Page 1 of To Heal a Broken Earl (The Rakes of Mayhem #7)

To Heal a Broken Earl

By Anna St. Claire

Shepherd Market, Mayfair, London

What a beautiful day, Emma thought as she walked along the shoreline of Brighton Beach.

What could be the harm in going barefoot in the water?

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw she was alone.

Smiling with anticipation, Emma removed her halfboots and stockings and waded into the surf, not caring that the bottom of her dress was soaked and clinging to her legs.

She loved the ocean—loved walking through the crest of each wave as it lapped against the shore.

There was a contentment here that she’d only ever found by the sea.

She reveled in the soothing coolness of the water, the soft squish of the sand between her toes, the steady roar of the breaking waves, and the clean, salt-sweet scent of the sea spray.

Emma loved everything about the shore. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face to the sun, smiling at the warming glow.

The sun felt more than warm. Quite hot, really.

“Ow!” she mumbled. Something—or rather someone—had just tugged on her braid. “Stop that! Ow!”

Another tug.

“Stop pulling on my braid,” she muttered again, this time more loudly.

“Auntie Emma! Auntie Emma!”

Emma’s eyes flew open. Her four-year-old niece, Katherine, stood beside the bed, her small fingers tangled in Emma’s braid, her lip trembling.

“Katie, what’s the matter?” Emma asked. Katie’s dark auburn curls mirrored her father’s, as did her eyes—now wide and worried—a warm brown instead of the striking violet eyes that Emma and Evie shared as sisters.

“There’s someone outside,” Katie whispered, glancing toward the window. “He was looking up at us. At first, I thought he was a nice man because he did something that Papa always does.”

“And what’s that?” Emma asked, still thinking Katie had had one of her nightmares.

Katie was prone to bad dreams and often woke during the night.

Emma frequently brought Katie to the small carriage house her sister and brother-in-law had built for her.

This arrangement allowed Evie—who was pregnant with her second child—to get some sleep.

It had become routine since Emma moved in several months ago.

“This.” Katie held her index finger over her lips and furrowed her brow, indicating she should be quiet.

“So, if he did something your Papa does, then why is he bad?”

“Because Papa always smiles and laughs. The man at the window wasn’t smiling. Not at all. His eyes looked mean and scary.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Emma said. If she didn’t look out the window, Katie wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

Evie and her husband, Martin, had traveled to Martin’s parents’ home in Essex for a funeral. His elderly Aunt Sarah had recently passed away. Emma had only met the woman once—at the wedding—but remembered her as a gentle soul. Evie had been as distraught as Martin over his aunt’s death.

“Aunt Sarah was the first person to truly welcome me into the family,” her sister had wept. “She was almost like another mother to me.”

Evie had asked Emma to look after Katie while she and Martin were away. Emma was honored that her sister and brother-in-law trusted her with their daughter. They were her closest family—her only family—and Emma would do anything for her niece.

“I fear she will get into mischief at Martin’s family estate,” Evie had confessed.

“His brother and wife will be there, but their girls are probably staying home with their governess. His mother has always claimed to have a delicate constitution, and you know how she gets when there are children and animals around. We brought Katie to visit when she was two, and she accidentally knocked over a vase and chipped it. Martin’s mother practically fainted.

So, we think it’s best if we don’t bring her with us.

It works better to visit his parents when they come to London for the Season. ”

Evie had not exaggerated her concerns.

Martin’s mother and father were nothing like him.

Martin’s first instinct was always to make guests feel welcome and comfortable in his home.

His parents, however, were rigid, prudish, and unyielding.

Visitors were expected to abide by their rules without exception, and they rarely made concessions for anyone, not even their children.

Aunt Sarah had been the exception. She had welcomed Evie with open arms.

In his youth, Martin and his siblings—an older brother and younger sister—had spent weeks at Aunt Sarah’s home while their parents were in London for the Season, and Aunt Sarah had had a tremendous influence on him.

