Page 1 of Dare to Tempt an Earl This Spring (Wedding Fever #1)

Regent Street, London, 1818

“D id you say Linsey?” Lady Ashley Sinclair asked her friend and closest confidant, Lady Charlene Fielding, in a whip-sharp tone. Had she heard right? “As in the Earl of Linsey?”

“Yes, the Earl of Linsey. You know, the one with fair sandy hair and eyes the color of liquid gold. Impeccable jawline. Stands a head above the average gentleman. That Earl of Linsey.” Charlene held a purple ribbon in the air. “What about this satin one? It is pretty, yes?”

“You mean the man I loathe above all else,” Ashley said, glancing at the ribbon. “The pink suits you better.” Her voice softened as she added, almost to herself, “He is forever my enemy.”

Ashley clutched her reticule and hoped that nobody in the haberdashery knew that she’d been jilted by a man who was running from a lost wager. In just her last season, according to her mother, she’d finally managed to do everything right—been called the catch of the season and courted by a dashing member of the Ton. But with Jordan’s departure, it was all gone: her chances, her reputation, her future.

“Mr. Critton left on his own.”

“My Jordan was run out of England by that earl with hair the color of liquid gold.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue as if saying them out loud made them more real. As if she couldn’t pretend anymore that he hadn’t left.

Her most beloved suitor, the man she had planned to marry, Jordan Critton, was the third son of one of the most respected barons in the country—Baron Chiswick. He was handsome—much more handsome than Linsey. But he was also kind and generous. A combination few men in this town possessed. And now he was gone. All because of Linsey. Even now, recalling the letter where he told her not to wait for him…

Her heart clenched.

Along with her fists.

However, pain was not what she felt anymore. Any hurt had been overshadowed by fury toward that blasted earl. Who did he think he was running other people out of England? The gall of the man! But underneath the anger was a current of something deeper—fear. What if she never saw Jordan again? What if she ended up all alone? She didn’t like being alone, and Jordan had filled the emptiness with warmth.

Now, the cold had once more returned.

Ashley sighed. She loved the haberdasher’s shop, a well-known establishment on Regent Street, but the sheer mention of her nemesis took all the fun out of shopping. Reluctantly, Ashley traced her gloved fingers over the rows of silk and satin ribbons, each one perfectly coiled and pinned onto wooden spools.

The shop was housed in a quaint structure, nestled among the cobblestone streets of London, with its name elegantly painted in gold letters above the door. Ashley realized the letters were all brown viewed from the inside…just like the earl’s devious character. The golden sheen he emanated had her friends fooled, as when you looked behind the shiny mask, he was rotten to the core.

“Be that as it may,” Charlene murmured. “The earl is in London for the season. You shall have to accept the fact you might run into him.”

Ashley’s stomach churned as she processed the information. She couldn’t stay confined in her house forever, true. But she also couldn’t accept the turn of events. No, she needed to do something . Anything.

“Perhaps you should give the earl the benefit of the doubt,” Charlene added. “I still cannot understand why the earl would run Mr. Critton off because of a wager. It seems rather like something that might only happen in a book.”

Oh, my dearest Charlene. She had such a pure heart that she couldn’t see the darkness in people even though it was so obvious to Ashley when she thought of Linsey. “Petty indeed.”

Much more than petty, in fact.

Unacceptable.

Honestly, Ashley didn’t understand it either. But she could remember the letter she received a fortnight ago word for word.

Dearest Ashley,

When you read these lines, I’ve long set sail. If it weren’t for the wager I lost with the Earl of Linsey, I would have made good on our courtship and proposed.

Live well, my dear.

Jordan

As far as she’d gathered from this brief explanation, he lost a wager, and when he tried to negotiate the terms of that loss, he was threatened to leave England or honor the terms of the wager. Ashley didn’t have any more details about the wager than that. But what wager could be worth threatening a man’s livelihood over? Certainly, Jordan was at fault as well. He should have known better than to enter questionable wagers to begin with, especially ones he couldn’t afford to lose. Still, could any wager warrant such madness?

