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Synopsis:
Keeping the Countess
Lille Moore
Publication date: June 24th 2025
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance
In this first installation of the DAMSELS IN DISGUISE series, a passionate clergyman on a mission to steal an earl’s secrets finds himself captivated by a cunning and courageous countess.
Charismatic curate Jonah Sinclair survived the deadly streets of south London with two well-trained fists and divine intervention. He will let nothing—not his vocation, nor his yearning to find love—stop him from pursuing the criminals who killed his father. When he learns the notorious Earl of Rochford could hold the key to retribution for his family, he seizes on the chance to become tutor to the earl’s young ward. But the only trace of Rochford he discovers at the mysterious Ravenglass Hall is his abandoned countess, a woman whose fierce strength stirs a forbidden temptation.
Faith Trenton, Countess of Rochford, is on the brink of ruin. Betrayed and abandoned by her husband, she disguises herself as a man to defend her estate from an embezzling steward. Jonah’s arrival threatens her carefully constructed masquerade, and despite the irresistible spark between them, she must send him packing, or risk having him expose the dangerous secrets she keeps hidden. But when a succession of attacks threatens everything that Faith has fought to protect, she’s forced to place her trust in Jonah, and pray he won’t unravel the truth, or her heart.
Helping Faith could sabotage Jonah’s mission. Loving her might cost him everything.
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Author Bio:
Lille Moore writes romance with a twist on time-honored tropes and tales. Her first career in public diplomacy and strategic communications took her across five continents and six of the Seven Seas and spurred a lifelong love affair with uncovering new worlds through storytelling. She lives with her spouse in Texas
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Blurbs:
Logline
A passionate clergyman must overcome his forbidden desire for a scandalous countess to uncover his father’s killer in this historical romantic mystery.
Tagline / Teaser
A man obsessed with justice. A lady with a dangerous secret.
Helping her could sabotage his mission. Loving her might cost him everything.
Short Blurb
After twenty years of searching, Reverend Jonah Sinclair finally has a lead on his father’s killer. But his quest for justice is threatened when he becomes entangled with a countess hiding a dangerous secret. Will he overcome his forbidden desires to unravel the mystery that connects them, or will he sacrifice everything for the woman who has captured his heart?
Long Blurb / Back Cover Copy
Reverend Jonah Sinclair survived the deadly streets of London due to divine intervention and two well-trained fists. Determined to bring his father’s killer to justice, he’ll risk his vocation—and his life—for answers. When the notorious Earl of Rochford offers him a position as tutor to his young ward, Jonah accepts, believing the mysterious Ravenglass Hall could lead him to the murderer. But instead, he finds himself drawn to the earl’s abandoned countess, a woman whose fierce strength stirs a forbidden temptation.
Faith Trenton, Countess of Rochford, is struggling to defend her crumbling estate from an embezzling steward. To keep her enemies at bay, she disguises herself as a man, until Jonah’s arrival threatens to expose her perilous secrets. Despite their irresistible chemistry, she must push him away to keep her home and her family safe.
But when a succession of attacks threatens everything Faith has fought to protect, she’s forced to place her trust in Jonah, and pray he won’t unravel the truth, or her heart.
Helping Faith could sabotage Jonah’s mission. Loving her might cost him everything.
Series Description
The DAMSELS IN DISGUISE is a new steamy Victorian romance series featuring cunning, courageous heroines, passionate heroes, and copious amounts of intrigue, seduction, and scandal. Perfect for Elizabeth Hoyt and Sarah MacLean fans.
EXCERPTS:
Excerpt One
Jonah marched out of the tavern, his vexation blinding him to any semblance of the direction where he headed. It did not take long to realize he was absolutely stranded, alone in a country wilderness.
In the disorienting shadows of the soaking evening, a seed of regret at his impulsivity sprouted. As he contemplated swallowing his pride and turning back to the tavern, a preternatural cry sounded on the moor.
The ground shook, heralding a beast rising out of the fog.