Her home had been filled with laughter, affection, and sweet memories—everything childhood ought to be.

Emma pushed back the quilts and rose from the warm cocoon of her bed, slid on her slippers, and padded to the window.

She loved her bedroom. She loved everything about her quaint quarters and was grateful to her sister and brother-in-law for everything they had done for her.

“You need your comfort and privacy, Emma,” Martin had insisted.

He had added a cozy parlor on the first floor, complete with a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall bookcase for her extensive collection, and a seating area where she could entertain friends and invite people for tea.

Incredibly generous and thoughtful, Martin had also built a bathing chamber at the back, complete with her very own cistern and hearth to heat water, similar to the one he had built for himself and Evie in their rooms. Upstairs, he had crafted a bright, airy bedroom just for her.

Emma had been overwhelmed by their kindness, thankful to have such a loving sister and brother-in-law who cared enough to make her feel truly welcome while also giving her the privacy and independence she valued.

Looking out the window, Emma gasped. She was shocked to see smoke billowing from the back of her sister’s home. Perhaps the fire was confined to the kitchen. Maybe she could put it out. But she couldn’t leave Katie alone.

“Did you see him, Auntie?” Katie asked, her voice small.

“No, sweetie,” Emma said quickly, running back to her. “Where are your shoes, Katie?”

“What’s wrong, Auntie Emma? Why do I need to wear my shoes?”

“Because there’s a fire in the house, sweetie, and we have to get to safety.”

Grabbing Katie’s shoes from beside the washstand, Emma slipped them on the child’s feet, her fingers surprisingly steady. She pulled Katie’s robe on her, then her own, moving swiftly.

Snatching two washcloths from the washstand, she wet them in the water basin and tucked them into her pocket. Taking Katie’s hand firmly in hers, Emma led her down the stairs, out the carriage house door, and toward the main house.

Unlocking the back door, Emma and Katie both coughed as a cloud of smoke poured out and surrounded them.

Taking one of the cloths from her pocket, Emma handed it to Katie. “Put this over your nose and stay close to me. Don’t let go of my hand,” she said.

“I won’t, I promise,” Katie said, placing the wet cloth over her face.

Emma hugged her close, tightening her arm around the small body beside her. She needed to question Katie more about the man, but right now, the fire came first. If it were confined to the kitchen, she might be able to put it out before it spread.

Yesterday, she had given the servants two days off. What could possibly go wrong? Now, every possibility ran through her mind like a stampede. What if someone had forgotten to dampen the hearth before leaving? What if the fire was already too far gone?

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Emma withdrew the second cloth and covered her nose.

Tugging Katie firmly behind her, she rushed down the hallway that led to the kitchen.

She flung open the door and stared in horror.

Everything was on fire. Flames licked greedily up the walls, devouring everything in their path.

There was nothing to be done. The fire was too far gone—it would soon claim the rest of the house.

She had to act swiftly.

Tightening her hold on Katie, Emma turned, guiding them down the hall toward Martin’s study.

She rushed inside, pulling Katie with her, and slammed the door behind them. Martin had shown her where the household funds were when she first moved in—just in case she ever needed money.

Opening Martin’s desk drawer, Emma felt around for the small bag of coins and bills. Her fingers brushed familiar velvet, and she grabbed it.

Glancing up, she saw smoke streaming in from beneath the door. Time was running out. Heart pounding, she stuffed the bag into the pocket of her robe. Grabbing Katie’s hand, she felt the door. Relieved it wasn’t hot, Emma opened it.

Smoke swirled into the room, thick and choking.

Both Emma and Katie began coughing again.

“Hold your cloth over your face, sweetie,” Emma said as she scooped Katie up, turned the child’s face against her shoulder, and hugged her close.

Saying a small prayer, she made a mad dash down the hall, out the door, and back to the carriage house.

Running up the stairs, she set Katie down and grabbed her valise, stuffing it with as much clothing as she could manage.

Katie coughed again, and Emma grabbed a cup from her bedside table, filling it with water from the pitcher on her washstand.