A finger trailed over the blue jeweled brooch in the shape of a flower Jordan had gifted her. A token of his love. She wore it every day, as though it had become some sort of religion. A promise. They would reunite. She couldn’t allow a whisper of doubt to creep into her conviction. It was sure to lead to her own madness.

“I heard he’ll be at Almack’s tonight.”

Ashley started, her brows furrowing. “Almack’s?” Everyone knew it was a marriage market packed into a ballroom for the Ton. No sane man with a title dared venture into the web of matchmakers and scheming mothers if they weren’t prepared to be caught by the chains of matrimony. Unless…

Unless it’s a man in want of a wife.

Was Linsey searching for a bride?

Hah!

The whole of England knew about his love affair with horses. A passion no woman could ever hope to match. Ashley had half expected him to marry one of his thoroughbreds. His firstborn son would probably be a centaur, with the upper body of a human and the lower body of a horse!

The thought brought a small, bitter smile to her lips. However, it quickly melted away as she imagined her mother’s disappointment if she admitted that Jordan hadn’t proposed. Worse, he’d vanished—and with him also Ashley’s last chance to redeem herself in her mother’s eyes.

She set the ribbons aside, no longer in the mood to purchase anything. However, “If he left those prized horses in the country…”

Charlene grinned. “It must be important, right? It seems to me that there might be some truth to the rumors that he has come to London to search for a wife.”

Ashley nodded absentmindedly. “Do you know the source of the rumors?”

“Oh, whispers here and there,” her friend answered. “However, I’m not sure how much truth is attached to them.”

“Interesting. So, the Earl of Linsey is in search of a wife—”

“ Rumored to be in search of a wife.”

Ashley pursed her lips. Was it not the same thing? “I wonder if he has a woman in mind.”

“You did hear the part where I said rumored to be .” Her friend paused. “And why on earth would you wonder that?”

Ashley cut a look at her friend, her mind racing with all sorts of plots and twists. “Even you said there might be some truth to them. I daresay you would be correct. Are rumors not just half-truths?” She let a coiled yellow ribbon unfurl in her hand exactly the same way she wished to do with Linsey’s lies and all he held dear.

“Assuredly, but we cannot forget there are rumors that are blatant lies.”

Also, true . “But when it comes to a man and nuptials, truth and hidden agendas always stir beneath the surface.”

Charlene arched her brow. “What a jaded thing to say.”

Ashley waved a dismissive hand. “Where there is smoke, the sparks of a fire can be found.” And there was so much smoke with this rumor Charlene had relayed that she nearly coughed from the effect of the news. Jordan’s hasty departure and rushed letter still brewed in her chest. Even though they had pledged they would marry in the future, he’d left without a promise of marriage. He’d left without the promise of anything.

Not even one word of love.

That spoke volumes about what had transpired between him and Linsey. How could Linsey threaten a man away during such a sweet and endearing courtship that had the whole Ton envious? How could Ashley be left with nothing besides a broken heart and a disgruntled mother whose nagging could be felt through her letters? Whatever Jordan may have done, must she allow the reason for her and Jordan’s calamity to get away unscathed?

No, by Jove!

The Earl of Linsey had to pay.

Even here in the haberdasher’s shop, every hushed conversation, every sidelong glance, and every polite, yet pitying, smile that she encountered prickled at the rising levels of her vexation. Her whole body throbbed with the urge to meet this earl face to face and show him the repercussions of messing with a woman in love.

“Smoke or fire,” Charlene murmured. “Mr. Critton could have stayed, or at least taken you with him.”

Right. Ashley knew that as well, which was why the entire affair had been a tempest of confusion. If Jordan had still been here, she might not have been so vexed at the entire situation. Now, she was at the mercy of her discomforted heart and probing stares. Every fiber of her being bristled against her current state.

Jordan Critton, you just wait, too!

She would box his ears when she found him! The least he could have done was explain in person! She had done nothing to deserve such treatment from him. And perhaps some of her anger toward Jordan had transferred to the earl, but that didn’t change the fact that the wager involved both of them and the outcome affected her as well.

The sting of being left had cut deep, leaving wounds that no amount of polite conversation or forced smiles could ever hope to alleviate with a simple explanation. Not presently. She could only channel that pain into purpose.

