The housekeepers forbidd.., p.1
The Housekeeper's Forbidden Earl, page 1
The intruder must have sensed the movement behind him for at that moment he began to turn. Kate didn’t hesitate. She swung the pan, lifting as she did so, landing a heavy blow to the man’s skull. To Kate’s horror the intruder lurched toward her before collapsing into a heap.
Petrified she had just killed someone, Kate hurried to the man’s side. Carefully she put a tentative hand on his chest, her relief at finding it rising and falling cut short when a strong hand encircled her wrist and the man flipped her onto her back and pressed her body to the ground, pinning her there. Kate screamed, primal fear taking over.
“For pity’s sake,” he said in a deep, well-educated voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Kate stilled, taking the opportunity to look up at her assailant.
As she caught sight of his features in the darkness of the kitchen, she had a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Lord Henderson,” she murmured, her breath escaping her in one big gasp.
“Yes. Who are you?” He was still straddling her, his pelvis pressed against hers in a way that would be intimate if she hadn’t just whacked him over the head with a heavy copper saucepan.
“Kate,” she managed to stammer. “Kate Winters.”
“Charmed to meet you, Miss Winters. What are you doing in my house?”
“I am your housekeeper.”
Author Note
A question authors are often asked is where they get their inspiration from. For some it is a conversation overheard or a relationship observed; for others it is a theme in a film or a television program. I find often it is a setting that catches my attention and sparks that first idea of a story. For The Housekeeper’s Forbidden Earl it was during a long-overdue trip to the Lake District for a friend’s wedding. Despite living in England my whole life, I had never been to the Northwest before, but last year we made the trip.
Picture the scene. It was November, pouring with rain and leaves flying everywhere. We arrived in the dark, struggling to find our way down the windy lanes and almost ending up nose first in a river. After retreating inside, I may have grumbled a little about English weather in the winter. The next morning, however, the sun was shining and I was in for a treat. As I stepped out the front door of our little cottage, the light bounced off the lake and there were trees with leaves every shade of yellow, red, brown and green. It was spectacular.
It was during that trip I decided I wanted to write something set in the Lake District. I was struck by how someone running from their past might find solace in the beauty of the area, and from there George and Kate, with all the pain in their pasts, evolved in my mind. I do not want to give too much of their journey away, but suffice it to say, they prove love flourishes and souls heal in beautiful places.
LAURA MARTIN
The Housekeeper’s
Forbidden Earl
Laura Martin writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing, she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.
Books by Laura Martin
Harlequin Historical
A Ring for the Pregnant Debutante
An Unlikely Debutante
An Earl to Save Her Reputation
The Viscount’s Runaway Wife
Snowbound Surrender
“Christmas with the Major”
The Brooding Earl’s Proposition
Her Best Friend, the Duke
One Snowy Night with Lord Hauxton
The Captain’s Impossible Match
The Housekeeper’s Forbidden Earl
Matchmade Marriages
The Marquess Meets His Match
A Pretend Match for the Viscount
A Match to Fool Society
The Ashburton Reunion
Flirting with His Forbidden Lady
Falling for His Practical Wife
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
For Sinead and Andrew, thank you for introducing me to the beauty of the Lake District
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
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Excerpt from Falling for His Pretend Countess by Lauri Robinson
Chapter One
With a sigh, Kate eased into the comfortable chair in the housekeeper’s room and took a moment to enjoy the quiet of the house. It was late, a little after eleven in the evening, and she was the only one in residence. Even so, there wasn’t complete silence. The old house creaked and groaned in the slightest breeze, and there was the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. All these noises seemed familiar, comforting, and Kate revelled in the predictability of the routine here at Crosthwaite House. She might have been in her position for only six months, but every day was the same. Once she would have found that boring, but these last few months, it had been exactly what she had needed to heal her broken heart and bruised ego and start to discover what was important to her.
She took the cup of hot chocolate from the little table beside her and sipped at the warm liquid. It was her one indulgence of the day, something she looked forward to as the two young maids from the village said their farewells at seven o’clock. Sometimes she would take it curled up in the grand library upstairs, one of the thousands of books open on her lap, but most days she would retreat to the sanctuary of her room and enjoy the sweet drink just before bed.
