The Comtesse of Midnight |

The Earl of Menteith was a personable young man. Handsome, too, and large—he had taken one look at her small dainty chairs and seated himself on the sofa. Also worried about something, and wondering how much to tell her.

The Duchess of Haverford poured him a cup of tea and asked his opinion of the weather, the company in town, and the situation on the continent, with Napoleon banished to Elba without his wife and son, who had returned to her family in Austria.

He answered gracefully to each conversational gambit, but none captured his enthusiasm.

Since Menteith had asked to make this call, Eleanor would wait for him to introduce the topic. “Another cup?” she asked.

“Not for me, Your Grace.” He studied one large hand, then looked up to see her watching him. “Ye may be wondering why I asked to see ye.”

Eleanor inclined her head in agreement, raising her brows slightly to encourage him to continue. The slight Scots burr was delightful. With those looks and that voice, he must be very popular with the young ladies.

“They tell me ye know everyone in the Upper Ten Thousand. I hoped ye might have heard of someone I need to find.”

“I am happy to help if I can,” the duchess assured him.

“The thing is…” Menteith paused, then continued…”I’m not at liberty…” he sighed. “ That is, I do not want to discuss my reasons. I hope ye’ll still help me, Your Grace?”

“If I can,” she said, and then added, since his blunt honesty deserved hers, “if I think telling you will not cause harm.”

He was startled at the thought. “I mean no harm. To the contrary.” He bit his lower lip then blurted. “I am looking for the Comtesse de Fontenay. Or the Comte. Do ye know them, Your Grace? Can ye tell me where I might find them?”

Eleanor wrinkled her brow as she thought. The name de Fontenay rang a bell, but she could not quite recall… “Émigrés?” she asked.

“Perhaps. I am unsure.” He lifted his broad shoulders in a shallow shrug. “Probably.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. It was coming back to her now. The old scandal—but it had faded into oblivion when one of the key players died and the others behaved as if it never existed. Did Menteith know? Surely not; how would he have found out? But if not, why look for Madame de Fontenay?

She wouldn’t raise it with him. Only one person still living had the right to do that. If he was still living.

“I believe the Comte de Fontenay has an estate in Norfolk, Menteith. Or is it Suffolk?” Now what was the place called? “Bloodstone Moor? No. Hall comes into it somehow. Or is it Hill?” Ah yes! That was it. “Bloodmoor Hill. Look for Bloodmore Hill Manor, Lord Menteith. I’m sorry I cannot tell you anything more.”

Malcolm Comyn, the Earl of Menteith, seeks the truth of an anonymous letter that threatens everything he knows about himself. Stranded in Fenwick on Sea by a dreadful storm, he finds more than he expects.

The Comtesse of Midnight: Alina K. Field

A Scottish Earl on a quest for the elusive Comtesse de Fontenay rescues a French lady smuggler from the surf during a devastating storm, and takes shelter with her. As the stormy night drags on, he suspects his companion knows the woman he’s seeking, the one who holds the secret to his identity. When she admits she is, in fact, the Comtesse Fontenay, just not the one he’s seeking, she dashes all his hopes—and promises him new ones.

Storm & Shelter: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends

When a storm blows off the North Sea and slams into the village of Fenwick on Sea, the villagers prepare for the inevitable: shipwreck, flood, land slips, and stranded travelers. The Queen’s Barque Inn quickly fills with the injured, the devious, and the lonely—lords, ladies, and simple folk; spies, pirates, and smugglers all trapped together. Intrigue crackles through the village, and passion lights up the hotel.