The Earl of Linsey’s arrival must be a gift from the Heavens.

“You’ve got that look.”

Ashley glanced at her friend. “What look?”

“That look like you’re about to march into a battle with nothing but a pitchfork and a torch.”

“There was a time when they were more than enough.”

“Yes, to drive away beggars and witches. You need a sword if you wish to drive Vikings back from whence they came.”

True. The Earl of Linsey had a reputation for standing tall and blond like a Viking. But Vikings had been a plague to this land, not heroes. He had all but handed himself over to be taught a lesson by venturing to London, away from his precious countryside. “Well, I do have a sword, if that is what you are worried about. A hidden weapon.”

“Oh?” Charlene asked, intrigued. “What sword do you have?”

Ashley grinned at her. “Me.” Her gaze caught on a bright red ribbon. How fitting. “I’ll take this one.”

Charlene laughed, shaking her head. “Did you just refer to yourself as a sword?”

“And why not? I can pierce, cut, and wound. Even if I must fall on my sword, I shall have my revenge.” Purpose bloomed in her heart.

Revenge.

Yes.

This was what she needed.

“You do know you’re saying you’d fall on yourself,” Charlene said. “Why do I feel I should never have told you about Linsey? I truly fear for your future.”

Too late.

“You should be fearing for him. My future was stolen by that man, Char. It’s only fair that I snap up his, don’t you think?”

Charlene bit her lip and mumbled, “Beware of losing your own life to the very cycle of retribution that you seek to perpetuate.”

“I suddenly think the pursuit of retribution can be quite fruitful for the soul, Char.” Ashley gave a self-indulgent smile. Why shouldn’t her broken heart mend, upon Linsey’s breaking? Why shouldn’t he feel what she felt? What Jordan must have felt too!

Her friend lowered her voice, glancing at a group of ladies who entered the shop. “And just how are you going to ruin the earl’s future?”

Ashley grinned. “By marrying him.”

Her friend’s jaw almost hit the floor of the ribbon shop. “You’re going to do what ?”

“Oh, I’m not really going to marry him,” Ashley said. “I’m not crazy. I’m merely going to snare his attention, make him fall in love with me, and then…” The corners of her lips lifted another inch as she clenched her hand around the ribbon. “I’m going to crush his heart.”

Just as he did mine.

She opened the palm of her hand and slowly balled it into a fist. “Then disappear from his life as though I was never there.”

“Truly terrifying,” Charlene said with a quirked brow as if she didn’t believe Ashley had the courage to act on her plan.

“Watch me. I’m no longer the good girl bystander allowing other people to reign over my life.”

“Utterly diabolical. Who are you and what did you do with my friend?”

“Do not tell me you have an objection?” Ashley asked. “The man may as well have ruined my life.” Dramatic, she knew, but… “If he is not taught a lesson now, who knows how many other hearts he will shatter with that rotten character of his.”

Charlene held up both hands. “Well, let me never stand in the way of a person dead set on revenge,” she said with wide, glinting eyes. “Lest I wish to be buried as well.”

“Much obliged.”

“But I do have a question: How shall you break the engagement once he asks for your hand if he even does? Your father might let you bow out; your mother certainly will not.”

“Oh, do not worry about that score. When it comes to Mama, Papa has his ways.” The two might be estranged and hardly ever saw each other these days, but her father would never force Ashley to do anything she didn’t want to do. According to him, Agatha Browning lost her authority over husband and daughter the moment she left them seven years ago.

Her friend regarded her with concern. “This may ruin you.”

“I am aware that one digs two graves when one sets upon a path of revenge. Besides, if I can’t marry Jordan, I don’t want to marry at all.” All her previous suitors had found her too much . Jordan had been the only one of them who accepted her for who she was. Which was why she was willing to pay the cost. And if I’m ruined along the way, so be it. At least Mama will stop nagging me for the best prospects then.

Charlene scratched her chin. “Very well. I have one last question.”

Ashley arched a brow at her friend.

“How are you going to ensnare him? He is not an animal to be caught in a trap. Despite living in the country most of the year, the man is one of the most sought-after bachelors of the Ton.”

