“I do not know, and I do not care,” he answered harshly. He thought he saw the dark dress he had followed all the way out here, from the corner of his eye. “Be still, or I shall see to it that you will keep your mouth shut.”
He was close to losing his patience with her. For a moment he was hoping that this strange woman in his arms would behave like a normal person, but she proved him wrong. She did something no well-behaved young Englishwoman would ever have considered doing. She opened her mouth and vociferously spewed a flood of insults towards him. In all his life, Marcus had heard much worse accusations than being called a “monster” which, given the situation they were in, seemed almost laughable, but her lack of reasoning and sheer disobedience angered him.
A short while later, when he was able to think again, he would struggle to find a logical explanation for his behaviour. In this particular moment, it had seemed like the only option he had, to silence this strange woman.
Maybe the mild spring air had played a part in it as well, or perhaps it was because of the delicious scent of her soft body in his arms, and the fact that her appearance reminded him of the happiest time in his life, but… he had pressed his lips against hers and closed her mouth with a kiss.
She smelled of almonds and something tart, which aroused thoughts of a hot summer’s day in the country. Besides the scent of her perfume, he also smelled her soap, undoubtedly some expensive French concoction, which more than likely had been smuggled here. However, the most tantalising were her lips, as she opened them for him without hesitation. At first, he assumed that she was a very experienced kisser, but then her posture gave away the fact that she was simply overwhelmed. Obviously, such physical closeness was an entirely new experience for her. By now he should have realised that this woman was a complete stranger to him and not the beloved and dead woman of his dreams.
But for a moment, Marcus St. John, Earl of Grandover, a man with a bad reputation and a well-known love of the female form, forgot to study this situation carefully, and instead lost himself in this innocent but passionate kiss with this young woman.
It was the moment that cost him his freedom.
As the moon finally showed her pale face from behind dark clouds, he finally saw who was about to rob him of his sanity, and it was already too late to deny that this kiss had ever happened.
Behind the woman with the chestnut brown hair, which threatened to fall into complete disarray, he saw three men rushing towards them with hasty steps. The first man he recognised as the Duke of Evesham, a fanatic royalist and a hater of Catholics. He was one of the most conservative peers in the country.
He looked at the woman he had just kissed. Her eyes darted from his face over to the duke and back to him. For a short moment, he thought that she would open her mouth and explain to the duke what had happened. That she had mistaken him for someone else, that nothing had happened that could not be forgotten, as long as all involved would swear to absolute silence in this matter, but she said nothing. Not even when the Duke of Evesham let loose a tirade of angry accusations. Her eyes, the colour of which he was unable to distinguish in the flickering light of the torches, widened in fear.
…
End of the Reading Sample.
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Sneak Peek – To Steal a Duke’s Heart
A disgraced young woman with nothing to lose.
A handsome, newly appointed duke, bound by his honour.
Her one opportunity to steal his heart.
Disowned by her parents for helping her sister elope to the Americas, Grace Curtis never expected to capture the attention of the witty and bold George Blackmore, the Duke of Cromford. After the sudden death of his father leaves him with the responsibilities of his elevated station, he has little time for romance… not even with the beautiful Grace.
When Cromford’s younger brother, Edmund, takes an interest in her best friend, Grace encourages the relationship, in the hope of seeing the duke again – and stealing his heart.
However, Edmund divulges some unexpectedly worrying truths about his older brother, and Grace soon finds herself questioning her attraction to the newly appointed Duke of Cromford.
As she finds herself embroiled in a bitter war between two brothers, Grace must choose carefully where to place her trust. Will she be able to fathom the duke’s true colours and find happiness?
Reading Sample
Grace moved to the corner of the room where wines and spirits had been laid out. She nodded towards a fine amber-coloured brandy and saw the valet who was charged with serving the drinks, perform a double-take. She could tell that she had put him in a quandary – should he serve spirits to a young lady? She met his eye.
“I assure you, I am in dire need of something a little stronger than punch, after dancing in that crowd all evening.” She lifted her eyes slightly in what was meant to be a gesture of amused determination. It worked – either that or he did not dare to contradict her. She watched as he decanted a generous amount into a glass. It was true that brandy was not deemed a drink fit for a lady of refinement, but Grace liked the strong and full-bodied flavour. If her taste offended others, that was their own business. However, as Grace surveyed the room, drink in hand, she was a little curious to see if anyone might notice her and cast a glare of judgement in her direction.
Only one pair of eyes seemed to have noticed Grace’s actions.
A man of striking aspect glanced her way for all of a moment. It was a quick analytical gaze, and Grace could not be sure exactly what type of impression she had made on him. He quickly looked at her face, down at her glass, and then took in the rest of her: a clean sweep of her profile. Grace could not even hazard a guess as to whether the man was impressed with her or appalled. His face was like the waters of a great lake – striking and beautiful, yet fathomless and unknowable.
