The Irresistible Earl

“We haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying in Scarborough. I’ll send word if we’re able to accept your kind offer.”

He inclined his head in acceptance of Miss Price’s dismissal, but his sister Phoebe’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you can’t leave! I just know we’ll be the best of friends!”

Miss Price’s smile was a gentle quirk of her peach-colored lips. “Then I’m certain our friendship will survive any absence. Good day, Lady Phoebe, my lord.”

He took Miss Price’s hand from his sister’s and bowed over it. “Your devoted servant, Miss Price.”

Chase could not shake the feeling that something wasn’t aboveboard with the redoubtable Miss Price. She hurried up the beach as if the very forces of hell were at her heels. In his experience, a person who ran had a reason.

What was hers?

REGINA SCOTT

started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she had learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian and Portuguese.

She and her husband of more than twenty years reside in southeast Washington State. Regina Scott is a decent fencer, owns a historical costume collection that takes up over a third of her large closet and she is an active member of the Church of the Nazarene. Her friends and church family know that if you want something organized, you call Regina. You can find her online blogging at www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com. Learn more about her at www.reginascott.com.

The Irresistible Earl

Regina Scott

If anyone serves, he should do it

with the strength God provides, so that in all things

God may be praised through Jesus Christ.

—1 Peter 4:11b

To those I love, who never gave up on me:

Larry, Kristin, Meryl, Marissa,

Ammanda, Emily, Mom and Dad

and, most of all, my heavenly Father.

Thanks for giving me a chance to shine.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Yorkshire Coast, England, 1811

“Help! Help me!”

Meredee Price’s head jerked up at the cry echoing across the waters of the North Sea. She’d been so intent on scanning the golden sands that she’d lost track of everything else. But if someone was in trouble, she had to help.

She scanned the area, eyes narrowed against the summer sun. The sweep of shore below the town of Scarborough was crowded with fashionable ladies in fluttering muslin gowns and gentlemen in high-crowned hats, strolling and chatting under a cloud less sky. The clear waves brushed against the bathing machines lined up in the surf to allow refined ladies to take the treatment of dipping into the cool waters. Each lady was attended by two burly women bathers, every machine pulled by two docile horses. All seemed calm, congenial.

“Someone, help!”

There! A girl floundered in the water near one of the bathing machines. The two lady bathers who would normally be attending her were struggling to lower a red-and-white canvas hood over the exit door of the white wood box on wide brown wheels. Their charge simply hadn’t waited for their help. Already she’d plunged into water up to her chest. Whipping her honey-colored hair away from her pale face, she waved a thin hand at Meredee. “Help me!”

The cry pierced Meredee’s heart, and she took a step forward.

Behind her she heard a sharp intake of breath. “Where are you going?” her stepmother demanded.

Meredee smothered a sigh. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Evangeline Price was still shivering from her dip. Mrs. Murdock, one of their bathers, had her strong arms around her to steady Meredee’s stepmother, and their other bather, Mrs. Lint, was standing ready to help, but Mrs. Price did not look comforted. Like Meredee, she stood in little more than a blue flannel shift, gray hair plastered to her thin cheeks, seawater streaming down her face and lapping at her waist.

“You haven’t had your treatment yet,” her stepmother protested. “And I will not pay our bathers to watch you look for shells!”

“It’s not that,” Meredee called. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Mrs. Murdock said in her booming voice, her vowels as long and fluid as the waters stretching out behind them. “Just put your foot down now, miss,” she shouted to the girl. “It’s not so deep here.”

But the girl was clearly becoming panicked. Barely keeping her mouth above the water, she flailed her arms. “Hurry! Please!”

Meredee could see the fear on the girl’s face, hear it in the sharp little cries. Surely someone should go to her aid! Mrs. Murdock evidently thought better of her words, for she started forward. But Mrs. Price held her back, clinging to her and Mrs. Lint as if afraid the sea would rise and swallow her too. And there was no help anywhere else. Up and down the beach, the dandies and fine ladies who flocked to Scarborough for the summer were staring, pointing.