Challenge rose within Ashley. “That is where you are wrong, Char. All men are animals to be caught in a trap.” An arrogant statement, yes. But also a very simple one if one looked at the history of how women had trapped men in the past. Of course, it went both ways, but she’d wager more women had trapped men than men had trapped women. And Ashley wasn’t just any woman . Such low tricks would never lead to love. A slow smile spread across her face, reaching all the way to her eyes. “Confidence, Char. That is how you truly trap a man.”

“It’s not the only thing you require.”

Of course not. “As for the rest, I have just the guide on how to do exactly that.” She had several guides, which she had found in the bottom of her mother’s drawer one afternoon when she was bored and rummaged about.

“Well.” Her friend retrieved a bright blue ribbon the color of Ashley’s eyes and plucked the red one from her hand. “Then you should look your absolute best while embarking on your journey of revenge. You shall scare the man away in red.”

Ashley laughed.

Ah, well.

I cannot have that.

*

Almack’s

That Evening

Thomas Dunbridge, the Earl of Linsey, fought an overwhelming urge to flee. Everyone around him seemed to be having a marvelous time, but he felt utterly out of place. He had been dragged into this situation by the looming deadline of a wager with a man who never forgave a lost bet. And that man, a friend, stood right beside him. Richard Ballard, the Duke of Paisley. He would lose his six most prized horses if he lost this bet.

And Thomas would do anything not to lose them.

Had it been just one, he might have considered losing the bet to Paisley. Perhaps even two. Three, depending on his mood. But six ? By the heavens, he couldn’t lose six! The horses kept him grounded, tethered to the person he truly was. Without them, he feared losing a part of himself, the one thing that reminded him of his roots, his struggles, and his victories. Memories of his father. His grandfather. He couldn’t let that happen—not for anything.

Why not merely demand his life?

Though, in retrospect…

Thomas dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t bloody belong here.”

“A bet is a bet,” the duke said simply, not even a speck of inflection in his tone. And when Paisley’s hand landed on his shoulder, a falsely congenial pat, his skin recoiled as if touched by a snake, each nerve protesting the contact.

“We made that wager years ago.”

The duke shrugged. “Doesn’t change a thing. Marry by the age of five-and-twenty or hand over your six most precious horses.” Paisley cut him a glance. “Or do you want to hand over your thoroughbreds to me?”

Thomas scowled. Why did it feel like the duke’s title was his only virtue, if a title could even be called such? He, at least, still had his honor even though he could hardly deny the very horses he was so proud of were in jeopardy because of his own fault. Why did he have to wager six horses all those years ago?

Damn Paisley for being like the loosely-drawn black shadows in paintings when devastation struck. Ruining lives was not an obstacle the duke even noticed. How many women had he bedded for sport and how many peers had he pulled over the barrel? The man wanted to win at all costs. Even if the price for his opponent was disproportionately high, he had to save face. And since he’d gotten into the duke’s net of wagers years ago, he must tread with care, or he’d be further wrapped in the sticky webs and paralyzed by the duke’s venom.

Thomas scowled at the man.

People usually didn’t speak to him in this manner, but Paisley had been at Eton with him, then at Oxford, and they had this wager between them, so he couldn’t just disregard him. This was one of the last balls before his birthday and thus, one of the last chances to find a suitable chit. His word was his bond, and since the duke refused to scrap the wager as two foolish young men up to no good, to break it would be to tarnish not only his own reputation but to besmirch the very essence of gentlemanly conduct. And with his twenty-fifth birthday coming up soon…

Thomas had to find a bride.

Yesterday.

“I’m not handing over anything,” Thomas said with conviction.

“Are you certain?” Paisley murmured with a lazy smile.

His gaze hardened on the man, a dark cloud in an otherwise festive atmosphere full of crystal chandeliers and fragrant punch. He watched as Paisley winked at an innocent debutante who fluttered past him like a butterfly to a bowl of poison laced with honey, unaware of the doom that bowl represented. A bitter taste filled Thomas’s mouth, his disdain for his so-called friend growing with each encounter.

No.

