REGENCY ROMANCE
The Duke’s Christmas Promise
SANDRA MASTERS
Sertsam Publishing © 2019
Copyright © 2019 Sertsam Publishing and Sandra Masters, Author
All rights reserved.
No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.
Cover image – Kristalynn Designs
Cover typography – Kim Lambert
ISBN-13: 978-1-7333667-1-7
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organisations, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Dedication
To my husband, Ronald, for his enduring patience in reading my drafts, time and time again.
To my exceptional friends and readers, for their continued support – without you, I could not be here.
Sandra Masters.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Author’s Notes
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
Epilogue
Books by Sandra Masters
About the Author
Here is your preview of The Blue Eyed, Black Hearted Duke
Chapter One
Acknowledgments
To the Oakhurst Critique Group: Sheila Boyd, Julie Elstner, and Linda Boettcher who always made themselves available in person, telephone, day or night.
Author’s Notes
Wild Mustangs
Mustangs are descendants of Spanish, or Iberian, horses which were brought to the Americas by Spanish explorers in the 16th century. The name was derived from the Spanish word mustengo, which means "ownerless beast" or "stray horse." These horses bred with other types of horses, including quarter horses and draft horses to create the breed we know today.
Abbreviated Version. Per Mustangs: Facts About America’s Wild Horses by Alina Bradford, Live Science Contributor, June 24, 2014.
Chapter One
London Town House of Noelle, Lady Fenwick 1822
The Honourable Mr Reginald Sutton, a handsome aristocrat, and the grandson of a Duke, who was young enough to be her son, strutted into Noelle, Lady Fenwick’s salon, ‘The Soiree’.
The image presented by his attire exuded a keen eye for fashion, impeccable and expensive. A charismatic smile covered his inscrutable manner and, nearly always, he brought friends with him and held court as if he were a royal prince.
Everyone desired to bathe in his attention, but tonight he arrived alone.
“Lady Fenwick, a good evening to you.”
At the sound of his voice, Noelle turned toward the oft-time unpredictable aristocrat. With a respectful bow, he waved his hand.
Noelle nodded.
“Mr Sutton, it is always a pleasure to have you visit. The musicians are tuning up at the moment. Would you care to sit and wait for friends?”
Known to most of London society, her salon was modelled on the famed Almack’s. The idea for the business had come out of desperation. Her position could never disguise the unusual problem presented to her by the curious attention of one of the members of her private club.
They walked toward the ochre-colored silk settee, which was shaped in a dual curve to allow guests the opportunity to view each other, and speak in whispered conversations. The twinkle in his eyes begged caution on her part. Yes, she’d learned at a young age that no man in the world could be trusted.
However, Mr Sutton interested her because of his many personal and business connections, and also for his keen reputation. She admired the young man, who seemed hell bent on changing certain political traditions.
“I’d like to sit and chat casually.”
He took great pains to flip aside his coattails before taking a seat.
Noelle followed him with her eyes like a predator cat and wondered who would pounce and who would run. She tired of endless games. With utmost cordiality, a smile curled her lips.
“Would you care for a glass of brandy, or maybe your favourite cognac?”
She continued to study his facial expression. Unreadable.
Sutton shook his head but appeared to study her with equal intent.
The man maintained his sterling reputation, definitely a remarkable feat when she recalled his uncle’s callousness from her youth.
In admonishment, she shouldn’t castigate Sutton for the actions of the Duke of Abingdon, who had returned to England after an absence of twenty years. The scoundrel had left her with romantic memories and a keepsake which had almost ruined her.
“You look radiant today, but then, you always do.”
“Mr Sutton, thank you, but I do not believe that you came here to pay me attention. What is it you seek?”
She kept a smile plastered on her face. His compliment cautioned further. The gentleman’s mission remained unknown.
“The truth is, it occurred to me that we all know so little about you.”
“Mr Sutton, my public life is for all to view. However, my private existence is personal.”
The cat and mouse game commenced.
Sutton crossed his legs, engaged her eyes, grinned, and leaned toward her.
“I don’t believe you are an open book. If I may say so, while the cover intrigues, few men get beyond the first or second page.”
