To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  “I love your seductions,” she replied with a teasing smile.

  James lay in the tub, quiet and still for a few seconds. “It’s not just a seduction, Sophia. Not today.”

  He kissed the side of her head, and Sophia waited, curious. “What is it then?”

  “An apology. And a surrender.”

  Sophia sat up and turned sideways in the tub to look at her husband’s face. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but no words would take form in her brain.

  James stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I have many regrets, Sophia. I have not been a good husband to you.”

  “You have been a wonderful husband, James.” Of course, it wasn’t entirely true. There was still so much that was missing from their marriage, but she recognized his desire to bear his heart to her and she would not dream of discouraging him.

  “You are very kind to lie like that,” he said.

  “It’s not all a lie,” she replied. “I’ve been treated very well here. You have given me so much.”

  “But not enough. I’ve not given you my heart.”

  Sophia swallowed nervously. “James—”

  “Please,” he said, holding up his hand. “Let me speak. Let me say the things I should have said a long time ago.”

  With fresh hope flooding her senses, Sophia waited patiently for him to continue.

  “I know that from the beginning, you’ve wanted more,” he said. “At first, I tried to tell myself that you only wanted my title, but I always knew there was more to you than that. There were things you openly revealed to me, while I revealed nothing. I didn’t tell you about my family’s history, because I was ashamed. I didn’t tell you the truth about Florence, because I thought it might scare you away. But most of all, I didn’t let myself love you, and I am sorry for that. You deserved so much more, and I failed you. My only excuse is that I did not want to give in to my passions and become like my father. I didn’t want to hurt you the way he hurt my mother and me.”

  Sophia’s heart ached with love for him. “You will never be like him, James. You have been put to the test in every way and you have passed those tests. Think of it. You believed I wrote a love letter to another man, yet you remained in control. And think of your siblings. You have done everything in your power to protect them from harm and set them back on good paths. There is hope for Lily and Martin now.”

  James rubbed her back. “You always see the good in people.”

  “I have no trouble finding it in you.”

  For a long moment he stared into her eyes. “It amazes me that you have never given up on me. That you even cared for me to begin with, when I was so determined to keep everything between us superficial.”

  She touched his face. “I was captivated by you, from the very first moment I saw you walk into that London drawing room in all your fine elegance. You were so handsome, James, tall, confident and untouchable. I wanted to know who you were. I wanted to know what was beneath that steely surface, and why you seemed so cynical when you looked around at the world and everyone in it. For some reason I sensed that the world could change for you, if only someone would just talk to you.”

  “You wanted to rescue me from my austere English reserve?” he said with an amused grin, lifting his eyebrows.

  “I suppose so. But I wanted you to rescue me, too, from my superficial life in New York, from the endless, desperate social climbing. I understand now that all I ever really wanted was passion, and I saw it in your eyes. I knew you possessed an abundance of it—that it was bottled up inside you, just waiting to be released. I wanted to reach in and pull it out of you.”

  James cupped her cheek in his hand. “You succeeded. You reached inside, and now I am all yours. I love you,” he added.

  Sophia could barely move. All she could do was stare at him, astonished.

  Through the roaring din of joy washing through her like a waterfall, Sophia somehow found her voice. “I love you, too, James. I will always love you, until the day I die, and beyond.” She threw her arms around his neck and wept tears of happiness as she hugged him.

  He held on as if he never wanted to let go, his strong arms wrapped around her back, his face buried in her neck. “No one has ever loved me like you have,” he said. “I never thought it was possible.”

  She sat back and looked at his dark, beautiful face. “I am so happy.”

  “That’s good, because I intend to make you happy every day for the rest of my life.”

  Sophia couldn’t stop crying. “James, I never dreamed....”

  He held her and kissed her and stroked her hair, and for the first time, she felt as if she were truly home. This was where she belonged. In England. With James. Here in his arms. As his wife and his duchess.

  He shifted his body minutely beneath her—the smallest trace of a movement—but it was enough to transform their shared tenderness into a burning arousal, in one sweeping, wondrous instant.

  James closed his eyes and made love to his wife in the firelight while Sophia let herself fall into bliss, for there was true, genuine love between them now.

  Feeling elated, basking joyously in the feel of his heart beating against hers, Sophia sighed.

  Eventually, they withdrew from the tub and dried off, then moved to the bed and made love again, tenderly and with great awareness of each other’s needs and desires. James whispered those magical words again—I love you—as he gazed into her eyes and held her face in his hands.

  When the dinner gong rang, they helped each other dress and went to the drawing room to gather with the family. Sophia requested that the leaves be taken out of the dining table, so that the family members could sit nearer to one another, tonight and every night, far into the future. In all her life, Sophia had never felt so happy.

  Sometime near dawn the next morning, James pulled Sophia close. “It’s a new day,” he said, “and the world is already a brighter place, all because of you. How was I ever so lucky to have found you when you lived your entire life on another continent?”

