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His
Rebel Countess (Challenging the Ton 1)
Peri Elizabeth Scott
[BookStrand Historical Romance,
HEA]
Oliver Birmingham, Earl of
Leith, is an aristocrat—albeit socially minded—and in the market for a bride.
Beautiful, intelligent Abigayle Windsor is a commoner, one the Earl is
impossibly drawn to, and when he accidentally compromises her, he insists they
wed.
Despite her misgivings, Abby
agrees to marry Oliver and their honeymoon lays the foundation for a loving,
wonderful marriage. But back in London, Oliver is again the Earl, and Abby
finds herself adrift and uncertain, unable to fit in, and she garners
considerable attention from the gentlemen of the ton.
Frustrated with Abby’s apparent
refusal to adapt, and driven wild with jealousy he refuses to acknowledge,
Oliver disciplines his bride one fateful night. He then decrees that if she
won’t act the part of his Countess, providing him heirs will suffice, and
effectively breaks her heart.
Have Oliver’s actions cost him
Abby’s love? Or can he leave his father’s influence behind, and make it up to
her?
STORY
EXCERPT
No matter how she cajoled, Mr.
Landbourne wouldn’t be convinced to share anything with her, other than his
information was relevant to a bill being discussed in Parliament on the morrow.
He insisted it wasn’t for the ears of ladies, no matter if this lady had her
husband’s ear as she implied, and Abby’s mood soured by the minute. Her
curiosity ran rampant as well.
Thomas brought refreshments—tea
and pastries. Nothing stronger to give the impression the small gathering was
anything more than innocent. And he left the door wide open, his shadow passing
by frequently. Belatedly, Abby came to the conclusion that entertaining Edwin
might not have been the best choice. She wished for Oliver to hurry home.
Be careful what you wish
for. The ominous words filled her head as the front door opened and
closed, loud in the quiet of the house, followed by a murmur of voices. Her
husband’s large frame filled the doorway, incredulity a dire mask on his
features before he composed them. Abby chilled to the bone in the face of it.
“My lady. Landbourne.”
His freezing tone didn’t
totally hide the bubbling fury in his voice. Abby intuited that Oliver was in a
towering rage such as she’d never witnessed, and instinctively stood to insert
herself between him and Edwin, who was also on his feet and babbling anxiously.
“Leave. Now.” Where was the
Earl of Leith, that paragon of manners and proper behavior? The Earl of
Hauteur? Mr. Landbourne obviously looked for him too, going pale and blinking
frantically. His lips flapped but nothing intelligible emerged.
Then this new Oliver set her
aside, merely grasping her upper arms and lifting her clear to set her away
from them, before bearing down on the inoffensive Edwin. Twisting the youth’s
arm up behind his back, Oliver frogmarched him out of the room before her
astonished eyes, ignoring his pleas. The sounds of a scuffle diminished, then
she distinctly heard the slamming of the entry. Thomas dashed in to widen his
eyes at her, and tried to say something, only to retreat, as with a measured
tread, Oliver gained the room again and crossed to loom over her. Had he always
been so tall?
“What were you thinking?” His
intimidating near growl frightened her but also sparked her temper, a faint
hint of guilt fueling the fire.
“I beg your pardon?” She too
could sound icy and forbidding, having been schooled by some of the best in the
ton, and Oliver’s eyes flashed in response.
“Entertaining Edwin Landbourne.
When you were unwell, too ill to attend the Dowager Duchess’s ball. The event
of the season and one extremely important to my status in Parliament. I would
have thought you’d hope to showcase your considerable charms to a wider
audience.”
The attack on her reputation
was the final straw. She’d had enough. Damn his status. And damn his
insinuations. What about their marriage? What about her? If Oliver chose not to
hear Mr. Landbourne out then it wasn’t her place to tell him the young man had
come to share information perhaps very relevant to tomorrow’s day in
Parliament. To her husband’s oh-so-precious duty.
“There is nothing to say. And
certainly nothing to defend. I have no interest in those balls and parties and
soirees you insist upon. I have no interest in any part of this social life you
have thrust me into, using me to further your political interests! That you no
longer even share with me! I have no interest in being your wife.”
A horrible stillness settled
over Oliver, and the difference in him became even more pronounced. He somehow
grew taller, his shoulders wider, and the very flesh on his cheekbones thinned
to give him a cruel, finely etched appearance. She barely recognized him. His
next words flayed her, delivered in such a silky tone it nearly masked the
venom.
“But you are my wife,
Abigayle. My countess. And as my wife you will take my direction and advice and
obey me henceforth. Without negotiation. Without complaint or protest, or pay a
very dear price for defying me.”
Aghast, she retreated as far as
the couch behind her would allow and shook her head. “No. I can’t live like
that.”
“Then you leave me no choice.”
Bearing her out of the room
with no care to her protests and struggles, he took her to a small room at the
end of the hall. Her eye caught the quick movements of the servants and she was
mortally embarrassed to be handled in such a way in front of them. What
transpired next was something she somehow retreated from in order to deny him
further and only consider later when alone again in her room, deposited there
by a man she no longer knew, yet was married to and forced to deal with for her
lifetime. If only at his time and choosing.
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