoke with a hint of a smile, his tone held a hard edge.

  “You need a wife,” the duke said, undeterred by his brother-in-law’s sarcasm. “If you die without an heir, Terrence the Weasel will inherit.”

  Miles wished he could be in his family’s company without listening to their comments regarding his life. Why should he care if his cousin inherited his title?

  “I finished with the wife business when Brenna died,” Miles said, his weariness with the topic apparent. He glanced at the prince. “Do you see the nagging inflicted upon me?”

  “The nagging will cease if you remarry,” Prince Rudolf said.

  “No woman can ever replace Brenna.” Miles touched the masked side of his face. “Besides, what woman would consider marrying a scarred beast?”

  “Georgiana Devon looks especially well,” John remarked. “She asked about you the last time I saw her in London.”

  Miles shrugged his shoulders with indifference. “I left Georgiana behind a long time ago.”

  “As I recall the gossip, you dropped Georgiana in favor of Sarah Pole,” John said. “You did know Sarah’s husband died and left her a wealthy widow? Weren’t you considering offering for her?”

  Miles gave his brother-in-law a pointed look. “You know very well that I was considering Sarah when I met Brenna.”

  “Vanessa Stanton lost her husband,” John said. “She always favored you, and you enjoyed her company.”

  “Vanessa enjoyed everyone’s company. She sought her pleasures when I had a whole face,” Miles said. “I prefer living alone to wearing horns.”

  “What would you do if a virtuous woman did want to marry you?” Prince Rudolf asked.

  “I would marry and plant a dozen sons inside her,” Miles answered, hoping to drop the topic.

  “Consecutively, I hope,” John quipped, making the other two smile. “Come to London and look over the latest crop of hopefuls.”

  “I retired from society four years ago,” Miles refused. “If you have seen one debutante, you have seen them all.”

  “Damn it, Miles,” John snapped. “Brenna is dead but you still live. Do you think she would want you to hide in the shadows?”

  Miles said nothing, and an uncomfortable silence descended on the three men. Why, in God’s name, did John and Isabelle need to solve his problems? Why couldn’t they leave him alone in his misery?

  “I couldn’t reach her in time and lost half my face for nothing,” Miles told the prince.

  “I am sorry for your loss,”
Rudolf said. “I cannot imagine the horror of losing the woman you love.”

  Miles inclined his head, accepting the prince’s condolences.

  “John is correct, though,” the prince added. “You need to return to the living.”

  “Are you going to nag me, too?”

  Prince Rudolf held his hands up in a gesture indicating he would say no more.

  “I told you how pigheaded he is,” John said. Before Miles could reply, he added, “Shall we get down to business?”

  Miles lifted his gaze to his wife’s portrait. He knew they were correct about living while he could, but his wife was gone. And the woman who equaled her had not been born . . .

  * * *

  Moscow

  “Princess Amber, we will make beautiful babies together.”

  Amber laughed, a melodious sound that complemented her sweet expression. Looking at her companion, she became almost enthralled by his piercing gray eyes. With his handsome features and midnight black hair, Count Sergei Pushkin looked as if he had stepped out of a maiden’s dream. And his heart belonged to her. For the moment.

  “Sergei, you should not voice such thoughts,” Amber scolded him, her expression flirtatious. “I do not think your mother would appreciate the sentiment.”

  “What about you, Amber?” Sergei fingered a lock of her silver-blond hair. “Would you appreciate my planting a child inside your body?”

  Her alabaster complexion deepened into an embarrassed scarlet. “I refuse to continue this improper conversation. Tell your driver to take me home. Uncle Fedor will be annoyed if I am late.”

  Sergei lifted her chin and waited until she raised her disarming violet gaze to his. “Amber, I promise we will make babies together. I love you.”

  “I am fond of you, too, but look for another woman to be your wife,” Amber said, her practical nature rising to the fore. She harbored no silly illusions about a future with the man beside her. “Your mother will never approve a union between us.”

  “My mother will approve,” Sergei said. “You are the czar’s daughter.”

  “I am the czar’s unacknowledged bastard,” Amber corrected him, her voice mirroring her weariness with the same old argument. Why did he refuse to understand? They had discussed this several dozen times.

  “The czar sends you a gift each year, which is unofficial acknowledgment.”

  “I would appreciate the gift of a public acknowledgment.”

  Nobody understood how difficult life was for those born on the wrong side of the blanket. She supposed that particular heartache had brought Cousin Rudolf and her closer. Though a dozen years separated them, they had always been two of a kind. Only Rudolf understood her suffering.

  Amber stared into space, her small white teeth worrying her bottom lip. Uncle Fedor had been making comments about her being a grown woman of twenty, an age to begin a loving relationship with a gentleman.

  The important word was loving. Amber feared her uncle would force her into an illicit relationship with the wealthiest aristocrat who offered to take her. She didn’t want to be a mistress. She wanted to be a wife and mother.

  “Where have you gone, my princess?” Sergei teased her.

  Amber focused on him. Too bad she had been born a bastard. She would have enjoyed being Sergei’s wife.

  “I have returned to you,” she said, forcing herself to smile.

  Sergei drew her close before she could escape. “One kiss, my love.”

  Amber turned her face away and pressed the palm of her hands against his chest. “My kisses belong only to the man I marry.”

  “Surely one kiss cannot hurt.”

  “One kiss led to my being born a bastard. I will not be painted with the same brush as my mother.”

