“Are you well, Miss Fairchild?”
Her lack of control brought him closer and Anna found herself tugged into the shadows where he stood. He leaned his head down, and for a moment she thought he might try to kiss her.
She hoped.
She prayed.
She tried to clear her mind of whatever bewitching spell he was placing on her.
“If you are to swoon, Miss Fairchild, let it be over something pleasant like this, and not over that boring old Lord Treybourne.”
She began to laugh, but his kiss covered the sound of it. He touched his lips to hers softly at first and then with a bit more persistence. He tasted of something mint. Then, as quickly as he had begun, Mr. David Archer stepped away.
Anna could form no words to speak after that experience. She was fully aware that his behavior had been too forward and that she should reprimand him. The problem was that in her heart of hearts she would welcome his mouth on hers again.
And again.
The Earl’s Secret
Harlequin® Historical #831
Praise for Terri Brisbin
Taming the Highlander
“Ms. Brisbin makes her characters come alive. Pick up Taming the Highlander for a passionate and thrilling trip back in time.”
—Romance Reviews Today
The Maid of Lorne
“With her usual superb sense of characterization and exceptional gift for creating sizzling sexual chemistry, Brisbin fashions a splendidly satisfying medieval historical.”
—Booklist
“Ms. Brisbin once again delivers marvelously a tale rich in action and passion!”
—Historical Romance Writers
The Duchess’s Next Husband
“This is a quintessential tale of both love and emotional growth—in other words, the perfect romance.”
—The Best Reviews
The King’s Mistress
“[Brisbin’s] bold, vivid writing beautifully captures the flavor of medieval castle life and the intrigue-rich Plantagenet court. Passionate and romantic, The King’s Mistress is a rare delight.”
—Booklist
The Earl’s Secret
Terri Brisbin
MILLS & BOON
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Available from Harlequin® Historical and TERRI BRISBIN
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The Earl’s Secret #831
The idea for this story came about while I was listening to a panel of librarians at a Romance Writers of America conference in Denver a few years ago. They painted such a vivid picture of the early history of book reviews that I thought—hmmm, there’s a story here. Not long after that, while watching some old romantic comedies that involved secret identities, hidden agendas and love, I began to plan out that story.
My thanks to John Charles, Shelley Mosely and Kristin Ramsdell for their inspiration for this story and for their ongoing support of the romance genre and its authors.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter One
London, England
“Bloody hell!”
The piles of papers from his various business interests that lay on his mahogany desk scattered across the surface and onto the floor as he tossed down the latest copy of the Scottish Monthly Gazette. An uncommon anger built within him and he could not resist picking the rag back up for just one more glance. Surely, he had misread the editorial. Surely, the writer had not used his name. Surely not.
Yet, upon examination, David Lansdale saw that his ire was in part well-deserved, for there on the second page, as part of the Gazette’s editorial essay, was not only his title, Earl of Treybourne, but also spurious remarks against the arguments made in his own essay the month before in the respectable Whiteleaf’s Review.
“My lord?”
David looked up to see his butler at the door of his study.
“I did not want to be disturbed, Berkley.”
“I understand, my lord,” Berkley replied with a deferential bow, “but Lord Ellerton has come calling and shows no signs of being deterred in speaking to you.”
He has most likely seen this, he said under his breath as he glanced at the newest issue of the Gazette. And, no matter how much his friend tried to offer commiseration, it always sounded like gloating.
“Then you must