My Only Earl (PREVIEW only.) Book #3 of the Heirs of Cornwall Series

Chapter 1: "Pretty Boy"

Author's Notes:

My Only Earl is a registered copyright of 

Dragonblade Publishing Inc. and Veronica Crowe.

South Street

Port of New York

1844                                                                    

Edward Devlin Huntington, the Earl of Calverston, watched the bustling pier from his office window on the top floor of GRW Trading Company.

Sailors, travelers, vendors, and beggars wove among the sea of carriages, carts, and cargo. The nickering of horses and constant rattle of wagon wheels mingled with the shouts of enterprising urchins soliciting work in exchange for coin. Clouds of steam billowed from massive ship funnels, rendering the air with the smell of burning coal, followed by the shrill whistles of approaching steamships coming to port.

He took a deep pull from his cigar, a habit he had acquired here in America, and released his breath in a curl of smoke swirling in the breeze wafting from the bay.

Three months short of seven years—he had been staring at the same scenery day after day.

His friends had been appalled at his decision to come here and work for a living. As a scion of one of England's wealthiest families, he certainly did not need to.

But he had envisioned his prospects differently than they did.

The time for commerce and industry had begun and income reliant on farming and land would soon wane. Aristocratic households that refused to change their antiquated ways would soon face financial ruin. His father and his partners had seen it coming years ago and thwarted convention over innovation.

He put the cigar in his mouth and inhaled, letting the warm, earthy taste of smoke linger on his tongue before exhaling it slowly, as he observed the brisk business below.

The slew of merchants and muck was not pretty to look at, but it was the future. It was the fastest way for him to build his own wealth and make a name for himself.

He smirked.

Who would have thought he would last this long in this smoky, soot-covered jungle of trade?

But he had learned to thrive in the brisk industry of the seaport—the relentless trading and bargaining, the shrewd acquisitions, the fierce bidding and rivalry, the mountains of money made daily.

He would surely miss all of it—but his work here was done.

It was time for him to go back home to England.

Time for him to stop pretending she did not exist.

Hair of spun gold, eyes the color of blue , and lips so red, any man would beg on his knees for a kiss, shrouded his vision. He may have had dalliances with the most desirable women of New York society to satisfy his baser instincts, but none could measure up to her—the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on, the only one who had conquered his heart.

Does she still think of me? he wondered.

He took another pull from his cigar and watched the smoke coil and spiral seductively before him.

Fool. He grunted with an empty chuckle. Why would she?

"My lord?" His trusted friend and assistant, Peter Smith, stood by the doorway. "Is there anything else you need?"