The room was modest but comfortable. For thirty years, the previous housekeeper had kept the same furnishings, but when she had left, handing over the keys of the big house to Kate, she had told Kate to use pieces from around the house to make the room more homely, more to her taste. Now there was a rocking chair taken from a room on the very top floor, a set of bedsheets from a room that looked like it had once been allocated to a governess, and a footstool from a pile of furniture stored in the basement.
It was nothing like her bedroom at home, but it was functional and cosy, and Kate thought of it as a haven from the world outside.
With great effort, she stood and walked down the long passageway to the kitchen, taking her lone candle to light the way. She placed her cup next to the sink, happy to leave it until the morning to wash up, as she was always up and getting on with her day before the two maids arrived from the village.
Back in her rooms, Kate closed the door behind her and climbed into bed. There was something in the air here that meant she always slept well, especially if she took a long walk by the lake after dinner. Her eyelids were already drooping as she blew out the candle, and as the darkness surrounded her, she felt her body slip into that heavy state between waking and sleep.
* * *
The house was in complete darkness as he approached, but George could have found his way blindfolded with both arms tied behind his back. His childhood had been spent travelling between the various properties his father owned, but Crosthwaite House had always been his favourite. The grounds were filled with secret places to hide, and in the summer months, it had been a short run to the lake for a cooling dip. For a moment he allowed those happy memories to loop in his mind, knowing soon they would be pushed out by darker ones.
He hadn’t set eyes on the house for two years, and even in the darkness, he was surprised at how well the grounds and building were maintained. On his departure to Italy, he had left the estate in the hands of Mrs Lemington, his elderly housekeeper, and her husband, who acted as groundskeeper. They were both into their eighth decade, and George felt a flicker of guilt that he had left them to cope for so long without any guidance. He did have a land steward who looked after some of his bigger properties in the south, but Crosthwaite House was a long way from London, and he doubted the steward had provided much input.
Tired from the long ride and ready for a good night’s sleep in a soft bed, George found an empty stable and set about preparing his horse for the night. All the equipment he needed was on hand, including a small amount of fresh hay, and within fifteen minutes, Odysseus was settled in the stable with a shining coat and a hearty dinner.
Turning his attention to the house, George checked his watch. It was after midnight, and there had been no movement in all the time he had been rubbing down Odysseus. Mr an
With a flicker of guilt for disturbing the elderly couple at such a late hour, George made his way to the front door and knocked loudly with the brass door knocker. Inside he heard the sound echo around the empty house, bouncing off the walls. Patiently he waited as a minute passed and then another. He wondered how long it would take the Lemingtons to get out of bed and make their way to the hallway. He reached for the door knocker again when a few minutes had ticked by.
He hadn’t considered that he might not be able to wake the Lemingtons. When he’d set off on the ride north this morning, he had planned to be in the village of Thornthwaite much earlier than this, perhaps arriving around dinner time, but he’d been plagued by memories on this last bit of the journey and stopped for a drink in a local tavern to steel his nerves. For a couple of hours, he’d put off the inevitable, realising only when he stepped into the cool night how late it had become.
Cursing quietly, he took a step back and looked around, his gaze settling on one of the basement windows. It was slightly ajar, and from memory he thought it led into the kitchen, above the huge sink. He might get soapy knees from climbing in, but at least he would be inside the house for the night.
Deciding to abandon the idea of trying to wake the Lemingtons, he strode over to the window and began to prise it open, grazing his knuckles on the ground in the process. It took a minute to get it to stay fully open and allow enough space for him to slip inside.
The wiggle he had to do to make his way through the window was undignified, and George was glad he was unobserved. As he had suspected, it was a little drop to the sink, but in a couple of minutes he was standing on the kitchen floor, feeling quite pleased with himself.
* * *
Kate woke with a start, knowing immediately something was wrong. For a moment she lay completely still, listening intently, her whole body tense and on edge. Every muscle was poised, ready to move, and when she heard a clatter coming from the kitchen, she jumped out of bed, her heart hammering in her chest. Quietly she chastised her carelessness at not asking one of the lads from the village to come and fix the broken kitchen window today. It had been stiff for a while and now wouldn’t close properly. She’d sent a message to the young man who would come and do odd jobs around Crosthwaite House when needed, and he had told her he would come up in a few days to fix the window. Now she wished she had insisted it be sooner.
