Page 1 of To Redeem an Earl

PROLOGUE

Miss Hayward fluttered her eyelids much like a crazed butterfly.

“La, sir! You flatter me,” she simpered.

Lord Richard Balfour, the fourth Earl of Saunton, resisted rolling his eyes at the young lady’s empty-headed flirting while he twirled her across the crowded ballroom. He had quickly discovered that his dance partner, Miss Hayward, was a proper miss and not very bright. He could not be happier that this waltz was coming to an end as the closing strains of music echoed through the great, gilded ballroom of the Astleys’ stately home on the River Thames.

She was an attractive young woman with red-blonde hair twisted in a coronet around the crown of her head. Her complexion was silky and clear, her arching brows framed stormy blue eyes, and her nose was delicate and straight. Under ordinary circumstances, he would find her alluring, but he knew he must be on his best behavior with innocent young misses. Marriage was a permanent state of affairs, and he needed to be certain he could bear the presence of the young woman whom he would wed. He could not allow himself to be allured.

His expectations for his future marriage were not high, but Miss Hayward was simply too silly to consider permanently saddling himself with the vapid chit. Nevertheless, he must admit he enjoyed clasping her slender waist; her rosewater scent and the feel of her slim, warm body beneath her white silk gown were causing him to wonder if he had made a mistake ending things with his last mistress in preparation for his return to the marriage hunting grounds. It had seemed well-advised to make an effort to look sincere in his courtship attempts, if only to ensure fathers would be receptive to his suit, but Miss Hayward’s heated skin below his hand was drifting his thoughts in a decidedly carnal direction.

The Season of 1820 had officially begun, and Richard could already feel the onset of bone-deep boredom when he contemplated the months ahead. If only his former betrothed, Miss Annabel Ridley, had not seen fit to hare off across the country to marry his cousin, the Duke of Halmesbury, in a fit of pique. He would have been married already with an heir well on the way, but instead he was forced to attend these endless events of polite society to seek a new bride he could tolerate.

Endless small talk, nauseating orgeat, and watered-down lemonade, along with a parade of vapid girls ruthlessly molded by their mothers into perfect young ladies. Their only flaw was … there was not one interesting personality to be found amongst the lot of them, which was why he had chosen irrepressible Annabel to be his wife in the first place. Was it too much to ask to wed a woman with whom he could conduct a reasonably intelligent conversation? Tonight, the feminine pickings certainly suggested that was the case.

Pity Miss Hayward was such an utter flibbertigibbet, or he would alleviate his boredom by steering her out to the terrace to steal a kiss from her delectable lips.

* * *

Miss Sophia Haywardwas a great observer of people, especially men. She had to be in order to have avoided marriage for the past three Seasons—four if she successfully traversed this current Season without receiving a marriage proposal. Observation was key to her plans because she had a sizable dowry which undermined her efforts to remain unmarried. How much of a dowry she had, she was unsure because her uncle, who served as her guardian, was notoriously tight-lipped and protective of his family members, as had been her grandfather before him.

Her keen observational skills accounted for why when the Earl of Saunton, the very wealthy but infamous libertine who was now searching for a wife, requested this waltz, Sophia had intuitively leaned into her silly debutante act. The act she had honed over the past three years.

Heringénueact involved eye fluttering, insipid language, and very dull small talk about needlework, the need for many shades of ribbon, and the fine selection of gloves in the shop she had visited that day.

However, for the other type of gentlemen, the ones who were searching for a docile and proper wife and who seemed attracted to that sort of behavior, she used her bluestocking act to sound disgracefully intellectual, which involved her detailed analysis of Shakespearean works, the need for the many hues of roses yet to be cultivated, and the fine selection of classical literature at the bookshop she had visited that day.

The two strategies were surprisingly similar, albeit at different ends of the intellectual spectrum. The art was in knowing which particular strategy to employ, and being sufficiently subtle to ensure her aunt and uncle did not hear about any untoward behavior from the gentlemen in question.