Jonah wouldn’t have dared called the creature a horse; that was far too earthly a comparison. It sped toward him as if it had escaped straight from the ninth circle of hell.
Unholy thoughts clouded his brain. Unholier curses tumbled from his lips. He was pleased to discover the passage of time and years of service in Her Majesty’s Church had not scrubbed them from his memory.
The shriek of the wind rose over the roar of approaching hooves. This was the exact reason Jonah avoided Gothic novels like vermin; he preferred interacting with the supernatural in the controlled boundaries of the King James Bible.
Through the sheets of rain, he spotted a slight figure mounted on top of the enormous steed. Was the rider attempting to bring the monster under control? Or did he urge it on, hoping he might flatten a weary traveler to the ground?
A shrill cry sounded from the rider. Was it a warning? An apology? A prayer?
“MOVE OUT OF THE BLEEDING WAY, YOU DAFT FOOL!”
With a screeching whinny, the beast reared up before him, a black wall of menacing horseflesh. As lightning flashed around them, Jonah braced his arms over his head and curled himself into a protective crouch, precisely as the hell-beast tossed its rider from the saddle.
A moment of raw stillness followed.
The rain relented, revealing where the rider lay motionless on the path.
Jonah staggered across the short distance toward the body. With a deep breath and a short prayer, he kneeled down to examine the fallen man.
The crash of two thick skulls meeting each other upended his balance. He slipped on the drenched ground, falling on top of the rider, who protested wildly by snarling in a manner more feral than a quayside cat. The body entwined with his was as scrappy and slim as one. He had to be a young lad.
“Get off of me!”
“I’m trying!” Jonah protested as they tussled in the mud. Muck worked its way beneath the collar he’d starched himself, to make a good impression for the toffs who’d forgotten him. The potential embarrassment he’d face if he ever arrived at his destination burned energy into his limbs.
An instinct he thought he’d long retired kicked in and he rolled, quickly pinning the rider’s shoulders by pressing his own weight into the lad’s chest.
And therein, he discovered a very distinct set of curves that most decidedly did not belong to a young man.
The body beneath him hissed.
Jonah scrambled away and staggered to his feet. With his last remaining ounce of sense, he extended his hand to the rider.
The woman he’d just groped in the darkness.
Excerpt Two
Sinclair lifted his head and sharp blue eyes met hers. “Lady Rochford, upon my honor to make your acquaintance.”
The assessing way he studied her, and the desk she took refuge behind, undermined the politeness of his greeting. If she wasn’t careful, this attentive man would see right through her, and the deceptions she’d constructed.
“Would you like a refreshment, Mr. Sinclair?” She gestured to the miniature glasses next to the crystal decanter filled with amber liquid.
He acknowledged the offer with another polite tilt of his head and crossed the room, giving wide birth to the crackling fireplace. After offering her a glass, he raised his in salutation and sipped slowly, drawing her attention to his well-shaped mouth.
She had an appalling sense of what those full lips were capable of, beyond reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
“Lady Rochford?”
Faith blinked. “You were saying?”
“Madeira. It’s unusual to serve it as an apéritif.”
“Heavens, I hope we haven’t caused a scandal.”
“Only if generosity is considered outside of the rules of good society.” A charming grin spread across his face. “This is a very old Madeira, and you do any guest a great privilege in sharing it.”
Pretty words. Delivered with an even prettier smile. She may have overestimated his intelligence if he believed such insipid overtures would lower her guard.
“Are you a connoisseur of spirits?” she asked. “I thought most members of the clergy frowned on imbibing.”
“You’ll find that I subscribe to more liberal views.”
An understatement if ever she heard one. The man was overly familiar in his manner. She suspected his liberal views were the reason he wasn’t ensconced in a parish of his own.
“Madeira is a favorite of mine,” Sinclair added. “My father was a merchant, and it was his primary trade route.”
“It must have disappointed him that your calling prevented you from following in his footsteps.”
“Fortunately, he didn’t live long enough for that particular disappointment. He died when I was young.”
His tone was teasing, but the tightness in his eyes felt weighty to her.
