Taming His Hellion Countess (The Lustful Lords Series Book 2) Read online

  Taming His Hellion Countess

  The Lustful Lords, Book 2

  Sorcha Mowbray

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Also by Sorcha Mowbray

  About the Author

  About Jack’s House Publishing

  Taming His Hellion Countess

  by

  by Sorcha Mowbray

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Jack’s House Publishing, LLC

  ISBN 978-1945340185

  Cover design by Fiona Jade

  Chapter 1

  June 1861

  Robert Cooper, the Earl of Brougham, twined his cravat around the redhead’s wrists at the small of her back and smacked her ass. The woman cooed her approval as she lay bent over the edge of the bed.

  “Do keep the racket down, love.”

  He opened his trousers and pulled out his cock. He liked an enthusiastic lover, just not a noisy one. And having her restrained made his balls throb and his cock stiffen. Though, if he were forthright, not as much as it once had.

  “Let the girl be, Cooper.” Marion Thomas, Baron Lincolnshire, was balls-deep in a brunette’s mouth as he made his suggestion. “Some of us enjoy the sounds of passion.”

  A low moan of pleasure interrupted them as Grayson Powell, Viscount Wolfington, smacked the backside of the woman he currently had strapped to the spanking bench. The raven-haired beauty he was treating to a stout spanking sounded as excited as Wolf seemed to be, if his rather impressive cockstand was any indication.

  Cooper ignored his friend and refocused on the woman he was about to fuck. Reaching down, he slid two fingers into her wet slit and pumped in and out. She moaned softly when he added a third finger. While not the tallest or the stoutest man amongst his set, his cock had proven intimidating to a woman on more than one occasion, so he worked his fingers in and out to ensure the sexy redhead would enjoy taking him.

  Once her hips bucked against his hand, he slipped free and notched his cock at her opening. As he slid inside her pussy, the door of their room opened, and Flint—Matthew Derby, Marquess of Flintshire—entered. His face was bloody and bruised, but he tossed everyone a grin.

  “Anyone mind if I jump in?” he asked as he opened the front flap of his trousers.

  Wolf waved him over. “I think Millie has a hankering for a lobcock.”

  Flint grabbed his shaft by the base and slapped it against his other hand, making a thick smacking sound. “Nothing soft here.” He moved over to Millie and nudged her lips with his erection. “Open up, sweetheart.”

  The woman stared at Flint’s cock for a moment and then eagerly swallowed him whole.

  Cooper shook his head at his friends, though watching the eager girl sucking his friend’s rather impressive cock helped bring his excitement up another notch. Then he returned once more to riding his way to ecstasy. He laid one hand on the redhead’s hip and grabbed her bound wrists with the other as he pounded into her generous curves. He’d come to enjoy the carnal delights of a well-endowed woman, and at the moment, he planned to avail himself of hers. What was her name? Mary? He didn’t remember precisely, not that it mattered.

  All around him, the sensual sounds of sex filled the room. The slap of flesh, the slurping noise of a well-sucked cock, and the low groans of the participants climbing toward their climaxes. Sliding his hand from her hip to reach under her, he sought out his partner’s small nub. As he stroked her clit, she wailed and heaved against him, increasing their tempo. He kept up the bruising pace even as his balls tightened. The redhead crashed over the edge of bliss, crying out her pleasure as he continued to stroke into her. Then, with one last thrust, he exploded inside her with a groan of fulfilment.

  All around him, his friends were reaching their satisfying ends. But he needed to tend to the woman beneath him. He rose from the bed and withdrew from her body. Immediately, he released her wrists. “Stay still, love.” Then he fastened up his trousers and inspected her wrists to ensure her skin was not overly abused.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said as she sat up.

  “Think nothing of it. I appreciate your eagerness. Now off with you.”

  He smacked her on the bum once more, eliciting a giggle from her as she departed. The other girls were either following suit or just finishing up with his friends. Was that a strange feeling of disappointment? Longing? No, it was envy that welled within him and had him feeling just the smallest bit jealous of what Stone had found with Theo.

  Pushing aside the wayward thought, Cooper settled down in a nearby chair and waited for the rest of his friends to join him.

  Flint sat down first, his trousers still hanging open a bit. “Hell of a night.”

  “It would seem so.” Cooper took in his friend’s blood-spattered shirt, split lip, and black eye. “I hope the other fellow looks worse.”

  “Never doubt it.” Flint winked and poured himself a brandy from the decanter that sat nearby.

  Wolf joined them then, his clothing set to rights. “Has anyone heard from Stone?”

  Cooper laughed. “I believe he is still madly in love with his wife, however unfashionable that may be.”

