The Earl's Irresistible Challenge Read online

  Could this infamous rake...

  ...finally have found his countess?

  Part of The Sinful Sinclairs. When Lucas, Lord Sinclair, receives a mysterious summons from a Miss Olivia Silverdale he’s skeptical about whether he can help her. But Olivia, although eccentric, is in earnest about her quest to restore her late godfather’s reputation. Lucas’s curiosity is piqued, and not just by Olivia’s intelligent eyes and lithe form. A new challenge quickly presents itself: keeping Miss Silverdale at arm’s length!

  The Sinful Sinclairs miniseries

  Book 1—The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge

  And look out for the next two Sinful Sinclairs—coming soon!

  “It is a poignant, sentimental and expertly written love story.”

  —Goodreads on Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress by Lara Temple

  “Sensitive, touching and perceptive, this emotional book took me on the most wonderful journey where the hero and heroine deal with the obstacles in their way.”

  —Goodreads on Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress by Lara Temple

  The Sinful Sinclairs

  Who can tame these scandalous siblings?

  Ever since their father’s infamous death in a duel, Lucas, Chase and their sister, Samantha, have lived beneath the shadow of the Sinclair name. Lucas has reluctantly stepped into the role of the earl, Chase has grown his reputation as the easygoing scoundrel of the ton and willful Sam has withdrawn from London society.

  However, three romantic encounters are about to change their lives, and challenge them to rethink what it means to be a Sinclair!

  Read

  Lucas and Olivia’s story in

  The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge

  And look out for Chase’s and Sam’s stories

  Coming soon!

  Author Note

  I hate goodbyes. I’m awful at them.

  I’ve moved so often—houses, countries, schools, jobs—and each time it’s the same; that awful, dreaded farewell ritual. I never thought it would apply to my fictional characters, but since I’ve become an author I’ve discovered my imaginary world is not that different from my real world—I hate saying goodbye to characters I’ve come to love and live through.

  So when it came time to say goodbye to my Wild Lords and Innocent Ladies trilogy last year and start a new book I found myself digging in my heels. Even while writing Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress my mind was feverishly searching for a way to fight this imminent loss. Without even realizing it I started building bridges to my next story, using the building blocks of Stanton’s. It became absolutely necessary for me to write the story of his once childhood friends and cousins who were even more tainted by their family’s scandal than Lord Stanton.

  So instead of saying goodbye, I said hello to the unconventional Sinful Sinclair siblings—Lucas, Chase (Charles) and Sam (Samantha). Instead of farewell I found a new family. The only problem is that they too are well on their way to leaving the nest and I am hard at work building new anti-goodbye bridges...

  LARA TEMPLE

  The Earl’s Irresistible

  Challenge

  Lara Temple was three years old when she begged her mother to take dictation of her first adventure story. Since then she has led a double life—by day an investment and high-tech professional who has lived and worked on three continents, but when darkness falls she loses herself in history and romance (at least on the page). Luckily her husband and two beautiful and very energetic children help weave it all together.

  Books by Lara Temple

  Harlequin Historical

  Lord Crayle’s Secret World

  The Reluctant Viscount

  The Duke’s Unexpected Bride

  The Sinful Sinclairs

  The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge

  Wild Lords and Innocent Ladies

  Lord Hunter’s Cinderella Heiress

  Lord Ravenscar’s Inconvenient Betrothal

  Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  To the marvelous, generous, creative, and all-round wonderful ladies of the Unlaced Historical Romance Group—you are my surrogate family in Romancelandia, and my little world is so much the richer for having found you...

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Sent as the Viking’s Bride by Michelle Styles

  Chapter One

  Blood was thudding in Olivia’s ears, loud in the echoing hollowness of St Margaret’s. She had purposely chosen an hour when there were likely to be few people in the church, but she hadn’t expected it to be empty. Or dark.

  She should have realised they wouldn’t waste many candles on a near-empty church on a rainy winter afternoon. The few tallow candles smoked sulkily in their sconces and occasionally shivered in the draught that seemed to come from all directions at once.

  Surely if she cried out someone would hear, wouldn’t they? Hans Town might not be a fashionable part of London, but it was respectable. Or perhaps it was best to just tuck tail and run...

  Too late.

  The strike of boots on the flagstones matched the rhythm in her ears and a man emerged from the darkness at the far end of the nave, his greatcoat rising about him like sweeping wings. She was not surprised they called him Sinful Sinclair. She presumed it was merely a play on his family name and less than pristine reputation, but, as he moved towards her in a swift, gliding motion and she noted his pitch-black hair and uncompromising features, she understood the name better.