“Will no one help?”

At the sound of the anguished cry, one of the horses reared in its traces. Meredee gasped as the wagon jerked and swung to one side, knocking one of the bathers into the waves with a splash. The other clung to her perch, face white, as the wagon teetered on two wheels, overshadowing the girl, who stared up at it as if in a trance.

Enough! Meredee didn’t wait another second. She waded over, seized the girl under the arms, and dragged her away from the wagon. Still the girl struggled, her slender body colliding with Meredee’s. Her fear was very nearly contagious. The sand shifted under Meredee’s feet; the waves broke against her back. The cold was nothing compared to the chill inside her.

Help me, Lord. I can’t lose someone else at Scarborough.

She widened her stance and tightened her grip. “You’re safe,” she said against the girl’s temple. “I have you.” She nearly cried out in relief when the girl went limp in her arms. “Just put down your feet.”

Wet skirts brushed hers as the girl complied.

“There,” Meredee said soothingly, as much to calm the girl as to settle her own pulse. “You see? We’re fine.”

She released her hold, and the girl turned to face her. Her eyes were deep brown and wide with shock. “Oh, thank you! You saved my life!”

Meredee shook her head, but, before she could protest, one of the girl’s bathers waded up. “Everything all right here?”

“This woman is a savior,” the girl declared. “I might have drowned if it wasn’t for her.”

The bather’s face tightened. Meredee knew that even a rumor that the bather had been negligent might keep others from patronizing her. Rumors flew fast in the little resort town and quickly grew out of proportion.

“You know, you might have drowned at that,” Meredee’s bather declared as she splashed up to them, Meredee’s stepmother in tow. “A body can drown in just a few feet of water. That’s why you have us.”

“And that’s why we pay perfectly good money for the treatment,” Mrs. Price said with a pointed look at Meredee. The refrain was all too familiar. Though her scholar father had left the family with a comfortable living, his second wife refused to allow a single penny to leave her fingers until she had wrung the life from it.

As if the other bather sensed that Meredee was about to be scolded, she stepped closer. “Ah, but look at your daughter, now. Perhaps we should hire her out. Regular mermaid, isn’t she?”

Meredee was certain her cheeks would have reddened in a blush if they hadn’t been tingling with the cold. Her thick, wavy hair might qualify as golden and her late father had always said her eyes were the color of the sea in a storm, but she was hardly a mermaid. Her interests in Scarborough lay cradled in the sands, not out among the waves.

“She is not my daughter,” Mrs. Price said, eyes narrowing. “I’m quite certain I am entirely too young to have a daughter of five and twenty.”

That she had a son two years older by a previous marriage did not seem to trouble her. It was only Meredee she found such a terrible burden.

Lord, give me patience.

“Now, come along,” Mrs. Price said, her lips a determined shade of blue. “You can see this person is fine.”

The girl didn’t look fine. She clutched her soaked gown to her chest, trembling. Meredee’s heart went out to her, but she knew her duty lay with her step mother. She offered the girl a smile before turning to go, but the girl reached out for Meredee’s arm. “No, wait. I must know the name of my savior.”

The title felt entirely wrong. “I know only one Savior,” Meredee told her, “but my name is Meredee Price.”

“Lady Phoebe Dearborn,” she replied, voice trembling, as well. “And I shall be forever in your debt.”

Meredee thought her stepmother might try to curry favor now that she knew the girl was titled, but Mrs. Price’s financial concerns proved paramount. “Then perhaps you would be so good as to pay our bathers,” she put in, nose in the air. “They charge by the hour, you know, and we are taking up a good deal of their time.”

Lady Phoebe dropped her gaze and her hold on Meredee’s arm. “Of course. I’m sure my brother would be delighted. I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

Meredee couldn’t bear to see the girl so forlorn. She enveloped her in a hug, the chill of the bathing costumes warming for a moment, then stepped back. “It was no trouble, I assure you. Perhaps we’ll see each other in town.”

