To Tame a Highland Earl

To Tame a Highland Earl

Tarah Scott

Broken Arm Publishing

Copyright © 2014 by Tarah Scott

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written
permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form
of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.

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 actual
persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art Design by Erin Dameron Hill

Photo: HotDamnDesigns

Acknowledgements

I’m lucky beyond measure to begin by thanking
the same two people who have contributed to all my previous novels.
Kimberly Comeau, who reads my manuscripts tirelessly and looks for
every jot and tittle that will make the book shine. You go far
above the call of duty. I will never be able to thank you enough.
Evan Trevane, my friend and critique partner, who threatens me upon
pain of death if I don’t let him read my manuscripts. I couldn’t
write these books without you. I know you don’t believe me, but
it’s true.

Many thanks to Erin Dameron-Hill for creating
exactly the cover I wanted.

And, of course, my undying gratitude to
Tracey Reid, beta reader extraordinaire, who not only read this
book in record time, but pushed me to be just that much better.

Chapter One

March 1807

Manchester, England

If ever a woman deserved to be shot, it was
Miss Crenshaw. But dawn appointments weren’t meant for the weaker
sex.
Weaker sex.
The lady was anything but weak, which is
why Erroll intended to throttle her.

Erroll laid a shilling in the innkeeper’s
palm. “You understand the need for discretion.”

“
Indeed, I do, my lord,”
the man replied. “Your betrothed’s reputation is safe with
me.”

Erroll managed to maintain a bland expression
as the innkeeper handed him the key to the lady’s room. So news of
his impending nuptials had sped from Coventry to Manchester even
quicker than he had—which meant London society would hear the news
by morning light and the story would cross the border to Edinburgh
just as quickly.

Which of the gossipmongers had he to thank
for that? He was grateful to the heavenly powers that his mother
had remained in Scotland and had not accompanied his father to
England this month. God help him if she got wind of this
entanglement before he had a chance to extricate himself from the
tenacious claw of the husband-hunting wench.

“
A beautiful woman is hard
to resist,” the innkeeper said.

“
Indeed,” Erroll murmured,
glad the man had interrupted the mental picture of his mother
outfitting the deceitful huntress in her wedding dress. No
bachelor’s mother was more determined to see her son wed than
Erroll’s own dear mamma, and since his return from the navy, his
father had put his considerable weight behind her
efforts.

He whirled toward the stairs, climbed to the
second floor and made a left down the hall. At the third door on
the left, he stopped. Erroll had endured his father’s hour-long
diatribe that ended with the command to marry the woman who had
accused him of compromising her—a woman he’d never laid eyes
on—before he finally broke away to discover his accuser had fled
Coventry. The hard five hour ride to catch her before she reached
her father’s estate would have been in vain if not for the fact a
wheel on her carriage broke forty miles distance from
Manchester.

This experience would teach him to dally with
the women outside of London. Had he satisfied himself with the
eligible ladies in
Town
—if those females could be called
ladies—he wouldn’t have gone to Coventry and attended the damn
house party that had gotten him into trouble. The fact he’d spent a
pleasurable hour with a lady in the hostess’ gardens had only
served to put him in the very place his accuser said he’d been.
Erroll felt sure the cunning creature was well aware he’d been in
the gardens, and therefore claimed to be the object of his
attentions.

Erroll quietly unlocked the door, slipped
into the darkened room, then eased the door shut and slipped the
key into his pocket. Faint moonlight filtered in through thin
curtains and outlined the sleeping figure in the bed. Erroll crept
forward until he reached the bed. He braced a knee against the side
of the mattress, then placed a hand on each side of the woman and
brought his face to within an inch of hers.

She shifted in her sleep and lush breasts
grazed his chest. He wondered how long it would be before she
became aware a man was in her bed, then concluded that since she
hadn’t awoken with a shriek she must be accustomed to having a man
in her bed. He should ravish her as she’d said he had just for good
measure. The thought froze at the pressure of a pistol jammed
against his abdomen.

“
I am a crack shot.” The
feminine voice was steady—as was the hand holding the gun. “But
even the worst shot in Great Britain couldn’t miss.” The gun dug
deeper into his belly. “Move away.”

Erroll considered. Her calm response to his
presence almost made him think she’d expected him. “If I’m to be
shot, I should at least commit the crime for which I’m accused.”
The click of the pistol’s hammer being pulled back was his answer.
“I see you do not agree.” He straightened off the bed.

“
Step back,” she
ordered.

He retreated two paces.

“
More.”

He moved back another two paces.

“
I promise you, sir, my aim
is as true at such short a distance as it was when you were an inch
from my face. Back against the door.”

