Page 2 of How the Earl Entices

Before she could bring Ethan home.

Her chest tightened with aching worry. Sending her son into the village to spend the night with Alice Walters at the apothecary shop had been the right decision. She knew that. But oh, how much it hurt to be separated from him! For the first time in his life, too. But the sailors who had come ashore all day predicted that tonight’s storm would be the worst in memory. Ethan was safer within the shop’s thick stone walls, while she had to be here to rescue their belongings in case the roof caved in. Holding everything she owned in the world, this cottage had been her own safe port over the past stormy decade, where she and Ethan had been safe since he was born.

But he wasn’t a babe anymore. He was nine years-old now, and growing so fast that it pained her to think of it.

He’d soon reach an age when he should be going off to school. Instead, he’d have to stay here. Guilt gnawed at her. He deserved better, wasbornfor better—fine schools, hundreds of books, private tutors, trips across England and the continent to see in person all the wonderful things that the world had to offer. Instead, they had to make do with the few books she could scrape together enough money to purchase and the tutoring sessions with the local vicar she’d negotiated in trade for cooking and cleaning the vicarage.

But he could never have that other life. As far as Ethan knew, his father was a sailor who died at sea, and she fully intended to keep it that way. Because if Ethan ever discovered the truth, if he ever got the foolish notion into his head when he was older to pursue what was due to him…She shuddered.

At least now, he would have a life. She would never regret what she had to do to keep her son safe.

A loud banging shot through the noise of the storm. She jumped with a small scream, her hand going to her throat.

The pounding came again. This time she recognized it—a shutter had broken loose and was banging wildly against the side of the cottage in the howling wind. Her chest sagged. She had to fix it. If she didn’t, not only would it continue to bang all night, but it might also smash through the window it was supposed to be protecting.

Setting the candle onto the table, she moved toward the door, where she pulled on a pair of fisherman’s boots and an oilskin coat. The last thing she wanted to do tonight—oh, theverylast thing!—was go out into the weather and be soaked, chilled to the bone, and battered about. But she had no choice, because she couldn’t afford to replace the window if it broke. At least she could brew up some hot tea when she returned. Taking comfort in that, she threw back the bolt and opened the door, only to have her breath ripped away by a burst of icy cold wind and rain that slammed into her.

Pulling the old coat tighter around herself, she shouldered her way into the wind and along the front of the cottage. It took only a moment to close the shutter and fasten the hook that had somehow come undone.

She turned to scurry inside—

A strong arm went around her waist and swung her back against the side of the cottage. She screamed, but the sound was lost beneath the noise of the raging storm. A forearm pushed against her upper chest, pinning her against the wall.

Another scream ripped from her throat. She kicked and punched with all her might at the man who’d grabbed her, who now held her a helpless prisoner as he leaned into her, his muscular legs forcing hers to still. With one large hand, he grabbed both her arms and pinned them over her head, while the other pressed the barrel of a pistol beneath her chin.

“Who else is inside?” he demanded.

She couldn’t see his face as the rain pelted down upon both of them, so fiercely that she couldn’t blink the water away fast enough. The black night covered his features, but nothing could hide the strength of him as he held her against the wall.

He pressed the pistol harder against her. “A husband, brother—who?”

“My husband!” she lied, so frightened that she nearly crumpled to the muddy ground. “He’s certain to have heard me scream, so you’d better leave!”

He laughed, a terrible sound that scratched and screeched nearly as much as the wind howling over the bluffs. “No husband, then. Anyone else?”

She was terrified and freezing, but she refused to submit to this man. Not toanyman ever again. She’d rather die than surrender. “Go to hell!”

His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “I’m already there.”

Keeping the pistol pressed against her throat, he grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door, which had blown open in the hurricane gale. He pulled her inside and kicked the door closed. Twisting from his grasp, she yanked her arm away. He let her go, only to reach behind him and throw the bolt to lock them inside.

Grace ran toward the fireplace, snatched up the iron poker, and brandished it like a weapon. All of her shook so violently from cold and fear that she didn’t know how she managed to hold onto it. But he’d have to rip it from her hands before she released it. And if he took a single step toward her—

But he didn’t. Instead he watched her silently from the shadows near the door, not making a move to force himself on her.

“You need to leave.Now.” She prayed her voice didn’t sound as terrified to his ears as it did to hers. “I will use this if you come any closer.”

“If I come any closer, I certainly hope you’d try,” he drawled dryly, amused at the idea. “But I have a gun. I don’t need to come closer.”

Oh God. Fresh fear shuddered through her.

“But I don’t plan to use it. Nor do I plan on hurting you.”

A bitter laugh tore from her. “You shoved me against the cottage!” She kept the poker raised, holding it in front of her like a sword. “Then forced me inside, to—to—” The horrible words choked her…To rape me.

“To be out of the storm,” he finished pointedly, as if reading her thoughts. “You never would have opened the door if I’d knocked.”

“You unlatched the shutter.” The realization soaked into her as coldly as the rain. “It wasyou.”