With such mastery over his own emotions and tells, Grace imagined the man would be a natural for cards. It seemed odd, then, that he was not playing. He stood as passive as a statue at the side of another seated gentleman and seemed to be acting as some kind of judge or councillor to his companion, who kept glancing up to the gentleman, and showing his cards, which suggested that the man’s opinion was highly valued. However, the standing gentleman made only brief remarks to his friend, never allowing himself to be drawn completely into his friend’s game.
As she studied him, Grace was pleased with the man’s appearance. She allowed her gaze to linger on the subtle waves of his dark, neatly-cut hair and the line of his square jaw. She could not make out the colour of his eyes, at such a distance, but she fancied they were green like a forest. What impressed her most, was the sheer weight of his presence. It was a presence that was almost unaccountable, and she could not decide what it was that gave him such a powerful air – certainly compared to his friend. He dressed well. He wore an elegant black suit with a silver brocade waistcoat and matching cravat. It was smart, and most certainly the finest tailoring in the city. The gentleman exuded presence, and finally, Grace decided to attribute the man’s attraction to his greater than average height, which was further accentuated by the way he held himself, his spine as straight as a ramrod.
Grace had no qualms about enjoying the view of the unknown man and was pleased to note that she had made some sort of impression on him as well. His gaze returned to her twice during the time she studied him. However, she did not seem to be distracting him from his cool observation of his friend’s game. Grace might have worried about her own looks, were it not for the advances of the boy from whom she had so recently retreated.
Polite applause rose from the table signalling the end of the round. The gentleman Grace had been admiring, patted his friend’s shoulder in congratulations, and began to steer himself away from the players. His departure earned a round of d
isappointed groans, and the player who had sought his assistance looked a shade more cautious going into his next hand.
Meanwhile, the mysterious gentleman navigated his way straight towards her. The direct manner in which he moved, and the singular nature of his enterprise, sent a thrill through her, as she realised that she was his goal.
“Would you mind if I took advantage of your company while we enjoy a drink?”
A most direct question. Grace did not know what to make of it, but her curiosity was piqued.
“I believe the traditional custom is to seek an introduction through a third party, before imposing yourself in such a way.”
The gentleman sucked his cheeks in just a little. He gave a confident bow.
“You are quite right. Forgive me for intruding.” As quickly as he had made his way to her, he turned to leave.
“No, please think nothing of it. It was merely my poor attempt at humour.” Grace cursed herself for having nearly driven away the only interesting man at the party. She had not expected him to treat her playful chiding with such seriousness.
The gentleman turned back with the merest hint of a smile playing on his lips, and as the valet approached, he glanced at Grace’s glass. “Can I bring something else for you too? Perhaps you could recommend the one that you are drinking?”
“Thank you, but I will have no more,” Grace replied. “I can, however, say that it is oaken and has a definite tang of orange to the flavour. I have certainly tasted worse.”
Grace smiled at her attractive companion as the valet poured him a glass from the same bottle as he had chosen for her a little earlier – only this time without hesitation. She brought the amber liquid to her lips again and reflected that this was the first time a man had sought her opinion on brandy. He watched her without saying anything – his delicate half-smile still in evidence – pleasant but not obnoxious, nor overly pleased.
“So then, shall we see to the introductions ourselves, or do you wish to wait until a mutual acquaintance can introduce us?” The gentleman raised his glass to Grace in salute and then took a sip. She found her eyes transfixed on the way his Adam’s apple moved as the liquid coursed down his throat. Men did not usually drink with such finesse. He did not make a show of sloshing the brandy elaborately in his glass, nor did he play the part of the over wise connoisseur. His refinement came wholly from his lack of pretension while drinking.
“Perhaps… it may be more convenient for us to converse without names,” Grace offered. “As soon as we bring names into this pleasing interlude, we open ourselves to a whole swathe of barriers to good conversation.”
“How so?” He lowered his voice so she was forced to lean a little closer.
“Well, as soon as a gentleman introduces himself as, let’s say, the son of a duke, some ladies might feel compelled to put on all sorts of feminine airs, and laugh in a practised fashion at his jokes.”
“If that were the case, I certainly would not wish for that,” he said.
“You would not? Does the thought of my trying to charm you not appeal?” Grace spoke teasingly but could not detect anything in the gentleman’s expression or tone that suggested to her that he was joking.
“Are you the type of woman who acts differently depending on a man’s rank?”
“I like to think I am not.” Grace replied. “But who would not wish to appear more attractive in certain circumstances?”
“I appreciate your honest nature. I find that London is full of people who put on false faces to draw notice of a title or rank in any circumstances. And… as for whether or not your charming me would hold any appeal – perhaps that question can be asked again, at a later time.”
“As relieved as I am to know that you see me as an honest woman, you do seem very certain in your assessment of me.”
The gentleman shrugged. “No woman seeking to impress a man would choose to cloister herself in the gaming room, nor to be seen drinking, what I am bound to say, is a rather generously filled brandy glass.”
