His Countess for a Week Read online

  Pretend marriage to the earl

  Sharing everything—except a bed...

  To uncover a ruthless killer, Arabella Roffey masquerades as the Countess of Westray, not expecting her “husband” to suddenly appear! He could expose her but instead agrees to continue her ruse for a week. Randolph is brooding, handsome, and Bella likes him more than she should. As she pretends to be his wife, they share everything except a bed—but the temptation to do so is becoming all too real...

  “I am Westray,” he told her. “More to the point, madam, who are you?”

  She bit her lip. He was dressed fashionably and a diamond twinkled from the folds of his neckcloth. Could he really be the missing earl?

  “Well?” he said when she did not speak. “Pretending to be someone you are not is a crime, you know. I think I am entitled to an explanation.”

  She looked at him defiantly and wanted to retort that he was the criminal. He appeared relaxed, but there was a steely strength about him. She knew he would not be fobbed off with anything less than the truth.

  “I am Arabella Roffey.”

  “Go on.”

  His eyes were glinting, but they were not unkind. She said impulsively, “I needed to be here. Pray do not expose me!”

  “How intriguing,” Randolph said. “You had best explain it to me.”

  She clasped her hands, squeezing them together to steady her nerves. “I am trying to find out who killed my husband.”

  Author Note

  Readers of Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance will remember Randolph as Deborah Meltham’s ne’er-do-well brother, Lord Kirkster. I had never intended for him to be anything more than a weak, spoiled young man who caused a great deal of trouble for his long-suffering sister, but somehow the character I had created refused to remain a minor player. His actions, in owning up to his crimes, resulted in transportation to Australia.

  There are many fascinating accounts of what happened to the men and women who were transported to the colonies. Randolph’s survival is based on true-life accounts. Some went on to become successful businessmen and farmers. Randolph intended to become just such a man with the land he had been granted, but when he receives an unexpected inheritance, he realizes it is an opportunity to return to his homeland and shoulder responsibilities he had shirked as a younger man.

  Compared to Randolph, Arabella has led a very sheltered life, but her calm existence is shattered by the sudden death of her husband. He was her hero, her childhood sweetheart, and Bella is determined to discover the truth about his death. With Ran’s help she discovers just what happened, but along the way Bella also learns uncomfortable truths about her late husband. And her own heart.

  I loved bringing Randolph back home and giving him his own happy ending. It was not an easy journey, for either of us, but I hope you will think it was worth it.

  Sarah Mallory

  His Countess for a Week

  Sarah Mallory grew up in the West Country, England, telling stories. She moved to Yorkshire with her young family, but after nearly thirty years living in a farmhouse on the Pennines, she has now moved to live by the sea in Scotland. Sarah is an award-winning novelist with more than twenty books published by Harlequin Historical. She loves to hear from readers and you can reach her via her website at sarahmallory.com.

  Books by Sarah Mallory

  Harlequin Historical

  The Scarlet Gown

  Never Trust a Rebel

  The Duke’s Secret Heir

  Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance

  His Countess for a Week

  Saved from Disgrace

  The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

  Beauty and the Brooding Lord

  The Highborn Housekeeper

  The Infamous Arrandales

  The Chaperon’s Seduction

  Temptation of a Governess

  Return of the Runaway

  The Outcast’s Redemption

  Brides of Waterloo

  A Lady for Lord Randall

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To Sylvia T—who encouraged me not to wait for my dreams to come true but to go out and make them happen. And who would probably think RIP is a pretty boring thing to do.

  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

  Excerpt from Her Dark Knight’s Redemption by Nicole Locke

  Chapter One

  The short November day was coming to an end when the Apollonia entered Portsmouth Harbour, its sails turned pink by the setting sun. On the bustling deck one figure stood motionless, a gentleman wrapped in a heavy cloak. He wore no hat and his thick blond hair was ruffled by the breeze as he stared out across the water, his eyes narrowed against the evening sunlight. He did not look at the sturdy walls and menacing fortifications rearing up around them, but back out through the narrow harbour entrance towards the open sea.

  The Captain approached him. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, we’ll be docking shortly.’

  ‘What?’ He turned, his gaze and his mind taking a moment to focus on the Captain. ‘Ah, yes. You’ll be wanting me below decks, out of the way, I suppose.’

  Reassured by the friendly tone, the Captain allowed himself a grin.

  ‘Aye, sir, if you will. There’s that many sacks and crates piled here...’

  ‘And you don’t want your men tripping over the passengers. Very well, Captain. I’ll go below, out of your way.’

  ‘I thank ’ee for it, sir. We’ll get you off as soon as we can, rest assured o’ that.’

  With a smile and a nod, Randolph made his way back to the dark, airless cabin. It had been his home for the past six months; another few minutes could be easily borne. He threw himself down on the bunk and put his hands behind his head, listening to the shouts and thuds from the deck above him and wondering, not for the first time, if he had been wise to return to England.