  Sophia smiled up at him. “We were meant to be, James, and nothing was right until I came here.”

  “Are you glad?” he asked, touching her chin with his finger and looking into her eyes. “Even though it was difficult in the beginning?”

  “Of course. This is my home now, and I am overjoyed to be here with you. You’re the only man I ever could have loved.”

  “And I am overjoyed to have you, my darling. May I show you how much?”

  Sophia rolled onto her back and ran her finger up his bare chest. “If it would please you, Your Grace.”

  “The point, my dear, is to please you.”

  She smiled seductively. “Far be it for me to argue with a duke.”

  Epilogue

  April 15, 1882

  Dear Mother,

  Greetings from merry old England. I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying spring in New York.

  James and I are growing anxious, awaiting our little one’s arrival. The doctor says the baby will arrive sometime in July, but I think he will come sooner than that, because I am so eager to meet him. James thinks it will be a girl. I think a boy. Either way, we will both be thrilled when our child arrives. We are delighted with everything in our lives these days. God has blessed us with so many wonderful treasures.

  How are Clara and Adele? Have you given any more thought to their coming to London for the Season? I would love to introduce them into the very best of society, and Lily would be pleased to have the girls at her side, for this will be her second Season, and she is somewhat nervous about the whole affair.

  Say hello to Father, and I will await your reply.

  Your loving daughter,

  Sophia

  P.S. May I tempt you with the news that the Prince of Wales informed me personally that he will be “decidedly disappoin
ted” if Clara and Adele do not come?

  Author’s Note

  For decades I’ve been intrigued by American heiresses searching for husbands in aristocratic London, ever since I read a book about Edward VIII abdicating the English throne in 1936 for the woman he loved, Wallis Simpson, an American divorcee. I was only nineteen when I read the book, and I was fascinated by the couple’s passionate romance, their difficult struggle for acceptance, and in the end a king’s decision to give everything up for love.

  Years later, I read The Buccaneers by Edith Wharton, a brilliant novel about four American girls invading English society in the late-Victorian period. Again, I was captivated. The romantic notion of English lords falling for young American ladies because they were beautiful, unique and exciting (and obscenely rich) intrigued me, as well as the darker side of reality that was more often the case, where American women gave up their home and country for what seemed like a fairy tale, but turned out to be a life of loneliness abroad, with strangers who never truly accepted them, and husbands who had married them only for their money.

  In actuality, between the years 1870 and 1914, approximately one hundred American women married British nobles, and of those one hundred, six set their sights high and captured dukes—the exalted cream of the nobility crop. These women were the glamor icons of the late-Victorian period, and not unlike Princess Diana or Meghan Markle, had to dodge photographers and raving admirers who wanted a glimpse of the fairy-tale “dollar princesses” of the day. You can read about five of those American heiresses—whose stories inspired the characters and situations in this novel—in the book In a Gilded Cage, by Marian Fowler. Two other terrific books at the center of my research were To Marry an English Lord, by Gail MacColl and Carol McD. Wallace, and The Glitter and the Gold, written by Consuelo Vanderbilt Balsan who married the Duke of Marlborough in 1895.

  All the characters in my book are fictional, with the exception of Edward, Prince of Wales (“Bertie” to his friends and family), who was a key player in the overall acceptance and success of the American heiresses in England. His mother, Queen Victoria, gave him very little to do, regarding the affairs of the country, so he had to amuse himself somehow, and being half-German himself, he did not possess the usual prejudice toward foreigners. He enjoyed beautiful women and found the American heiresses more than capable of keeping him entertained. They could afford to host frequent, lavish parties when many of the English aristocrats were suffering financially from an agricultural depression and the negative effects of the industrial revolution. (Fast-moving steamships were bringing competition from American beef and grain; consequently, farm prices in England fell. On top of that, the tenant farmers were trading in their pitchforks to work in factories.)

  Mrs. Astor was also a real person—the matriarch of high society in old New York. She eventually had to accept the nouveaux riches, because among other things, many of their daughters were wearing English coronets.

  I hope you enjoyed reading about Sophia and James, and if you did, please look for book two in this trilogy, Falling for the Marquess (originally published by Avon/Harper Collins under the title An Affair Most Wicked in 2004), which features Sophia’s sister, Clara. The third book, In Love with the Viscount (originally published by Avon/Harper Collins under the title My Own Private Hero in 2005), features her youngest sister, Adele. After that, there is a spinoff series which begins with Lily and Whitby’s story. A full booklist follows to help you keep track.

  If you would like to stay informed about my future releases, or learn about my monthly autographed book giveaway, please visit my website at www. juliannemaclean.com and sign up for my email newsletter. I would love to send news to you. Lastly, if you would like to know when an ebook edition from my backlist goes on sale for 99¢ (or is occasionally offered for free), please go to my author profile on Bookbub and click the “follow” button. You’ll be sent an email whenever there’s a flash sale. I am also on Facebook and Twitter where I chat with readers every day.