They were remote here in Thornthwaite, with no neighbours save for the ducks for at least two miles. The new groundskeeper lived with his wife in the gatehouse at the end of the drive, but Kate knew he had gone to visit his daughter and her new baby for the week. There was no help, no one to notice a shadowy figure moving around. Kate stopped for a moment, weighing up her options. She could quietly turn the key in the lock of her door and wait for whoever it was to go away, or she could confront them. In the darkness, hopefully she would be able to trick the intruder into thinking there was more than just a twenty-four-year-old slightly built woman in the house.
Part of her wanted to hide away, but she felt a deep responsibility for the house, and she knew that if the intruder was allowed to roam without challenge, thousands of pounds’ worth of artwork and furniture could be stolen by morning.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Kate slipped out of her bedroom door and crept along the hall to the kitchen. The stone floor was freezing underfoot, and every step she took, she felt a pang of dread drive through her.
The kitchen had windows high in the walls that looked out at ground level, which meant it was a fraction brighter in here, and as Kate peeked around the door she was able to see a lone figure rising up from the floor. Her eyes flicked to the window, confirming it was the broken one that had allowed the intruder to get in.
At the moment the man’s back was to her, and he hadn’t noticed her at all. She knew her only advantage was that of surprise. He was tall with broad shoulders, and she didn’t doubt he would easily best her in anything that required a physical show of strength.
Stepping slowly, she moved into the kitchen proper, her eyes focussed on the heavy copper pans that hung above the great fireplace. Some of those pans she could barely lift, and even the smaller ones would be a great weapon. Kate felt some relief as she lifted a medium-sized pan from its hook silently. At least now she was armed.
The intruder must have sensed the movement behind him, for at that moment he began to turn. Kate didn’t hesitate, knowing this was her one chance. She swung the pan, lifting as she did so, landing a heavy blow to the man’s skull. The clang of metal meeting skull echoed around the kitchen, and to Kate’s horror, the intruder lurched towards her before collapsing into a heap.
Petrified that she had just killed someone, Kate dropped the pan and hurried to the man’s side, crouching beside him. Carefully she put a tentative hand on the man’s chest. Her relief at finding it rising and falling was cut short when strong fingers whipped up and encircled her wrist. He deftly flipped her onto her back and pressed her body to the ground, pinning her there. Kate screamed, primal fear taking over. The man loosened his grip a little, although he did not let go, and Kate was still pinned underneath him. She started to struggle, determined she would not give in to whatever fate this scoundrel had in store for her without fighting to the very end.
‘For pity’s sake,’ the man said in a deep, well-educated voice. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
Kate stilled, taking the opportunity to look up at her assailant.
As she caught sight of his features in the darkness of the kitchen, she had a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. He looked familiar, very familiar, probably because she spent ten minutes a day polishing the frame that surrounded his portrait in the great hall.
‘Lord Henderson,’ she murmured, her breath escaping her in one big gasp.
‘Yes. Who are you?’ He was still straddling her, his pelvis pressed against hers in a way which would be intimate if she hadn’t just whacked him over the head with a heavy copper saucepan.
‘Kate,’ she managed to stammer, trying to slow her pounding heart and regain her composure. ‘Kate Winters.’
‘Charmed to meet you, Miss Winters. What the hell are you doing in my house?’
She bristled slightly, and this helped her to rally. With a pointed expression, she looked down to where he was pinning her to the floor.
‘Allow me up and I will be happy to tell you.’
He had the decency to look a little sheepish at the position he was holding her in and stood quickly, holding out a hand to pull her to her feet. She noticed he picked up the saucepan she had hit him with and placed it out of reach on the big wooden table.
‘I’m hardly going to hit you again,’ she murmured.
‘I am a man who doesn’t like to take chances.’
Kate took a moment to brush herself down, aware she was likely going to be out of a job after this debacle. The idea of being forced out of Crosthwaite House made her heart sink, and she knew she would have to fight for her position. There was no way she was ready to leave her sanctuary yet.
‘Kate Winters,’ she said in a brisk, no-nonsense manner, hoping introducing herself again would allow them to brush away the events of the last few minutes.
She saw the hint of an amused smile tug at the earl’s lips and was delighted to find her master had at least a little sense of humour.
‘I am your housekeeper.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Lord Henderson said, frowning.
Kate blinked. She hadn’t been prepared to stumble at this first obstacle.