  He had been in Australia for six years and had made a good life for himself. He had maintained his health and had enjoyed running his own farm in Airds, on the land granted him following his pardon. However, when Chislett’s letter had arrived, it had not taken him long to convince himself it was his duty to return.

  But now he wondered what awaited him. When he had left England, the country was recovering from the long and bruising campaign against Bonaparte. Randolph had taken little interest in English affairs since leaving the country, because he had never expected to return. He had not even expected to survive.

  A gentle knock on the door roused him from his reverie.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord, I see your valise is not yet packed. If you will allow me...’

  ‘Oh, yes, Joseph. Come in.’

  Randolph swung his feet to the ground and watched as his man collected up the few remaining items. He wrapped the folding bootjack in a cloth and pushed it into the already bulging bag, followed by the hairbrush and comb. When he picked up a penknife, Randolph held out his hand.

  ‘I’ll take that, Jo
seph. Thank you.’ He pushed the small knife into the pocket of his coat. ‘Are you sorry to have come back to England?’

  ‘It makes no odds to me either way, my lord. If you’d wanted to remain at Airds, I’d have been content to see out the rest of my life there.’

  ‘If this current venture turns out badly, we may yet return,’ said Randolph.

  ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  ‘Confound it, Joseph, must you always be so damned cool?’

  The grey-haired servant gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Why, sir, I’d not have survived so long if I’d been anything else.’

  ‘True!’ Randolph laughed. He rose to his feet and put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘What a sad trial I have been to you over the years, Joseph. I owe you a great deal. I should not have survived if it had not been for you. I wish you would let me—’

  ‘If you are going to offer me a pension for life, my lord, let me tell you now I don’t want it. Why, what should I do with myself, if I wasn’t looking after you?’

  ‘Aye, you’ve said that before, Joseph, but now we are back in the old country you might want to consider taking it a little easier. Settle down, perhaps. Find yourself a wife. I remember you and my sister’s maid were on good terms at one time.’

  Something flickered in Miller’s eyes, but whether it was alarm, a fond memory or embarrassment, Randolph could not tell.

  ‘Let us get you settled first, my lord, and then we’ll see’ was all his man would say.

  A voice could be heard in the passage, inviting all passengers to disembark. Joseph fastened the valise and picked it up.

  ‘Well, my lord, shall we go ashore?’

  * * *

  After so long at sea, it felt strange to Ran to have hard cobbles beneath his feet rather than wooden planking and constant movement, but he had little time to grow accustomed. The shadows were lengthening and he looked about him, his eyes coming to rest on a closed carriage with a soberly dressed figure standing by the door. Even after all these years Randolph recognised his family’s lawyer. He strode towards him, his hand held out.

  ‘Mr Chislett, good day to you.’

  The man bowed low. ‘My lord.’

  ‘Come, man, take my hand,’ barked Randolph. ‘I’ve lived without ceremony for the past six years and I have no mind to begin yet, especially with such an old friend as yourself. And take note, I am travelling as plain Mr Randolph Kirkster for the moment.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’ Chislett briefly shook hands, then waved towards the carriage. ‘I have only the one vehicle. We may need to hire another, if you have a deal of baggage.’

  ‘A couple of trunks and a few bags,’ said Randolph. ‘I think we shall manage.’

  Within minutes the luggage was strapped to the coach and he and Joseph were settling themselves inside, together with Mr Chislett.

  ‘I have booked rooms for you at the Admiral,’ said the lawyer. ‘I am staying there myself and I hope it will suit. I thought that we might meet after breakfast tomorrow to discuss your situation.’

  ‘Why wait until the morning?’ said Randolph. ‘The sooner this business is concluded the better.’ He looked out of the window as the carriage began to slow. ‘Are we here already? Capital. Let us go in. Arrange dinner for the three of us in a private parlour, if you please, Mr Chislett. In, say, an hour. Joseph, I will leave you to organise our bags while I go and order hot water sent up to our rooms.’

  With that he jumped out of the carriage and strode into the inn, leaving the lawyer staring in surprise after him.

  Joseph Miller chuckled. ‘His Lordship’s not one to stand back and let others do all the work. Nor will he walk if he can run. Come along, Mr Chislett, let us get on with it!’

  * * *

  Ran sat back in his chair and gave a loud sigh of satisfaction.

  ‘After months of ship’s rations, I enjoyed that meal!’

  He was sitting at the table in the private parlour of the Admiral with Joseph and Mr Chislett. The dishes had been cleared away and a decanter of the landlord’s finest brandy now stood on the table beside a jug of small beer.

  Miller filled two glasses with brandy and pushed one towards the lawyer.

  ‘You’ll be wanting to get down to business,’ he remarked, picking up the second glass and preparing to leave.