“There’s so much smoke, Auntie Emma,” Katie said after draining the cup. “More smoke than when Daddy smokes his pipe.”

“It’s all right, sweetie. We’re going on an adventure. But you must be brave and do exactly what I say. It’s very important. Do I have your promise?” Emma asked.

“Yes, Auntie. Pinkie promise.”

Katie held out her little finger, and Emma hooked hers around it, squeezing tight.

Putting on her pelisse and helping Katie into her coat, Emma guided her niece back downstairs and hurried to the stable. “Katie, we’re going to ride to a safe place—away from the fire.”

“Will we come back and get my toys?” Katie asked, her voice small and hopeful.

“Maybe, sweetie. Right now, we need to find help.” Emma squeezed Kaite’s hand and added in a whisper, “You remember Lady Beadle, don’t you?”

“Yes. I remember her. She’s the nice lady who always gives me lemon biscuits,” Katie said, a tiny smile breaking through.

“That’s right, sweetie,” Emma said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice. “I’m sure Lady Beadle will have plenty of biscuits waiting for you.”

Thank goodness she knew Lady Celia Armstrong and her aunt, Viscountess Millicent Beadle, Emma thought as they reached the stable.

She knew it was only a matter of time before the fire exploded into a full inferno, probably engulfing everything, including the stable and her beautiful carriage house. “Stay close while I saddle the horses, Katie,” Emma said.

“What about Mama and Papa? They won’t know how to find us,” Katie whimpered, clutching her little doll tighter.

Emma hadn’t even seen her pick up the doll—but Polly was almost always tucked under the child’s arm.

“Polly wants Mama,” Katie whispered.

Emma crouched down, tapping the tip of Katie’s nose.

“Polly needs to be a brave little dolly—just like you, poppet,” she said gently.

“I know you can reassure Polly that your mama and papa will find us. I promise.” She gave Katie’s hand a soft squeeze.

“Can you do that for me? Can you help Polly be brave just like you?”

Katie nodded solemnly. “Yes, Auntie Emma.” She hugged Polly close and whispered into the doll’s ear, “Everything will be all right.”

As Emma saddled the horses, questions swirled through her mind. How did the fire start? Who is the strange man that Katie was talking about? Then there were the tragic stories of a recent slew of fires that had plagued London.

Just last week, a townhouse went up in flames, killing an older couple inside.

There had been no identifiable cause, except arson—and to her knowledge, no suspect, no motive.

Emma had seen the burned-out shell of a house herself as she, Celia, and Lady Beadle drove past on the way to the orphanage, where they volunteered every week.

The sight had been shocking and deeply disturbing.

Unwilling to succumb to the emotions and the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, Emma focused on her task.

She quickly slipped the halters on the two horses housed in the stable.

Even though she wouldn’t need it tonight, she strapped her sister’s favorite saddle onto her mare and saddled Martin’s gelding for the ride ahead.

Lady Beadle lived a short distance away.

Once they arrived safely, Emma would send word to Celia and Martin.

In her short time here, Lady Beadle and Celia had become dear friends—and Emma trusted that they would know what to do.

She lifted Katie onto Martin’s horse and swung up behind her, steadying the child in front of her. Gripping the lead rope for her sister’s mare, Emma urged the gelding into motion. Together, they headed to Curzon Street and safety.

But moments later, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and a shiver raced down her spine.

Someone was watching them.

But who? Where?

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him.

A man stood in the shadow of a streetlamp, leaning against a tree, his hat pulled low over his brow. He wore a great black cape, the hem stirring slightly in the breeze.

It’s him —she knew it.

The man Katie had seen at the window.

The man who had started the fire.

We need to get out of here. Now .

Dimly, she heard the distant shouts of men and women, the frantic ringing of alarm bells. Emma pulled Katie closer against her and urged the gelding to a faster pace, keeping a tight grip on the reins.

They had seen the arsonist.

Worse—he had seen them .

~*~