  Linc finally joined them, sitting on the bed with his legs up. “I’m beginning to think he has the right of it.”

  Cooper looked at his friend, curious. “How do you see that?”

  Granted, he had seen Stone and Theo’s relationship up close in a way none of the others had. He understood the bond between them, even if he didn’t wish to emulate it for himself.

  “Why not? We all have titles to continue. Why not find a willing woman to do that with? Why strive for a typical ton marriage? Lifeless. Practical. Cold. When I must marry, I hope to follow his lead.” Linc shrugged.

  “Not I,” Cooper averred. “I’m pressing on with the original plan. I’ll find a suitable wife, one who is scandal-free, an heiress in her own right, and content to settle down to a regular ton marriage. We’ll do our duty to the title and go our own ways most of the time.”

  He could picture quiet evenings at home sitting by the fireplace, a drink in his hand, and his favorite dog, Sally, asleep at his feet. His wife would be appropriately occupied tending to his household.

  Flint snorted. “Cooper, have you gone soft in the head? No woman will let you have your dog in the house.”


  The others chuckled, but Cooper knew better. He’d already identified his prospective bride, and it would be a solid arrangement once he was certain there were no deep, dark family secrets lurking in the proverbial closet. His man of affairs had assured him that the investigation he was conducting would be wrapped up in a matter of days. Then he could approach her brother and make a formal agreement, as soon as he was ready.

  Lady Emmaline Winterburn would be both docile and accommodating of his demands. Fortunately for her, he was of a mind to pluck her from the obscurity of spinsterhood and set her up as his countess. He fully expected her to all but fall at his feet in gratitude.

  Chapter 2

  Lady Emmaline Winterburn’s heart felt as though it might burst from her chest at any moment. Considering she was attending a ball, some would count that as reason enough.

  Double damn. Someone—a maid, likely—was trundling down the Harringtons’ hall. She dashed into the first unlocked door she discovered and waited. The plodding footsteps came closer, and closer still. All the while, Emily was certain she was doomed. But then, the steps continued on past the room where she stood, back plastered to the wall as though that might somehow save her wretched hide.

  Once she was certain the hall was clear and a quick peek confirmed it, she straightened up to find she had darted into the very room she sought. Moonlight spilled in through the bedroom window, illuminating the space just enough to help her with her task. The faint sparkle of gems caught her eye, drawing her to Lady Harrington’s dressing table.

  Clearly, the lady of the house had been indecisive on which pieces to wear this evening, much to Emily’s benefit. With so many jewels strewn about, it occurred to her that nipping two items would likely be as equally unnoticed as one. With a careful eye, she selected the two pieces she thought were of a good size, but not so large as to be quickly noticed as missing.

  Lifting the skirt of her ball gown, she found the hidden seam in her petticoats and tucked the first piece into place. She repeated the process on the other side.

  Satisfied with her selection of baubles, she moved to the door and listened for movement. Hearing none, she whipped out into the hall and quickly made her way back to the cacophony of the ball.

  As the noise and odors of the utter crush the Harringtons hosted every year swept over her, Emily considered leaving. Between the weight of the jewels in her skirts and the pounding of her pulse, it seemed departure was her most reasonable option. With her great-aunt Hortense home in bed—the poor dear’s joints were too inflamed to allow her to attend the ball—Emily was left to her brother’s dubious care and the good graces of their family friend, Lady Vardy. Focused as her brother likely was on his gaming, he would barely notice if she left. But good conscience had her stopping a footman to send a quick note.

  “Please see that Lord Dunmere receives this as soon as possible.”

  The servant nodded and set off toward her brother’s last known location.

  Despite the scandalous nature of doing so alone, she was ready to depart the soiree. Emily turned to head toward the front entry; however, the foyer was so crowded that it prevented any forward progress. Much to her dismay, it appeared she would be forced to remain where she was for the moment.

  Then her plight took a turn for the worse.

  “Ah, Lady Emmaline, there you are.” Lord Brougham bowed. “I searched all over for you. I believe the last waltz of the evening is about to be played.”

  “How perfectly lovely for you.” Emily glanced back over her shoulder in hopes an escape route might emerge.

  Seeing no such opportunity, she faced her unwanted suitor.

  Taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, he quirked one brow up. “I believe we are engaged for this dance, if you will merely peruse your dance card.”

  She was well aware, without looking, that he was two of four names on her dance card. The previous two agonizing dances with men who were poor conversationalists and even poorer dancers made her wish she could avoid yet another. However, Lord Brougham was an acquaintance, which had made his earlier request for a dance both annoying and impossible to refuse. Emily had hoped to avoid the too-handsome man, with his golden-blond hair, darkly intense brown eyes, and chiseled jawline. He embodied the Corinthian style, which she had never found appealing.

