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One Good Earl Deserves a

Lover

 

The Second Rule of

Scoundrels

 

Sarah MacLean

 

Dedication

 

 

For girls who wear glasses

 

Contents

 

 

Dedication

 

 

Cross

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

Epilogue

 

 

Author's Note

About the Author

Romances by Sarah MacLean

Copyright

About the Publisher

 

 

Cross

 

 

London

Early Spring 1824

 

T

here were benefits to being the second son.

Indeed, if there was one truth in society it was this:

Rake, rogue, or scoundrel—an heir required reformation.

He could wreak his havoc, sow his wild oats, and

scandalize society with his youthful indiscretions, but his

future was cast in stone by the finest of masons: He would

eventually find himself shackled to his title, his land, and

his estate—a prisoner of peerage alongside his brethren in

the House of Lords.

No, freedom was not for heirs, but for spares. And

Jasper Arlesey, the second son of Earl Harlow, knew it.

He also knew, with the keen understanding of a criminal

narrowly escaping the gallows, that—despite having to

forgo heredity title, estate, and fortune—he was the

luckiest man on Earth to have been born seventeen months

to the day

after Owen Elwood Arthur Arlesey, eldest

child, first son, Viscount Baine and heir to the earldom.

On Baine lay the heavy weight of respectability and

responsibility that came with being heir. On Baine rested

the hopes and dreams of a long line of Lords Harlow. It

was Baine who was required to live up to the expectations

of those around him—parents . . . peers . . . servants . . .

all. And flawless, proper, boring Baine lived up to every

one of those expectations.

Thankfully.

Which was why that evening,

Baine had chaperoned

their younger sister at her first visit to Almack’s. Yes,

Jasper had originally agreed to the task, promising Lavinia

that he wouldn’t dare miss such an important evening in

her young life. But his promises were more whisper than

word—everyone knew that—and so it had been Baine

who had done the chaperoning. Living up to expectations,

as ever.

Jasper, instead, had been busy winning a fortune at one

of London’s wickedest gaming hells . . . then celebrating

by doing precisely the kind of thing errant younger sons

were wont to do. In the bed of a beautiful woman.

Baine wasn’t the only one who lived up to

expectations.

One side of Jasper’s mouth kicked up in a private smile

as he recalled the pleasure he’d found in excess that

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