  Ran waved him back to his seat. ‘No need to go, Joseph. Heaven knows I have no secrets from you.’ He poured himself a tankard of small beer and turned to the lawyer. ‘Now, Mr Chislett, if you are ready, let us proceed with the business. Perhaps you might start by explaining to me again, and not in the legal jargon you used in your letter, just how it comes about that a disgraced baron, who was transported from this country in chains, is suddenly become the Earl of Westray? The connection was never even mentioned in my family.’

  Mr Chislett picked up his glass and warmed it between his hands for a moment.

  ‘It is a simple story, my lord, but a tragic one,’ he began. ‘The Seventh Earl had two healthy sons and three younger brothers. As a mere cousin, your grandfather never considered the title would come down through his line. The youngest brother died without issue, the second had a son who was killed at Waterloo, and still no one saw it as a cause for concern. Then the Earl’s two sons were taken—one by fever, the other in a hunting accident—and the remaining brother discovered he had left it too late to marry and have a child. Thus, when the Earl died eighteen months ago, his brother succeeded to the title, but lived to enjoy it for only a few months. The Earldom therefore falls to the next male relative. That is you, my lord. You are now the Ninth Earl.’

  ‘And if I do not want it?’

  ‘As I advised you in my letter, the Earldom of Westray is an ancient title and includes several properties. There are any number of tenants, staff and their families all dependent upon the successful running of the estates. If you do not wish to claim the title, then we would do our best to administer the estates from London, as we have done since the Eighth Earl died nine months ago. The title would be dormant and pass on to your son in due course. If you die without issue, the title becomes extinct.’ The lawyer’s thin mouth turned down a little, expressing his disapproval of such a thought. He continued, his voice devoid of emotion, ‘Of course, my lord, you might choose to leave the administration to your stewards and enjoy the...er...fruits of your new station. That, of course, is up to you.’

  ‘You mean live like a lord while someone else does all the work? No. I thank you. If I decide to take this on, I would do my utmost to improve the estates, not milk ’em dry!’

  * * *

  Randolph sipped his beer. He had made a good life for himself in Australia. He had revelled in the outdoor life, running his farm, building it up into a thriving business. Also, the climate suited him and he was healthier than he had ever been, so much so that he had positively enjoyed the long sea voyage. It had been very different from the first one, when only Joseph Miller’s devotion had kept him alive.

  ‘Lord knows I don’t want the title,’ he said slowly, ‘but it is mine now and I cannot ignore it. As a boy I evaded all my responsibilities, leaving my sister to bear the consequences. I am deeply ashamed of the hell she went through for me. I will not shirk my duty a second time.’

  The merry crackling of the fire filled the awkward silence. At last Joseph Miller spoke.

  ‘So, Lord Westray, we stay in England?’

  Ran met his eyes, read the same affection and faith in them that had helped him through the darkest days. He smiled and raised his glass.

  ‘We stay in England.’

  With the decision made, the atmosphere in the little room lightened. The canny lawyer was not given to displays of emotion, but Ran could almost feel the older man’s relief.

  ‘Very well, my lord. Firstly, I must give you the Westray ring.’ He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket
and handed it over, watching as Randolph took out the ring and tried it first on one finger, then another. ‘If it does not fit, my lord, we can have it made larger.’

  ‘No, no, it fits snugly on my little finger,’ said Ran, holding up his hand. The gold signet ring felt heavy, but he would get used to that, as he would accustom himself to being Earl and all that entailed.

  The lawyer looked relieved and permitted himself a little smile.

  ‘I am glad. Now.’ He fetched a thick wallet from the sideboard and carried it to the table. ‘I have one or two documents here that require your attention.’

  * * *

  When Randolph walked into the private parlour the following morning, he was surprised to see the lawyer already there and finishing his breakfast.

  ‘Good God, man, do you never sleep? It was well after midnight when we went to bed!’

  ‘I find a few hours is sufficient for me,’ replied Chislett. He nodded to Joseph, who was following his master into the room, then turned back to Ran. ‘If you have no further questions or instructions, I plan to set out for London as soon as I have broken my fast.’

  ‘I am sure I shall have a hundred more questions,’ retorted Ran cheerfully. ‘However, for the moment I am content with all we have arranged.’

  ‘Then I shall be on my way.’ Chislett drained his coffee cup and got to his feet. ‘Do not hesitate to write to me, my lord, if anything else comes to mind, and I shall look forward to seeing you in town in the spring. Good day to you, Lord Westray. Mr Miller.’

  The lawyer went out and Ran walked to the window to watch his departure. Only when the carriage had drawn away did he turn back to survey the breakfast table.

  ‘By heaven, I have an appetite this morning, Joseph. I want more than bread rolls and coffee! Will you go and see if the landlord can provide us with eggs and perhaps some ham?’

  ‘Aye, willingly.’ Miller grinned at him. ‘Do you wish me to tell him who you are, puff off your consequence?’