To his credit, Saunton was the former type of gentleman. Just when she had begun listing out all the ribbons she had collected over the years, he had desperately diverted her mindless chatter to a discussion of horseflesh. It was amusing to Sophia to note how his eyes had glazed over and his charming smile had become fixed in place, as if painted on his face with an artist’s brush. Clearly he had already lost interest in her as a prospective bride, which suited her just fine.

Sophia could not deny that the gentleman was devilishly handsome, with his dark brown curls, long thick lashes framing his distinctive green eyes, and athletic build, with no hint of padding beneath his tailored clothing. He possessed pearly white teeth and perfectly proportioned, sculpted lips, which made her ponder what it would be like to kiss him. Saunton was easily the most attractive man at the Astleys’ ball.

Nevertheless, she steeled herself to pay no mind to the pleasing warmth of his elegant fingers emanating through their gloves as he clasped her hand to lead her in an admittedly graceful waltz. For he was the very worst of husband prospects, devilish being an apt description, not to mention that she was doing her best to avoid the noose of matrimony altogether, despite her nagging aunt and persistent uncle who believed their primary duty as her guardians was to see her be married offsafely. She was no fool; she had seen what marriage had done to her mother, and there was nothingsafeabout her mother’s untimely demise. Nay, she planned to bide her time until she could claim her dowry to live independently.

Sophia exhaled a sigh of gratitude that the dance had ended, while Lord Saunton dropped a curt bow in visible relief.

Plastering a polite smile on her face, she kept a vapid look in her eyes while he deposited her back with her aunt and cousin at the edge of the ballroom. He dropped a curt bow to her aunt before parting ways.

It would seem her strategy to dissuade his interest had been successful, although she could not deny that an ill-advised visit to the terrace, to discover if his sculpted lips were as kissable as they appeared to be, would serve as a pleasant interlude. It was unusual for her to have thoughts like this, but Saunton was an unusually handsome man with an amiable smile and playful manner that were very … appealing. And she could appreciate that the gentleman was known to never gamble, to drink in moderation, and to manage his estates with financial acumen, which were attractive qualities given the circumstances of her papa’s death.

Even so, Lord Saunton was a rake not to be trusted, and she was not looking for a husband, despite her aunt’s and uncle’s best efforts. Playing bland had been easy in his company because he was so easy to read that all she had to do was bat her eyelashes and flirt in a vacuous manner while pretending to listen to him talk about the weather and riding.He certainly made use of his stables, if his conversation was anything to go by. She shared his interest, but she had stopped herself from displaying any useful knowledge—she had no wish to attract his attentions.

Sophia considered with no small amount of weariness that the evening had only just begun and there were yet hours of polite talk and awful orgeat to endure.

Together with her cousin, she watched the lengthy quadrille from the edge of the ballroom where they fluttered their fans while the heat of the room continued to rise. The smell of pomades blended with perfume and the music itself sounded loud and shrill, but perhaps it was just her mood. She attempted to relax, but she was not fond of large gatherings and she had many more of these ahead of her to dread. Perhaps it was the vague whispers about her long-departed parents that made it so, or perhaps she just did not like crowds, but she wished she could be at home reading a book or enjoying a stimulating conversation in the library with her cousin Lily. Even a dinner with a manageable number of people would have been more pleasant than this.

Turning to her closest friend and confidante, Miss Lily Abbott, she deliberately glanced toward the terrace. Her tiny cousin, with her huge brown eyes set in a delicate elfin face, immediately understood her meaning. Turning to her mother, Sophia’s aunt, Lily paved the way for their escape.

“Mama, I believe my hem is coming loose. Sophia and I will find an alcove to mend it and be right back.”

Lady Moreland waved her gloved hand in assent as she continued to gossip with the turbaned Lady Astley, whom Sophia did not personally know, nor did she care to because the elderly woman was haughty and vile with nothing pleasant to say about any of her guests.

Breathing sighs of relief, Lily and Sophia swiftly made their way from the crowded ballroom to push open the fogged-up terrace doors. Laughing softly, they spilled out into the cool spring night.

The sounds of music and chatting muted when the doors swung shut, and they walked to a far corner so they might remain hidden on the grand balcony overlooking the vast lawn sprawling down to the river’s edge.

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