By Barbara Dawson Smith
this can be the tale of the way I, a penniless upstart, turned a countess.
I by no means got down to be the heroine in a romantic story of derring-do. As a spinster of five-and-twenty, i used to be a lot too sensible to visualize myself monitoring a deadly legal or falling prey to ardent nonsense. Nor did I ever envision myself coming into the gilded ballrooms of society the place indolent aristocrats nibbled cake and traded gossip. yet that was once prior to my father used to be wrongfully imprisoned as a jewel thief.
made up our minds to discover the real legal, I posed as an impoverished widow and secured a put up within the grand family of a noble kin - the very relations that had cruelly forged out my mom decades in the past. after all, they knew no longer who i used to be. To them, i used to be basically a servant, an invisible hireling. And little did i do know, my bold plan could throw me into the trail of Simon Croft, the almighty Earl of Rockford.
smug, captivating, and too good-looking for his personal stable, he may have walked instantly off a pedestal in a museum. I had little need for any such rogue, but from the instant of our first assembly, he tempted my unruly center. and shortly, he threatened my schemes besides, for Simon had secrets and techniques of his own….
--Claire, the Countess of Rockford
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Additional info for Countess Confidential
Aye, m’lord,” Cramps said gloomily. “There’s naught to be done but to have you testify. ” His mood grim, Simon departed the station by a rear door. A dark sky threatened rain. Bow Street was sufficiently distant from the exclusive district of Mayfair, where people might recognize him, but he took the precaution of scanning the alley, anyway. He saw only a housewife gathering in her laundry and a watchman marching off on his rounds. Simon mounted his horse.
A baggy gown in the same ugly hue cloaked her slender form. But there was nothing lackluster about the way she was glowering at him. Her blue eyes magnified by a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, she skewered him with sharp disapproval. Simon was unaccustomed to servants staring at him, disdainful or otherwise. That must be why he felt as if he’d been slapped awake. He rationalized his strong reaction to her. Last night, he had held her close for much longer than was proper. He had been captivated by the feel of feminine curves, by the faint scent of lavender, by the softness of woman.
At the end of the corridor, she turned a corner and stopped in front of a closed door. Her heart thumped heavily, and she dried her damp palms on the gray serge of her skirt. In all her planning, she hadn’t expected to feel the slightest reluctance. Yet it was tempting to turn around, to escape back to the safety of her duties. Briefly closing her eyes, Claire called forth the image of her father as she had seen him last, his thin hands gripping the iron bars of his cell, his normally smiling face haggard.