An answering smile lit Lady Phoebe’s dark eyes.

“I suppose we’ve forfeited Meredee’s time for a cure,” Mrs. Price said, heaving a martyred sigh as Meredee followed her and Mrs. Murdock back to their bathing machine.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Murdock said with a wink to Meredee. “I’ll be more than happy to give Miss Price the cure, no charge. Anything for the savior of Scarborough Bay.”

Meredee smiled at her but shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t want Mrs. Price to take a chill.” She gazed down into the waters one last time, but the movements of the horses and bathers had so muddied her view that she knew she’d never spot what she’d been searching for now. Suppressing a sigh, she climbed the few steps into the bathing machine for their trip to the shore.

Mrs. Price’s mood improved along the way as Meredee helped her into her underthings and the sprigged muslin gown that had been hanging from pegs on the white enameled walls of the cozy wooden box. But then, Meredee had found, her stepmother’s moods generally improved as long as Meredee devoted herself to the older woman’s comfort.

“I suppose Scarborough isn’t the end of the world,” Mrs. Price said with a final shiver. She took a seat on the bench that lined one wall as Meredee began changing, as well. “Still, I never intended to see this place again. I cannot imagine what Algernon was thinking to bring us here. Surely there are more fashionable bathing places.”

Oh, there were no doubt more fashionable bathing places—like the prince’s favorite summer haunt, Brighton. Still, each summer since the 1600s, Scarborough had attracted people from the aristocracy to the merchant class to tarry along its cool shores, drink of the famous healing spa waters, bathe in the sea and congregate at the spa house, Assembly Rooms, or St. Mary’s Church. Even now Meredee had heard the governor of the spa, William Barriston, chortling that the population of the town had doubled to nearly seven thousand souls.

No, her stepbrother didn’t need any more crowds than the ones at Scarborough. Meredee had been the one who had convinced him to make for the Yorkshire Coast when he’d come to her in a panic a fortnight ago. She still could not understand what he’d done to so anger someone as powerful and vindictive as the Earl of Allyndale. People generally liked Algernon’s beaming smile and charming conversation, even if they shook their heads over his colorful choice of clothing. She could not imagine why Lord Allyndale would threaten a duel, but she certainly wasn’t willing to stand by and see her stepbrother killed.

And she had a promise to keep in Scarborough, one she’d neglected to fulfill for five years. What she really needed was a good low tide, preferably after a decent storm. And an hour or so to herself.

But she wasn’t likely to be left alone anytime soon. As Mrs. Murdock opened the door to help Meredee and Mrs. Price from the shadows of the bathing machine onto the dry sands, a cheer went up. Meredee blinked into nearly two dozen faces. It seemed as if every notable touring the crescent of the beach had heard Lady Phoebe’s cries and watched Meredee’s rescue. Now they gathered from the spa house at the southern tip to the lighthouse sheltering under the watchful eye of Scarborough Castle, just to congratulate her.

She wanted to shrink back into the box. She was supposed to help Algernon remain in hiding, keep from calling undue attention to themselves. What had she done?

Mrs. Price did not seem worried. She preened at the attention, patting her damp gray tresses and putting on a long-suffering smile. “Yes, yes, dreadful, isn’t it?” she lamented to the plump countess in breezy white muslin who was the first to step forward. “I’m certain the poor girl would have drowned if I hadn’t directed Meredee to rescue her.”

Meredee could only wish for rescue herself. Sun hot on her cheeks, she had to give an accounting of her stunning heroism to a country squire from Devonshire, an Italian nobleman, two knights of the bath with wives in tow and a silk merchant from Carlisle before another man elbowed his way to the front. He was tall and powerfully built, with hair nearly the color of the sands and eyes like the North Sea. The others stepped aside when they saw that he was interested in questioning her. From the scowl on his craggy face, she would have been tempted to flee as well, if Lady Phoebe hadn’t been at his side.