  Read on for an excerpt from the second book in this trilogy, Falling for the Marquess.

  As always, happy reading!

  –Julianne

  Falling for the Marquess

  My Dear Miss Wilson,

  I have no wish to spoil your chances of meeting the decent and respectable man you desire. Yet I find I cannot idly sit back and accept that I will never see you again, or – forgive me for my candor – kiss you again. If I were like other gentlemen, I would say good-bye to you now and wish you the best. But I have not behaved as a gentleman for many years…. Do you understand my meaning?

  -S.

  So begins a very wicked correspondence between the scandal-ridden Marquess of Rawdon and Clara Wilson, an heiress with more than a few of her own secrets to hide. Clara has come all the way to London to find respectability, but she has always craved excitement, and adventure has always sought her out.

  This time, excitement is a man unlike any she has ever met before, one who is stunning, brilliant, and definitely not what her mother had in mind. Clara’s cautious younger sister Adele warns her to be wary and remember her past follies, but her spirited older sister Sophia urges her to risk it all for love. Clara knows the answer lies somewhere in between, but with her heart and her future on the line, the stakes will never be higher.…

  Excerpt from

  Falling for the Marquess

  American Heiress Trilogy

  Copyright © 2020 Julianne MacLean Publishing Inc.

  Prologue

  London, 1883

  Lady Berkshire sighed contentedly as she handed her lover’s greatcoat to him. “Come back on Thursday?”

  Standing tall and sumptuous in the corridor, his golden hair spilling onto his shoulders in unfashionable disarray, the Marquess of Rawdon smiled. His devilish charm filled the corridor like a beam of sunlight, radiant and warm.

  Lady Berkshire, who was still flushed from their afternoon tryst, melted like hot butter before him, for she had just experienced, firsthand, the validity behind the rumors. Yes, it was all true. The beautiful marquess had a flare for the erotic. An intensity in the bedroom. A talent for lavish, liberal lovemaking.

  He was Seger Wolfe, the Marquess of Rawdon, and among the ladies who liked to whisper in the dark corners of London’s late-night drawing rooms, he was England’s most coveted lover.

  When he did not immediately accept her invitation, she tried again. “I’ll have strawberries and chocolate.” Beneath the melodic intent to entice, her voice was laced with pleading.

  Seger considered her invitation with great care. It was not his habit to see the same woman more than twice in a single week, and never under any circumstances exclusively. Most women understood the boundaries merely by instinct. They knew not to ask, and not to become possessive if they wanted him to return another day, which almost invariably, they did.

  He inhaled deeply and sighed, surprised by a sudden twinge of discontent that was unusual at a time like this.

  “Perhaps on Friday,” he said.

  Lady Berkshire’s big blue eyes lit up with anticipation. “Friday, it is.”

  She stepped back into her bedroom and closed the door behind her with a gentle click.

  Seger stood for a moment, staring down the long length of the empty corridor, questioning his response just now. Something had been missing lately from his usual enthusiasm for encounters like this, which made no sense. Lady Berkshire was a beautiful woman and an entertaining bed partner.

  He continued to stand outside her door, staring at it. Then he realized something. He barely remembered what it felt like to make love to a woman because he loved her.

  Her.

  Seger exhaled heavily. How long had it been, and why was he even thinking about it now?

  Bloody hell, he knew how long. Right down to the day. It was just under eight years.

  Thankfully, eight years
of superficial encounters and casual intimacies for the sole purpose of pleasure had for the most part emptied him of all memories of her, and he was glad. There was no point pondering them now. She wasn’t coming back. Death was rather firm in that regard.

  He buttoned his coat and turned to leave, telling himself that this feeling of dissatisfaction would pass, probably as quickly as it had set in. Everything was fine, as it had been for the past eight years. Seger was content. He knew how to enjoy himself—and enjoy himself he did. He found great pleasure with women he didn’t know very well, and he enjoyed the superficiality of those relationships. The women were always cheerful and smiling. Nothing was ever complicated or distressing.

  To be frank, he wasn’t certain he would know how to understand a woman’s deeper emotions even if he wanted to.

  Not that he wanted to. He did not.

  Seger descended the stairs and, with firm resolve, expelled those thoughts from his mind. They did him no good.

  He let himself out the front door of Lady Berkshire’s London house, glanced up and down the street, then crossed to where his coach was waiting a few doors down.

  He reminded himself that there was much to look forward to that evening. He had a ball to attend—a Cakras Ball. As always, it promised to be a tantalizing feast for the senses. Exactly what he needed for distraction. He would no doubt meet a number of interesting women there. Beautiful women. Adventurous women.

  He climbed inside his coach and signaled to the driver to move on. His blood quickened as he anticipated the evening ahead.

  Chapter 1

  The London Season

  May 1883

  Dear Adele,