Not friend , friend.

Perhaps in their Eton days, but Thomas had discovered the man’s rather diabolical character was not all that aligned with his. Their relationship might have started off as friendship but had soon turned to mere acquaintanceship that was more of the distant sort. Like a person one called on only once a year in order to preserve one’s sanity. Once, with this man, was already too much.

“I’m certain,” Thomas grumbled.

“Then look around, old fellow. Pick a bride. You don’t have much time left to court her and complete the transaction.”

“Marriage is not supposed to be a transaction, Paisley.” Thomas couldn’t keep a hint of coldness from lacing his words.

“It’s nothing new at all. Marriages are forged for reasons that more often resemble business than matters of the heart. Who cares if the bride is rich and willing anyway?”

Thomas’s stomach recoiled at the idea of joining his life to that of a woman for anything but love, but he couldn’t say that to another peer of the realm. Especially Paisley. Romance was a weakness for a man like the duke, most gentlemen in general, and he couldn’t betray his dreams in front of a man who did not hold his best interests at heart, and who would only piss on them with contempt. Thomas may have been reckless in entering the wager all those years ago, but he wasn’t a fool about satisfying his debt.

He hoped against hope that the night would wash over him as nothing more than a waste of time.

You need a bride.

Fine.

For him, then, this night would be nothing more than a waste of time—with the exception of finding a bride.

He’d much rather be at home reading Hopkinson’s Breeding and Training of Thoroughbreds: A Comprehensive Guide to Horse Racing than watching the debutantes in frilly dresses stare at him over their fans as if he were a piece of steak. A titled bachelor in good health was as appetizing a target at Almack’s as a rabbit on a hound chase.

Should he just have approached a matchmaker?

On second thought, there was really just one girl in particular giving him the once-over and whispering something to her friend. Silly creatures, likely eager for a first kiss before the end of the season. Thomas had once enjoyed this innocence—their clumsy way of pressing their lips against his. But it had lost its appeal when he’d been tricked once.

Daisy Gotham. Baron Righton’s eldest daughter. She had shown a keen interest in him. Except it had been a ruse. She had lured him into her father’s study, where her sisters lay in wait. Had he been fool enough to get caught, he’d be shackled to a shrill wife and not a penny of the dowry her father had gambled away. Fortunately, his senses had been sharp, and he managed to evade the marriage trap.

Only to step into one of his own making.

Wasn’t he gambling something far more precious than liberty with this wager? If only that incident had happened before he’d made the bet, then he might have thought twice before taking his bachelorhood for granted. But back then, he’d been certain he would win—convinced he’d find love long before his twenty-fifth birthday.

Thomas scowled. “One day you will eat your words, Paisley.”

“Perhaps,” the duke said. “But not tonight.”

“Who is to say it won’t be tonight?”

“I say,” came his curt reply.

Damn man. Always ready to feast upon the vulnerable. He was probably a vulture in another life and managed to clean up into the dashing persona he was in this one. “Why do you even want my horses anyway?”

“It’s a matter of principle.”

Principle my arse . And was it his imagination, or did the man beside him just flinch? But before he could assess some more, his gaze was caught on the young woman with gold hair swept up in an elegant bun. She stood in a blue dress, her fair skin glowing in the soft light as she stared at him outright. Even from this distance, he could tell her lips were full and lush, her cheeks a pinkish hue. There was an undeniable beauty about her.

A diamond of the Ton, no doubt.

Their gazes locked from across the room, and a glint sparked in her eyes that made his stomach lurch. Something dangerous and riveting at the same time.

Thomas matched her stare, sure her cheeks would turn crimson, and she’d look away. They always did.

But not her.

No, this one, from her perch behind a marble column, she lifted her chin and met his challenge with such determination, such ferociousness, he could almost believe she was trying to call him to a duel!

His heartbeat sped up.

He forgot all about Paisley and squared his shoulders, his focus flooding with a foreboding sense of doom. Something was amiss. Something bad was going to happen. He might not lose his life in this proverbial duel, but something told him he wouldn’t escape whole from this night either. One thought did enter his mind then.

Did he even want to escape a woman like her?