Though the girl could not have reached the shore much sooner, she had traded her flannel bathing costume for a high-waisted muslin gown embroidered all over with yellow daisies. Her damp hair curled into waves around her lovely face. Meredee, in her simple blue cotton gown, hair in a braid down her back, felt like a country cousin beside her.

“I simply had to thank you again, Miss Price,” the girl declared in awed tones. “And so did my brother. Mrs. Price, Miss Meredee Price, may I present my brother, Chase Dearborn, Lord Allyndale.”

Chase watched as both women blanched. Mrs. Price went so far as to take a step back, but Miss Price’s hand on her arm kept her from fleeing. Though he knew a few men who would run at the sight of him, he couldn’t recall a time when a lady felt the need to escape.

And they were certainly ladies. In fact, Mrs. Price reminded him of his late mother—high jutting cheekbones; long aristocratic nose; narrow, elegant frame. But he had never met anyone quite like Meredee Price. She had the thick golden hair and wise gray eyes of a Saxon princess, yet the impressive curves of a heroine in one of Botticelli’s paintings. He could easily imagine her lifting the fragile Phoebe from the waves, or riding into battle against the Norse forces.

She dropped her gaze, dipped a quick curtsy and spoke in soft tones, with a musical lilt. “An honor to meet you, my lord. But I wish you would not dwell on what happened in the waves. It was truly nothing.”

The rest of the crowd insisted on her heroism, which only set her cheeks to blushing. Was she truly a shy, retiring creature, then? And why did that so disappoint him? After meeting any number of young society misses while escorting his sister, he’d resigned himself to being surrounded by shy, retiring creatures.

“Nothing!” Phoebe cried, reaching out to snatch up Meredee’s hand and press it close. “How can you say that! I could not live with myself unless I found a way to thank you properly. You saved my life!”

Normally Chase would have stepped in to temper his sister’s unbounded enthusiasm, but in this case he rather thought she had the right to it. Despite his efforts to raise his sister, who was twelve years his junior, the girl seemed to invite disaster. He hadn’t been able to see her from where he had waited along the shore, but he’d heard Phoebe’s cries for help and could well believe it had taken Miss Price’s intervention to save his sister.

“Please allow me to thank you property for your kindness, Miss Price,” he said as the poor lady visibly squirmed in Phoebe’s fervent grip. “We’ve rented a house here in Scarborough for the summer. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow night, along with your mother, of course.”

“I am not her mother,” Mrs. Price put in, laying a hand on the woman’s arm and acting as if she would tug her away from Phoebe. “And I think we truly must go.”

Meredee Price did not seem agitated to find herself the rope in the middle of a tug-of-war contest. “What my stepmother means,” she said calmly, gaze rising to meet his and serving to fix him in his place, “is that we haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying in Scarborough. We may depart this very afternoon. I’ll send word if we’re able to accept your kind invitation.”

He’d been mistaken. No Saxon princess this, but clearly the queen and just as regal. He inclined his head in acceptance of her dismissal, but Phoebe’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you can’t leave! I just know we’ll be the best of friends!”

Miss Price’s smile was a gentle quirk of her peach-colored lips. “Then I’m certain our friendship will survive any absence. Good day, Lady Phoebe, my lord.”

Chase could see the protest building in the stubborn set to Phoebe’s little chin. He refused to allow her to stage a greater scene than she had already done. He took Miss Price’s hand from his sister’s and bowed over it. “Your devoted servant, Miss Price.”

She curtsied more fully this time, and when she rose he was surprised to see a shadow cross her eyes, like a raven swooping across storm clouds. Although Phoebe and Mrs. Price made their farewells in polite tones, Chase didn’t think it was his imagination that Meredee Price’s grip on her stepmother’s arm was every bit as fevered as Phoebe’s as they hurried up the beach for the shops and houses beyond.

He only wondered who she was running away from—Phoebe or him.

Chapter Two

“What were you thinking?” Mrs. Price lamented as they hurried along the crowded streets that led through the town. “We cannot dine with Lord Allyndale! We daren’t stay in Scarborough another minute! Oh, my poor Algernon—hunted from pillar to post!”

