Earl of Shefford
Noble Hearts Series: Book Three (Wicked Earls Book 28)
Anna St. Claire
Sassy Romances
Copyright © 2021 by Anna St. Claire
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For My Granddaughters
…who at this age don’t always understand why Mimi is always writing.
It is my fondest hope that each of you discover a love that feels like a friendship put to music—as I have found in my own life.
Mimi
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
EARL OF ALNWICK
About the Author
Also by Anna St. Claire
Love is like a butterfly. It goes where it pleases and pleases where it goes.
—Unknown
Chapter 1
London, England
September 1822
“That, I believe, is the game!” Colin Nelson, the Earl of Shefford, breathed a sigh of relief. How had Bergen talked him into one more game with Lord Wilford Whitton? He already suspected the man cheated when he could, and failing that, he was a terrible loser. Tonight, the man could not cover his losses without giving up some part of his estate, having already lost both his horse and a building. A building, indeed, which now belonged to Colin, even though he was uncertain of what it looked like or its actual worth. Nevertheless, I plan to put it to good use, he mused. Hell and confound it! The paper feels damp. He glanced at the vowel before tucking it into his waistcoat pocket—making sure Whitton’s perspiration had not smeared the ink before wiping his hands on his pantaloons.
“My lord, might we exchange a few words about this for a moment? Perhaps there is another way to pay you. The building has been in my family for a long while.” Lord Whitton grabbed his chewed, cold cigar, which had been resting next to his empty glass, and stood up from the table. The short, red-faced lord had been huffing since he had shown his losing cards. “I have an idea and I think you might be interested in my proposal.”
“I cannot imagine what else you could have. You have already wagered your horse and lost it; and now, this family building. I do not make a habit of leaving women and children homeless by winning a man’s house from him.” He watched Whitton wipe the sweat from his head. By now, that handkerchief had to be soaked, he thought, trying to decide how to handle the man who was growing more and more fidgety. Instinct told him it was time to leave. “I have no notion whether this building is worth the hundred pounds you owe me, but I know the area and will take a chance.” Colin pushed back from the table and stood up. “The game is over. I suggest you go home.” He looked around the room. Circles of cigar smoke hovered over several heads before making its way to the general haze of smoke at the ceiling. Activity ceased at the closest tables, as the players’ heads turned to watch. Even the popping and crackling from the enormous fireplace across the room seemed louder and closer. He found himself buoyed by the temporary audience.
“If you will, please hear me out.” Perspiration coated the man’s forehead. “I should not have wagered the building.”
“Yet you did,” Colin responded coolly. “The gaming table has not been kind to you this night. Perhaps you should have stopped playing after you lost your horse to Lord Bergen.” People like Whitton would benefit from house limits on wagers, yet they rarely put one in place.
“I thought I could win back my losses. “Twas but a small debt,” the man whined. “My horse is a thoroughbred. It should have carried me further on the wager.”
Colin noted the tone of indignation steeling Whitton’s voice. “Yet you lost that to a different person,” Colin said with a note of astonishment even he could hear.
“He is your friend. How do I know the two of you have played fair?” The man sneered, the accusation clear.
From the corner of his eye, Colin observed his friend, Thomas, the Earl of Bergen, quietly signal the stalwart individual standing beside the door with a nod of his head. The last thing they needed was to dive into a mill in this hell. Colin was already regretting the decision to try out this new hell. They should have gone to the club. He did not care for public displays.
“I will give you one chance to redeem your building. If you can satisfy your entire debt by tomorrow evening—in cash—I will return the deed to the building. If not, consider the building payment in full.”
A tall, burly man with dark hair and a trimmed beard appeared at the table. “My lord, the night has ended for you. We ask that you leave now,” the bouncer said, his eyes on Whitton. For added emphasis, he pushed up each of his sleeves, revealing large, muscular arms. A tattoo of an ace of spades with a dagger across it showed on the underside of one arm.
“They have cheated me,” Whitton accused, pointing a finger at Bergen and Shefford. “These are the gentlemen you should throw out—and I demand the return of the deed he stole from me,” he rasped, taking a step back.
“Did you just call me a cheat?” Colin stepped forward, his voice low.
The bouncer grabbed Lord Whitton by the back of his coat. “My lord, there are windows throughout the house. If there was any cheating occurring, we would see it. I will escort you to the door. Your participation for the evening—here, at least—is over.” With that, the guard forcibly removed the squirming, protesting man.
“You have not heard the last of me,” Whitton yelled over his