Erroll complied. A light click indicated she
had released the hammer back into place. She rose, a small figure
in the shadows, and picked up something from the night table. The
clink of glass was followed by the scrape of a match on wood, then
light flared and he got his first look at the woman who claimed he
had ravished away her innocence. Dark brown eyes pinned him with a
hard stare. Honey-brown hair tumbled down her shoulders. The top of
her head was no higher than his chest.

The muff pistol remained pointed at him as
her attention shifted to the lamp on the nightstand. She bent
slightly and her full breasts strained against the nightgown as she
lit the wick. His cock jerked and he couldn’t deny his good fortune
in not having met her at Lady Baldwin’s party. He very well might
have fallen prey to her charms and been guilty of her
accusations.

She blew out the match and tossed it onto a
metal tray, then took a step toward him. The lamplight illuminated
the outline of her body through the nightgown. The curves he
discerned were fuller than were fashionable and the kind he’d
sought without success. His cock began to lift. He might end up
shot after all.

“
You are no common
housebreaker,” she said. “Who are you?”

Erroll’s mind snapped to attention. The wench
didn’t recognize him. Fury doused his lust. He gave a mocking smile
and bowed. “Lord Erroll Rushton, at your service.”

Shock registered on her face, then an
answering fire appeared in her eyes. “I see we shall have to break
you of the habit of entering a lady’s room uninvited.”

“
You use the term lady too
loosely.”

“
That is the pot calling
the kettle black.”

He nearly laughed.

“
One would think a
prospective groom could keep his cock in his pants with his wedding
but two days hence,” she said.

“
Three days,” Erroll
corrected. That was how long it would take him to get the special
license his father ordered him to procure. “Pray tell, what sort of
lady carries a gun?” He didn’t ask
what lady used the word
‘cock’ as easily as the word ‘groom?
’ That was perhaps too
obvious.

“
The sort who knows what to
expect of a man,” she replied.

“
The very sort who
understands a man might object to being forced into marriage?” he
said.

She gave a derisive laugh. “You are a
rakehell, sir.”

“
I never denied being a
rake, madam, but I am no liar.”

She wasn't what he’d expected. He’d been told
this was to be her second season, but this woman was no debutante
and, given the way she unabashedly stood before him in her
nightclothes, he would wager she was no virgin.

“
Surely, you’re a little
old for this game?” he drawled.

Her brow knit, but he detected no shame. She
was too collected. But a level head—along with a liberal dose of
nerve—is exactly what it took to accuse a complete stranger of
compromising her.

“
Did you really think you
could get away with it?” she asked.

The question startled him.

“
Now who is the pot calling
the kettle black?” he said. She shifted and Erroll could have sworn
he discerned a dark patch between her legs. “A shame we met under
these circumstances.” He flicked a glance at her breasts. “We could
have been friends.”

Her mouth thinned. “By God, I really should
shoot you.”

“
Tut tut, love, not until
the vows are said and I claim what is left of your
virtue.”

She drew in a sharp breath.

“
Your righteous anger is
completely undone by the fact that you’re nearly naked.”

Her mouth twisted in a derisive smile.
“Forgive me, my lord. Had I known you were coming, I would have
dressed for the occasion.”

“
You are impeccably dressed
for the occasion.”

Did she have any idea how visible the
contours of her body were with the lamplight behind her…or how her
nipples pressed against her nightgown? She shifted, widening her
stance slightly and his cock jerked harder. Oh yes, the witch
knew.

“
I should send you to hell
this instant,” she said.

He lifted a brow. “The marriage vows will
take care of that—had I any intentions of marrying.”

“
My father will ensure that
you do not escape this time.”

“
That sounds as though you
think I am getting what I deserve.”

“
You do not deserve such a
good and innocent wife.”

Erroll laughed. “Innocent? A woman who puts
herself in such a position is no innocent.”

“
How dare you?” she
hissed.

“
How dare I? I understand
there were several suitors for the honorable Miss Crenshaw’s
attentions at Lady Baldwin’s party. I wager none of them were as
good a prospect as I, which is why you gambled that no one would
notice if I was included on that list.”

He didn’t miss the way her fingers flexed on
the gun.

“
Everything I’ve heard
about you is true,” she said. “You have no conscience.”

“
In that we are alike.
Should my father succeed in coercing me into marriage, I will make
the worst sort of husband you can imagine. I will not settle down
and sire an heir as he expects. Instead, I will send my wife to the
family estate in Scotland while I go about my pleasures in
London.”

“
So the choice is desertion
or ruination?”

“
Be honest, the ruination
was done long before you concocted this plan.”