“Calm yourself,” Meredee said with assurance she was far from feeling. “Lord Allyndale obviously saw no connection between us and the Algernon Whitaker who so offended him.”

“Well, of course not,” Mrs. Price huffed. “Nor would he have noticed us if you hadn’t made a spectacle of yourself!”

Meredee bit back a retort. Angry words would do none of them any good now. She had only been trying to help. And even if she had known the girl was the sister of Algernon’s sworn enemy, she wouldn’t have let Lady Phoebe struggle. She’d never been able to overlook the pain or fear of others; it was in her very nature to offer help when it was needed.

“Be that as it may,” she said, leading her stepmother past the shops overflowing with bright fabrics, exotic scents and fine literature, “we have been discovered. We have only to explain the situation to Algernon, and I’m certain he’ll see the wisdom of escaping.”

Mrs. Price nodded and said no more, as if she needed her breath to climb the remaining way up the hill to the Bell Inn, where they had taken rooms. Meredee was just as glad for her silence. She could not stop thinking about their meeting with Lord Allyndale.

When Algernon had confided to her a fortnight ago in their London town house that he feared Allyndale would challenge him to a duel, the man he’d described had been a monster. “He’s completely unreasonable,” he’d fretted, pacing about the yellow silk–draped bedchamber that had been hers since she had finished her schooling. “There’s no use talking to him or begging his pardon. If he issues a challenge, I’m a dead man.”

“But the magistrates,” she’d protested from her four-poster bed where he’d found her that night. “Surely you could go to them, explain the situation. Dueling is against the law.”

Algernon smiled at her as if he envied her her innocence. “Dueling may be against the law, but the magistrates will turn deaf as soon as they hear who’s involved. Allyndale is too powerful. Word at White’s is that he’s already forced one fellow to flee for the Continent.”

“But why?” Meredee asked, fisting her bedclothes, never doubting the word of those who thronged Lon don’s most famous gentlemen’s club. “Why would he seek your ruin?”

“It doesn’t matter,” her stepbrother had replied, pausing in his pacing to meet her gaze. His deep blue eyes had been mirrors of despair. “He has taken me in dislike, and he will not rest until he’s made my life hell.”

Meredee shivered, remembering. Lord Allyndale was obviously a man who toyed with the lives of others just for the thrill of power. She could not allow Algernon to fall into his clutches. She’d proposed the plan to flee and the place to hide, sure that the earl would soon find someone else to torment. Yet here he was, on their very doorstep!

She had to admit she was a bit disappointed.

She’d expected eyes that flashed with dark intentions, a face slack with dissipation, a body gross with indulgence. But Lord Allyndale was well-formed, with broad shoulders that filled his tailored coat and long legs that showed well in chamois breeches. Her father had always said that evil could hide behind a winsome smile, but she still thought some trace should be visible, if only to warn away those with the insight to look for it.

She had looked today, but she could not see the creature Algernon feared. Lord Allyndale’s smile held a pride and love for his sister; the way his arm draped around her shoulders spoke of a desire to protect her. And the way he’d gazed into Meredee’s eyes—so sure, so deep—why it had nearly taken her breath away.

Had she mistaken the name Algernon had uttered with such despair? Or could her stepbrother have misunderstood the earl’s intentions?

When they reached the inn and sought out her stepbrother, she wasn’t surprised to find him still in the little whitewashed bedchamber under the eaves. While Meredee and Mrs. Price had been willing to rise early to shop and then to bathe in the sea, Algernon was only now peering into the mirror over his mahogany washstand in his shirtsleeves and scraping his lathered chin with a razor.

“Allyndale, here?” He dropped the razor into the porcelain washbowl, heedless of the soapy water that splashed his otherwise spotless yellow pantaloons. As Meredee carefully closed the door behind her, he turned to stare at her and his mother. “Are you certain? Did he speak of me?”