  ‘Lord Sinclair, thank you for coming,’ she said as he stopped before her, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket.

  ‘Don’t thank me, this isn’t a social call. You sent this quaint little note?’

  ‘I did. Lord Sinclair—’

  ‘What do you want and why the devil did you have to choose such an inconvenient location?’

  ‘It is convenient for me. Lord Sinclair, I—’

  ‘I didn’t see another carriage in the lane outside. How did you arrive?’

  She blinked. She had not even begun and already she was losing control of the situation.

  ‘What on earth does it matter? Lord Sinclair, I—’

  ‘It matters because I prefer to know what I am up against when I come to meet a silly little miss in an empty church in the middle of nowhere. If this is some kind of plan to entrap me I should warn you, you have very much mistaken your prey...’

  Olivia’s confusion disappeared and she couldn’t hold back a laugh.

&nb
sp; ‘You believe I brought you here to entrap you? Goodness, you are vain.’

  His eyes narrowed and she felt a new flicker of alarm. Perhaps laughing at him was not advisable under the circumstances.

  ‘Lord Sinclair...’ she began again and hesitated. The clear list of points she wished to make faded under the oppressive force of his black eyes. She took another deep breath. ‘Lord Sinclair—’

  ‘I know my name,’ he said impatiently. ‘Only too well. Stop wearing it thin and get to the blasted point.’

  ‘I have some information about your father.’

  The draught swirled his coat out in a wide arc about him and cut through the thin fabric of her own cloak and she shivered. He didn’t reply immediately, but the impatience was gone, replaced by a rather sardonic smile.

  ‘So do I and very little of it is good. What of it?’

  ‘I have evidence that raises some questions about the circumstances of his death. It is possible that he was wronged.’

  The only sound was the faint whistling of the wind through cracks in the high windows. She pulled her cloak more tightly about her and waited.

  ‘Raise your veil.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I prefer to see people’s faces when they are lying to me.’

  Olivia considered her options. She didn’t know if involving this man was one of her more intelligent ideas, but he had come and she would have to see this through. She rolled back the thick lace veil attached to her bonnet and his dark eyes scanned her face without any change in their expression of amused contempt.

  ‘A little miss, but not silly, I think. Now let us begin anew. Why did you summon me here?’

  ‘I told you, I have some information about the circumstances surrounding your father’s death.’

  ‘I see. And what do you want in exchange for this so-called information?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘Not a very clever bargaining approach. You should have come with a clearer idea of what you think your lies are worth. Or what you think I am worth.’

  ‘But that is precisely what I am trying to determine.’

  He laughed, a low warm sound that did nothing to soothe her skittering nerves.

  ‘You want a list of my assets? You are by far the most inept blackmailer I have come across, sweetheart, and I have met a few.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about your financial worth,’ she replied coldly. She knew he would be difficult, but she had not counted on him being annoying as well. She wasn’t at all certain she wanted to deal with this man.

  ‘I can think of only one other level on which I might be of any worth. But it’s a bit cold here for that, however tempting the bait. I have a carriage waiting outside, though, if you like.’

  ‘No, I would not like!’ she said, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Really, if only he would be quiet for a moment and let her think. She knew he was a care-for-nobody, but she had expected a little more interest in her story. Did he really not care at all? If he did not, there was no point in continuing. Except that she very much needed help. Mercer, her man of business, was a treasure, but he was only good when told precisely what to do and she no longer knew which way to direct him.

  ‘Are you certain? You have a certain charm and I wouldn’t mind seeing just how far—’

  ‘Oh, would you please be quiet so I may think! I had no idea you would be so provoking!’

  At least that wiped the mocking humour from his face. She waited for his anger, wishing she had held her tongue, but he merely took her elbow, turning her towards the exit.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘No! Let me go!’

  Her confusion turned to panic and she tugged her arm out of his grasp. He raised his hands and took a step back.

  ‘Calm down. I won’t hurt you, but it’s as cold as a witch’s... It is freezing in here and I don’t feel inclined to stand around in this draughty church discussing my family for any busybody to hear while you make up your mind about extorting me. If you wish to speak with me, you may do so in the carriage. If not, goodnight.’

  His words were calm, but his brisk stride as he headed towards the exit was a blatant dismissal. Olivia stared at his retreating figure with such a wave of hatred she could hardly believe it originated from her. The temptation to throw back her head and howl at the eaves was so powerful she could almost hear her own voice echoing back at her.

  Instead she filled her lungs with cold air, lowered her veil and stalked after Lord Sinclair.

