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.
Author Bio:
Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in Manitoba ,
Canada
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