  Unable to deny the man his rightful dance—no matter how suspect she found his interest—she relented with as much good grace as she could muster under the circumstances. “Please excuse my forgetful nature, my lord. You are, of course, correct.”

  As the warning refrain sounded, he led her onto the dance floor, where they assumed their positions. When the music commenced, Lord Brougham swept her into his arms, and the too-familiar feel of masculine strength surrounded her in the most disconcerting fashion.

  “You are looking quite fetching this evening, Lady Emmaline, if I may be so bold.” His low rumble proved just loud enough to carry over the orchestra.

  “Thank you, my lord. You too are in fine fettle this evening.” She carefully pinned her gaze to the midpoint of his chest, somewhere below his chin.

  The weight of the jewels seemed to grow heavier in her skirts with each sweep around the floor. The guilt tried to seep in, but she refused to surrender to it. Her dead parents would have been horrified to see how low she and her brother had fallen under the weight of his unstoppable gambling. It was up to her to salvage the family name and save her brother from certain ruin. If only she had learned the truth sooner, she might have had a chance to do so without resorting to nefarious means. Her only consolation? She chose her victims carefully, only stealing from those members of her set who were either known to be awful people, or who had personally treated her poorly. Sadly, there were victims aplenty, and with a new social season starting up, she would have an abundance of opportunities to turn her brother’s—and, more importantly, her own—financial tides.

  “Why, thank you, my lady.” Lord Brougham pulled her ever so slightly closer. While the ladies of Almack’s might have noticed the minute shift, Lady Harrington was certain to be too busy preening over her apparent crush to notice such a minor impropriety.

  “Tell me, Lady Emmaline, when you are not attending social events, how do you entertain yourself?”

  The man offered the most dashing smile she’d encountered since the Wilton Incident, and surprisingly, she believed for a moment that he truly cared about her answer. But then she reminded herself that men of his ilk, particularly a member of the Lustful Lords, would have only one interest in a woman such as herself. Certainly, marriage wasn’t on the man’s mind.

  Worried about what his interest signified, she mustered up as vapid a reply as she could in hopes it would put him off. “Why, I shop, my lord.”

  “Indeed? Surely not all the time?” he queried with a small crease between his brows.

  Emily felt her cheeks heat a little as a denial fought to make its way past her sealed lips. “Well, of course, one must eat and sleep.”

  The man coughed, though he somehow managed to retain his composure enough to keep time with the music. “Certainly. And do you attend any salons, perhaps something artistically inclined?”

  Again, Emily fought the urge to allow her true intellectual pursuits to surface. Though perhaps her love of Wollstonecraft would be more off-putting than being a spendthrift nincompoop? No, his reaction so far indicated that her portrayal was effective. She summoned the kind of simpering tripe she had frequently heard spill from the mouths of the debutantes she came out with years ago. “How perfectly gauche, my lord. Of course, I sing adequately enough, but truly, a lady should not strain herself. We are the more delicate sex.”

  A faint pink dusted Lord Brougham’s cheeks as he swept her about one more circuit. “How silly of me. You are, of course, correct. A woman would be taxed by intellectual pursuits. Why, I was just saying the other day to a chum that I appreciated nothing more than a woman who can keep herself occupied with appropriate pursu
its. It is so tiresome to see these bluestockings gadding about, behaving in such a ridiculous fashion.”

  Emily ground her teeth and closed her eyes. She must remember that she wanted nothing more than to lead him to believe she was not worth his time. The derision in his tone confirmed her ploy was working, even if it made her wish to stamp on his toe and march off.

  “My lord, I find it tiresome that you would speak of any woman in such a fashion.” She pressed her lips together again and glared at the man as the music ended.

  As the other dancers bowed and made their way off the floor to make way for the next dance, Lord Brougham grabbed her by the arm and led her out on the terrace overlooking the garden. “Lady Emmaline, I find your willingness to deceive me with such a trivial portrayal tiresome.”

  They stopped on the terrace, the only immediate couple present as a quadrille began inside.

  Emily tried to yank her arm free from his firm grip, but proved outmatched by his strength. She glared at him balefully. “Fine, my lord. I am a spinster who has far too much time available to read. Books. I enjoy everything from gothic romance to the very enlightened writings of Mary Wollstonecraft. I am more and more content each day with my spinster status, and find this entire charade to be wearing. This is not the first ball you have paid particular attention to me in the past few weeks.”