Grace paused with a playful smirk flickering across her lips as she baited the intriguing stranger. “You seem to be telling me that I do not impress you.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite certain that you must turn the heads of men, both single and otherwise, without even meaning to.”
“You are bold, Sir!” Grace’s voice had taken on a husky tone, and she absentmindedly began to curl a lock of her blonde hair about her finger.
“I would call it openness rather than boldness. I can assure you, however, that it was the potential of your character that drew me to you and not your looks, fine as they may be.”
“You covet a woman’s character but are not afraid to acknowledge physical beauty.” Grace could feel a knot beginning to tie itself in the pit of her stomach, and her entire body seemed to be prickling with every passing second. She took a moment to look into the eyes she had wondered over from a distance. They were green, as she had hoped, but not the green of soft grasses and forests. His eyes were the green of precious gemstones – sharp and solid like the rest of his face – sharp jaw, sharp cheekbones, and sharp eyes. His visage was almost intimidating, but thrillingly so!
“Seeing as this conversation has nothing at all of the typical about it, should I take it you do not intend to ask me for a dance?” Grace hoped she did not sound wanton, but she could not deny herself the opportunity of standing with this man in a set.
“I had not intended to,” he answered. “You have barely begun on your glass, and good brandy should neither be hurried nor left unfinished. Besides, you have expressed a wish to maintain anonymity during our time together. Were we to stand together in a dance, I’m sure there would be those known to us both, who would spoil our little game here.”
Grace felt a little disappointed. Her own words and actions had conspired against her. There was never a man she wished to know more, and yet the whimsical suggestion of remaining strangers, now threatened to leave the man an eternal stranger to her. To this disappointment was added a further sting, as she realised that her mysterious companion appeared truly uninterested in learning her name. Other than that, the man was refreshingly candid in his conversation, and she found her thoughts and opinions aligned with his on many of the matters that they covered. Despite the agreeable time they were having, something was obviously playing on his mind. There was some resistance in his manner that she felt was keeping him from committing wholly to their conversation.
“Tell me… if you could choose between dancing with me or knowing my name, which would be your choice – or maybe you desire neither?” The man’s voice was confident as ever, and his emerald eyes studied Grace, as he asked her this playful question.
“You need not fear my being indifferent to you, Sir. May I enquire why I must choose between the two? Is there no chance of my learning your name and stealing a dance with you?” Grace cocked her head slightly, swaying a little, which she hoped would entice the man.
“I suppose I am interested to see what your intentions are. If you learn my name and perhaps my address here in London, we might have occasion to know one another better. Dare I say that you might even dare to employ those feminine charms that you mentioned hitherto, against me – even though you did not own up to them directly.” He smiled to soften his words. “If, however, you truly would prefer us to enjoy a brief moment as strangers, destined never to see one another again, then I would wish to at least share one dance with you.”
Grace felt a thrill run through her entire body, and she could not stop herself from biting her bottom lip in anticipation. She tried to imagine what it would be like to dance with the man. He was not built like the other gentlemen of the city. Most of them tended to have either round fattened stomachs that betrayed a lifetime of overindulgence, or they were willowy stick figures with atrophied muscles who were never compelled to physical labour. This man was broad-shouldered, and Grace could almost see his muscles straining under his gentlemanly attire. He seemed like a
man accustomed to hard labour, much like the farmers in the fields near her family home in Bradford on Avon. The thought of being led by him, and held by him, sent a definite rush through her. Still, she knew her answer.
“I think, Sir, as tempting as a dance might be, I would prefer to take your name, if you are offering it to me.”
“Of course,” The man added briskly. “I shall expect your name in return.” He had a business-like air about him now, as though he were negotiating some treatise or loan.
“I shall oblige you with such, do not fear.” Grace continued to smile, but the edge of her lip quavered just a little. For the first time, she found herself unwilling to own her identity.
“Very well. If I am to go first, may I present myself as George Blackmore, Marquess of Cromford.”
Grace blinked twice. She knew the name. She did not concern herself much with memorising the names of London’s elite, but the name Blackmore was inescapable. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Cromford.”
Based on his easy conversation, Grace had not expected the gentleman to have such a high rank, and if she was honest, this evidence of her own prejudice, shook her slightly. However, she immediately sought to regain her composure.
“Now we come to the matter of your own name.” The marquess’s chest swelled then, perhaps in anticipation.
“I am Miss Curtis, Miss Grace Curtis.” Grace’s eyes scrutinised Lord Cromford’s expression for any tell. Although she was no duchess, there was reason for the man to have heard of her or her family, and she expected their conversation to come to a disappointing close, if he were indeed aware of her past.
“Miss Curtis.” The marquess repeated her name to himself. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope, despite all we vowed at the start of this interlude, that we shall have a chance to further this acquaintance.”
“I should like that very much, my Lord.”
So, Lord Cromford knew nothing of her. This was a relief to Grace, in the short term, although she knew the truth would out sooner or later.
Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel Page 22