  She reached the road and for one panicked moment thought she was too late, but then she saw the dark-panelled carriage on the narrow lane leading past the church. The buildings hung low, blocking out what remained of the late afternoon gloom and she could hardly see his face under the brim of his hat, but felt him watching her as she approached. Without a word he opened the carriage door.

  She must be mad to be contemplating stepping into a carriage with one of the Sinful Sinclairs. Mad, desperate or a fool. Well, she was desperate. And though she might be an utter fool, something about the way he mocked her at least relieved concern for her person. But still...

  ‘Lord Sinclair, perhaps we could...’

  He sighed and stepped into the carriage himself.

  She hadn’t meant to grab the door as he closed it. She felt the resistance of his hold on the handle, then it eased but remained taut, counting out his patience. When he let go she stifled her qualms and grabbed her skirts to take the high step into the carriage. Once inside she pressed herself as far back into a corner as she could. He tossed a rug towards her.

  ‘I wish you would stop acting like a hissing cat being forced into a pond. Put that around you before you freeze; that cloak is about as useful in this weather as a handkerchief. Now, you have ten minutes to tell your tale and be gone.’

  She clasped her hands together and began her rehearsed speech.

  ‘My godfather, Henry Payton, was found dead. The constable was summoned by a woman by the name of Marcia Pendle, who claimed she was Henry’s mistress and that he died...while...well, in bed. However, I know she isn’t the genteel widow she claims to be, but a courtesan at an establishment on Catte Street and that she was paid to make that claim to the constable at the inquest and though I don’t know why, I am at least certain she was not my godfather’s mistress.’

  ‘Are you? That is charmingly loyal of you, though naïve. But how does any of this sordid but mundane tale relate to my father?’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t, not directly. At least not that I can see as yet. But amongst the belongings my godfather left at the leased house where he died were letters written to him by a Mr Howard Sinclair from twenty years ago and with them a note in Henry’s hand which read, “If this is true Howard Sinclair was terribly wronged and something must be done,” and underneath that he wrote the name Jasper Septimus and underscored it several times. I don’t know if there is any connection between this note and his death and Marcia Pendle’s lies. The letters appear to be mostly business correspondence and I have no idea who Jasper Septimus is. I know this is all garbled, but I had to see if you could shed any light on this story.’

  He listened with the same mocking calm with which he’d dismissed her earlier, as if he was watching a mediocre play just titillating enough to overcome the urge to leave the theatre. With his arms crossed and his chin sunk into his cravat, to her exhausted mind, it looked like the inverted white triangle of white fur on her pet wolfhound’s throat. Except that Twitch wasn’t in the least frightening despite his size and impressive fangs.

  Finally he spoke.

  ‘I grant you credit for a very vivid imagination. Let me see if I have managed to follow this Drury Lane plot. Sorry, two interconnected Drury Lane plots. In the first a doxy is paid by someone to lie to the magistrates about being your god
father’s mistress, presumably to mask the circumstances of his death which I gather were at the very least humiliating. In the second your godfather ruminates over the past and comes to the startling conclusion based on the words of a Jasper Septimus, whose name is an insult in itself, that my father was wronged. And this revelation is possibly at the root of the first tale. Have I done your fantasies credit?’

  It was evident he was a cold man, but she expected to hear something in his voice when he spoke of his father’s death. There was nothing, not a quiver or a change of inflection.

  ‘I am not fabricating any of this. It is the truth.’

  ‘Well, so what?’

  ‘So what?’ she asked, shocked.

  ‘The facts you proffered don’t amount to much, do they? Certainly not to a murderous plot that spans decades. A much more likely explanation is that you or this woman are attempting to extract money from me on the back of what you believe is my sentimental need to know more about my sire’s very ignominious departure from this world. Let me assure you I have no such need. In fact, you might have gathered I am not of a sentimental disposition.’

  ‘You are ignoring a further possibility, my lord.’

  ‘Am I? Enlighten me. I admit to being curious what your rather unique mind will conjure next. You are a very peculiar girl, do you know?’

  ‘I am not a girl. I am almost four and twenty years of age!’ She immediately regretted her outburst as the amusement in his eyes deepened. He was baiting her and she was rising to his hook each time. She should be the one in control of this conversation and yet she had let him take the reins from the moment he entered the church. She removed the rug, placing it on the seat beside her.

  ‘Goodnight, Lord Sinclair. I shall not waste any more of your time. You are clearly not interested in what I have to say.’

  Again that soft gliding motion of his was deceptive. Though she was closer to the carriage door, she had not even reached the handle when his hand was there.

  ‘Don’t play me,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t be led. And certainly not by a pert almost-twenty-four-year-old who likes mysteries and hiding behind veils. You have five minutes remaining.’