‘There.’ The mellow murmur of Bennett’s voice went straight to her heart in that vulnerable moment. ‘That’s better.’ He raised his hand to her cheek in a featherlight caress. Then an irresistible magnetism seemed to draw their lips towards one another.
The first warm, tremulous contact after such a long absence made Caroline’s senses crackle with suppressed desire suddenly reignited. It flared and spread swiftly, until it felt as if wildfire raged through her veins.
The blaze swept through Bennett too. His embrace tightened, as if to claim her. His kiss grew deeper and more demanding, while she ached to give him everything he wanted and more. Her lips parted to invite the hungry thrust of his tongue.
Old desires fused with strange new emotions to make this kiss sweeter and more satisfying than any they had shared before. Caroline savoured it like a serving of her favourite food after a long fast. She sought to hoard the feel and taste of it, knowing this would surely be the last time Bennett ever kissed her. While his lips moved over hers with such thrilling fervour she could pretend that he cared for her in the way she’d once longed for.
AUTHOR NOTE
In most Regency romances the wedding of the hero and heroine is the beginning of their happily-ever-after. But for the Earl and Countess of Sterling it is the beginning of their problems. Wed too quickly, for too many of the wrong reasons, they grow further and further apart—until scandal rocks their marriage, forcing them to choose whether to walk away or fight for a happier future together.
In HIS COMPROMISED COUNTESS the last person with whom Bennett wishes to share a small house on a remote island is the wife he believes has betrayed him with his hated rival. Caroline feels the same about her husband, who threatens to destroy her life of pleasure and part her from her young son. Only when they are thrown together under the most difficult circumstances can Bennett and Caroline begin to confront the problems that have beset their marriage and rekindle the spark of attraction that never quite went away.
I hope you will enjoy visiting the fascinating Isles of Scilly with Bennett and Caroline as they learn the true meaning of love.
About the Author
In the process of tracing her Canadian family to their origins in eighteenth-century Britain, DEBORAH HALE learned a great deal about the period and uncovered plenty of true-life inspiration for her historical romance novels! Deborah lives with her very own hero and their four fast-growing children in Nova Scotia—a province steeped in history and romance!
Deborah invites you to become better acquainted with her by visiting her personal website, www.deborahhale.com, or chatting with her in the Harlequin Mills & Boon online communities.
Previous novels by the same author:
A GENTLEMAN OF SUBSTANCE
THE WEDDING WAGER
MY LORD PROTECTOR
CARPETBAGGER’S WIFE
THE ELUSIVE BRIDE
BORDER BRIDE
LADY LYTE’S LITTLE SECRET
THE BRIDE SHIP
A WINTER NIGHT’S TALE
(part of A Regency Christmas)
MARRIED: THE VIRGIN WIDOW*
BOUGHT: THE PENNILESS LADY*
WANTED: MAIL-ORDER MISTRESS*
*Gentlemen of Fortune
His Compromised Countess
Deborah Hale
This book is dedicated to my agent,
Pam Strickler, whose support and wise advice helped me rise to the challenge of this story.
Chapter One
London—April 1817
With a flourish, someone pulled back the blue damask curtain from the alcove of Almack’s card room, as if it were the stage at Drury Lane. The scene it revealed might have come from any of a hundred sentimental plays—a pair of lovers stealing a passionate kiss. But instead of sighs and murmurs of approval that might have greeted such a sight at the playhouse, this one provoked scandalised gasps followed by brittle, breath-baited silence.
They were as handsome a pair as any actors, the man well built with a full head of auburn hair and fashionable attire that might have won the approval of Beau Brummell himself. The lady wore a silvery-blue gown of the finest silk. Though her face was turned away from the audience for that first instant, her beauty was as obvious to them as her identity. Golden curls were swept up off her long, graceful neck, adorned with the famous Sterling sapphires.
Everyone who caught a glimpse of her must have immediately recognised Caroline Maitland, Countess of Sterling, one of the most celebrated toasts of the ton. They must also have recognised that the man with his arms around the countess, and his lips upon hers, was not her husband.
Surrounded by several of the most voluble gossips in all of London, Bennett Maitland, sixth Earl of Sterling, stared into the alcove, fighting a rising tide of rage and humiliation that threatened to demolish his iron self-control.
He had stubbornly refused to heed Fitz Astley’s sly barbs about his wife’s fidelity, just as he had once tried to deny another of his enemy’s sordid revelations. A revelation that had brought his whole world crashing down. Scoundrel though Astley was, he had not been lying then. Nor was he now. The evidence of Caroline’s promiscuity was presently on display for all to see!
Catching his wife engaged in such wanton intimacy with his bitterest foe was like a jagged knife thrust deep into Bennett’s chest. The once-passionate physical connection between him and Caroline was the only thing that had held their crumbling marriage together. Now she had thrown it in his face and made him question how many other lovers she might have taken, making him the secret laughing stock of London. Yet he would rather have died in jaw-clenched agony than give the man he loathed, and the woman he had come to despise, the satisfaction of knowing how grievously they’d mortified him.
By the time the horrified silence shattered into poison-tipped shards of whisper, Bennett had clamped his gaping mouth into a rigid line. Battling back a suffocating wave of humiliation, he forced himself forwards to seize control of the situation.
By this time, his wife and her paramour had realised they were discovered. Though it was far too late to save her tattered reputation, Caroline pulled away from the scoundrel’s embrace and shrank back, as if hoping she might somehow hide from her husband’s righteous wrath. Fitzgerald Astley had no such scruples. He continued to stand there in a lounging, insolent pose, his mouth twisted in a gloating smirk that Bennett longed to thrash off his face.
‘Bennett, I’m so sorry,’ Caroline murmured as he stalked towards them. ‘I can explain if you’ll only listen. Please don’t make it any worse.’
Her face had paled to a hue of alabaster purity—most ironic, that. Her pallor might have given his wife a deceptively innocent look, except that it made her lips appear even larger and redder than