“My sincere condolences,” she murmured.
“Am I correct in understanding that you once called the island home?”
It never was home, she almost confessed, rattled that he was so well-informed. Had the bishop prepared him, or did he have other sources? Surely, the scandal sheets weren’t still writing about her missing husband.
No, she’d wager he’d done his own research. Throughout their conversation, Sinclair had scrutinized the room as if he was compiling a mental inventory. But his focus was divided; his gaze kept sliding back to hers. Likely, because she’d inhaled a little too much Madeira, a little too fast, for it not to be scarring her cheeks with heat.
She couldn’t recall the last time an attractive man had paid her such attention.
“It was a long time ago,” she eventually responded to his question. “And very far from Cumbria. But so is London.”
“The journeys are comparable,” he replied with mock solemnity. “And I must get used to leaving London. My orders will take me to Manchester soon. Unless, of course, you find my services indispensable here.”
He flashed another brilliant grin, which did nothing to assuage her flush. His presumption that such a flirtation might have an effect on her made her more self-conscious.
The man had to leave. Immediately.
Excerpt Three
Faith stared at the sun rising outside her bedroom window, contemplating what to do with her restless feet.
Outside, the rosy light of dawn crept over the horizon, chasing away the mists that gathered at the wild edges of the lawn, where the grass met the scraggly forest. Now that the rain had ceased, she couldn’t afford to pass up the chance to inspect the river.
As she dressed quickly in her breeches and shirt, she avoided looking at the wretched engagement portrait. One day, she’d work up the nerve to sell it. God knew she needed the funds.
Instead, she stared at Sinclair’s cape draped over the chair.
When she returned to her room after their ordeal, she hadn’t been able to surrender his cloak. Beneath the damp and the smoke, other scents lingered: soap and leather and some other unspoken ingredient that belonged solely to Jonah Sinclair.
The way he’d drawn her into his arms was as natural as rain falling. She’d surrendered her defenses, and Sinclair had played the advantage by demanding an explanation for her husband’s abandonment.
She wished for a scenario where she could confess everything to him and still protect them both.
Shaking off her troubled thoughts, she left a hurried note for Lawless in the kitchen and set off toward the barn to saddle her horse. While the chill in the air was enough to catch her breath, the rising sun warmed her cheeks, and she turned toward it, closing her eyes for an indulgent moment, before entering the barn.
A soft tap, tap, thud echoed from the far stall.
Faith froze.
When they’d extinguished the fire last night, she and Sinclair had combed the grounds and house and found no signs of the intruders who lit the flames, but she hadn’t shaken off the fear that the arsonists might have concealed themselves somewhere else.
The rhythm continued. Tap, tap, thud. Then, shuffle, shuffle, tap, tap, thud.
Her drumming heartbeat clashed against the tempo. Seizing a horseshoe hammer she crept toward the end of the barn.
Tap, tap, shuffle, shuffle, tap, thud.
She detected panting, punctuated by heaving gasps that reverberated in the cavernous stable.
Marshaling her own breath, she peered around the corner of the stall.
Sinclair stood with his back to her. He wore a faded linen shirt untucked over a trim pair of trousers that clung to his powerful legs. Above him, a twenty-pound bag of oats hung from a wooden beam.
With a tap, tap, his powerful arms jabbed at the bag.
As it swung back toward him, his feet expertly dodged its impact.
Shuffle, shuffle.
It was an elegant dance, a demonstration of strength. What power he’d contained in the confines of his simple black suit.
Abruptly, Sinclair went on the attack.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, THUD.
He punctuated the final thrust of his rippling shoulders with a low growl, primal and proud, like the snarl of a predatory cat.
The hammer tumbled from Faith’s grip.
Sinclair spun around, chest pumping, eyes ablaze. His shirt was undone; rivulets of sweat ran from his neck down to abdomen.
“Forgive me—”
“I am sorry, I didn’t think—”
The competing apologies were stunted by the fact that their gazes had collided and seemed unwilling to surrender to each other.
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