  “Very well, Princess.” Sergei called instructions to his driver, who turned the coach around and headed in the opposite direction.

  Reaching her uncle’s home, Amber peeked into the deserted foyer. She paused to remove her shoes and, on silent feet, dashed up the stairs.

  “I wish to discuss the princess.”

  Amber heard her name spoken as she neared the second floor office, her uncle having neglected to close the door tightly. She didn’t recognize the voice. The gentleman sounded older, sophisticated, cultured. Had someone decided to offer for her?

  Curiosity getting the better of her, Amber leaned against the wall and listened to their conversation. The longer she listened, the faster her heart pounded, the sharper her panic grew.

  “Do you wish to court my ward’s affections, Count Gromeko?” Uncle Fedor was saying.

  Count Gromeko? Amber had heard his name whispered somewhere.

  “With her platinum blond hair and violet eyes, Princess Amber is unusually beautiful,” Gromeko said, ignoring her uncle’s question. “Unfortunately, the princess is a bastard and unacceptable to the best families.”

  “My niece will marry a younger son or make a first-born’s devoted mistress,” Fedor replied.

  “God forbid she should be wasted like that,” Gromeko said. “Her beauty can bring us immense wealth.”

  His statement confused Amber. She had no money, no dowry. All had been spent on her living expenses since she had come as a child to her uncle’s home. How could she possibly bring them wealth?

  “As you know, I deal in high-quality slaves,” Count Gromeko was saying. “The moment I saw the princess, I knew I must have her. Not for my pleasure, of course.

  “I own a slave with the identical coloring. If the princess and he mate, their children will be born with the same coloring, which commands the highest prices in the Ottoman markets. God willing, she could produce a child each year for the next fifteen or twenty years.”

  Shocked and revolted and frightened, Amber struggled against a swoon. Her knees wobbled, and her hands shook as if she had the palsy.

  Her uncle remained silent. He could not be considering the devil’s offer.

  “Princess Amber will live in luxury as befitting her station,” Gromeko continued. “The princess is too rare a flower to be abused or neglected. I guarantee that, once breached, she will enjoy my stud. His member is large, his seed is potent, and he has sired a dozen babies in the past two years. He will, however, service the princess exclusively until she gets with child.”

  “I don’t feel—”

  “I will give you fifty thousand rubles for the girl and ten percent profit on each of the babies sold.”

  “Do you wish to take her tonight?” Fedor asked.

  Amber could not believe it. Her uncle was selling her into sexual slavery, a broodmare for profit.

  “Do or say nothing to alarm her. Frightened women do not easily conceive,” Gromeko warned her uncle. “My business keeps me in Moscow another month. In a day or two or three, tell the princess you have had an offer for her hand in marriage. Then I will join you and your niece for dinner and charm her into feeling comfortable with me. As the month draws to a close, we will tell her that I am escorting her to her betrothed. I need the princess calm and content.”

  “When can I expect—”

  “You will sign a bill of sale giving me the princess,” Gromeko told him. “I will give you twenty-five thousand rubles and pay the remainder on the day I take her away.”

  “About that ten percent profit . . .”

  Amber sneaked up the stairs to her bedchamber. With tears streaming down her face, she leaned back against the door for support. Her heart pounded, and her legs still trembled.

  Struggling for composure, Amber wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her uncle was not easily duped. She must remain calm or all would be lost.

  Should she ask Sergei for help? He had no legal authority to thwart her uncle. Besides, his mother would see this as a way to get rid of her permanently.

  Perhaps she should appeal to the czar. No, she would never gain an audience. Her uncle would tell the czar she was a stubborn chit who was refusing a perfectly acceptable offer. His lie would be more believable than he
r truth.

  She needed to leave Russia.

  Cousin Rudolf would protect her. She needed enough money to get to England and a good disguise.

  A black dress and widow’s veil would allow her freedom of movement. No one would recognize her, and strangers would assume she was older than twenty.

  A sob escaped her and an involuntary shudder shook her body. Amber forced herself to take several calming breaths. There would be time enough to break down when she reached England. If she broke down now, Fedor and Gromeko would win.

  * * *

  London, Six Weeks Later

  Amber looked at the brick town mansion and then glanced at the address on her cousin’s last letter. She had finally arrived at Montague House, her cousin’s English inheritance.

  Lifting her valise, Amber climbed the front stairs. The door opened before she could reach for the knocker, and the majordomo looked down his nose at her travel-bedraggled appearance.

  “May I help you?”

  “I must speak with Rudolf Kazanov,” Amber answered. “Is the prince in residence?”

  “Are you seeking employment?”

  “No.” Amber tried to move past the man, but he blocked her way.

  “State your business with His Highness.”

  This last obstacle to safety brought tears to her eyes. With a strength fueled by desperation, Amber shoved the man out of the way and darted past him into the foyer.

  “You are trespassing on private property,” the majordomo warned her. “I will call the authorities if you do not leave immediately.”

  “Please announce Princess Amber,” she said, ignoring his threat.

  “Princess?” His tone implied disbelief.

  Amber yanked the black widow’s headdress off, revealing the silver-blond mane cascading down her back and prepared to win this battle. She had traveled too far to be turned away. “Rudolf,” she shouted, nearing hysteria.

  “You are disturbing the peace of this household.” The majordomo caught her arm and dragged her toward the door.

  “Rudolf!”

  Behind the struggling duo, someone cursed loudly in Russian and then switched to English. “Bottoms, what is happening?”