Sarah Mallory - His Countess For A Week

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...

SARAH MALLORYgrew up in the West Country, England, telling stories. She moved to Yorkshire with her young family, but after nearly thirty years of 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 Mills & Boon Historical. She loves to hear from readers and you can reach her via her website at: sarahmallory.com.

Also by Sarah Mallory

The Duke’s Secret Heir

Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance

The Infamous Arrandales miniseries

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Temptation of a Governess

Return of the Runaway

The Outcast’s Redemption

Saved From Disgrace miniseries

The Ton’s Most Notorious Rake

Beauty and the Brooding Lord

The Highborn Housekeeper

And look out for the last book

Lilian and the Irresistible Duke by Virginia Heath coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

His Countess for a Week

Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90118-9

HIS COUNTESS FOR A WEEK

© 2019 Sarah Mallory

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Text to speech

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

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

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

Extract

About the Publisher

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.