TARAH
SCOTT
Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Amanda Quick. Her favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close second. She writes modern classical romance, and paranormal and romantic suspense. Tarah grew up in Texas and currently resides in Westchester County, New York with her daughter.
To
Tame a Highland Earl
A man torn between two worlds. Both need
him...neither wants him.
Groomed for a life
amongst the English aristocracy, Lord Erroll Rushton is unexpectedly thrust
back into his father’s Scottish world when the Englishwoman he compromises
refuses to marry him.
No gentleman breaks into a lady’s
bedchamber...but then, no lady sleeps with a pistol under her pillow.
Miss
Eve Crenshaw will marry for love or won’t marry at all. When London’s most
notorious rakehell breaks into her bedchamber in the dead of night and
compromises her beyond repair, Eve plans a daring escape that shocks even the
Earl.
To Tame a Highland Earl
My newest
book, To Tame a Highland Earl: A MacLean
Highlander Novel, is now available for preorder for the sale price of
$2.99.
Excerpt--
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 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.”
“Plan?” she
repeated. “I feel certain I can convince the magistrate of self-defense. After
all, you broke into my room.”
“Think
again.” Erroll reached into his pocket.
“Beware,”
she said.
He slowly
withdrew the key from his pocket and held it up. “The innkeeper was very
obliging. He feels nothing should stand in the way of true love.”
She
frowned, then comprehension cleared her expression. “I should have guessed. You
think you can browbeat me into helping you avoid the marriage vows. You, sir,
are the worst sort of knave.”
“So we do
understand one another.”
“You are a
fool,” she muttered.
He’d had
enough. “You are the fool if you believe I will marry you.”
“Marry me?
What—”
Erroll
started toward her.
She took a
faltering step backwards and he lunged. She gave a startled cry. He seized the
hand holding the gun and shoved it upward in their tumble backwards. They
landed on the bed, him on top of her. Her lush body yielded beneath his hard
planes—his stiffening cock in particular. To his surprise, she didn’t struggle,
but released the pistol. The weapon bounced off the mattress and struck the
carpet with a thud.
“Is this
how you described my having ravished you?” he demanded.
Shock
registered on her face. He blew out a frustrated breath. He’d come ready to
battle the vixen and she was already crumbling. Moisture appeared in her eyes.
Ah, there it was. She was simply moving onto another tactic.
“Lies,
pistols, tears, and…” He moved suggestively against her breasts and felt the
rigid nipples beneath his shirt. “Your arsenal of weapons is impressive,
madam.”
“I tell
you, mamma, I heard a scream.”
A woman’s
voice penetrated the door on the right wall. Erroll jerked his gaze in that
direction as the door swung open. Two women stood in the doorway staring, one
young—in her second season, he would guess—the other, the mamma the girl had
addressed.
Erroll
looked at the woman lying beneath him. “I thought that was a closet.”
To Tame a
Highland Earl is now available for pre-order. If you don’t see it at your
favorite distributors yet, sign up at my newsletter
to keep up on the news.
During preorder, the book is on sale for
$2.99. For those who send me a receipt for their preorder, I’ll send you a copy
of my short story When a Rose Blooms. Email me at tscott@tarahscott.com with a copy of your receipt.
Happy
reading!
Tarah
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