“Which is my intent, for I have no desire for intimate relations — with anyone.”
She pointed a jewelled finger at him.
“Mystery suits you. You present yourself as a widow, yet we’ve never heard of your late husband. Why?”
Noelle wouldn’t allow any man to intimidate her. Instead she leaned closer.
“Because it is not your concern. You are neither a confidant nor a friend. You are a guest member — nothing more — nothing less.”
She laughed gaily at the young man.
“I make a bad enemy, Lady Fenwick. I can be a good friend when persuaded.”
She’d observed him wield singular magnetism at times, a man not of conflict, but a negotiator and reconciler. Noelle leaned toward him and could inhale the island spice of his cologne.
“Persuasion has many forms. We all have secrets that dwell within and should not be shared,” she said, in a tone so soft that his only choice was to listen. “I’d imagine you have some of your own?” What does this pup want? “Besides, if shared, they are no longer private.”
He restrained her with his words.
“I appear to have offended you, and apologise. This is not the purpose of my visit here. Please stay and converse with me.”
“The high-in-the-instep blueblood uses the word Please? Is there a subject you need to speak to me about?”
“For our mutual sake, yes.”
“I am a woman who tends to speak with absolute honesty, or not at all. What is your business here? I ask that you speak with brevity. Much as I’d like to chat with you, I have much to do for tonight.”
She kept her voice low and cordial and chastised herself for always thinking the worst when it came to men.
“In actuality, I dared hope that your daughter, Miss Fenwick, w
ould be with you, which accounts for my early arrival.”
“Allyn went to the garden for some respite. Socialising with guests does not suit her sensibilities. She is fond of the cultivation of roses and hydrangeas. In fact, it has become a passion of hers. Why do you ask?”
Noelle’s mother-bear instincts came to the fore, but she contained her tongue.
“I would discuss her future with you.”
“What kind of future, sir? Dare say am I to believe that the most eligible bachelor in London has honourable intentions?”
Her sugared voice hid the questioning of his motives.
Did he desire a mistress? No. Not her daughter.
He arose faster than a jumping-jack toy.
“I will consider that, as a mother, you have the right to protect her reputation. However, do not disparage me before I explain.”
“Very well, we are in agreement — a truce, so to speak. Please explain.”
Noelle moved her arm to the side of the chair and looked up at him. She realised that his stance was a ploy to demonstrate his superiority over her position in the community. Noelle arose also, went to the fireplace, and took the handle of the poker to rekindle the flame. Yes, a normal chore of a servant, she gripped it with two hands. Either that or strike the impudent man. The familiar gut feeling within told her to remain calm and not lose control of her temper. Why was it that she distrusted most men? There were a hundred answers, but she waited with unbelievable patience.
“Lady Fenwick, my intentions are most honourable. Shall we start over once again?”
This time that arrogant smile exuded more than charm. As she was about to release the fire poker, her Butler entered.
“Your Ladyship, there’s a gentleman in the foyer who wishes to see Mr Sutton. Is he expected?”
Noelle looked at the man opposite her. Sutton nodded.
“Conrad, please show him in. Thank you.”
She turned to face the young man again, intent on hearing him out.
Sutton arose.
“Your hospitality is appreciated. Uncle Abingdon is still not acclimated to London streets, having been away for so many years. Everything to him seems foreign.”
Abingdon? Here?
Shivers snaked up Noelle’s spine as she came face to face with her past. She turned to the gentleman introduced by Conrad. His Grace, Trevor Sutton, Duke of Abingdon, entered the room with suave sophistication and a superior air.
“Forgive the intrusion, Sutton. Madame.”
The man paused, locked his eyes with Noelle.
The moment teemed with awkwardness.
A sliver of disappointment rained over her. Did Abingdon recognise her? Why did it hurt so much? Because she had never wanted to believe that he had lied about his love for her, even though he had abandoned her. A heart hardened all these years helped relieve the pain he’d inflicted.
“Milady, are you well? You seem in a daze. Should I summon a physician?”
Her servant’s words pulled her out of her reverie.
Three pairs of eyes settled on her.
“No, Conrad. It’s a momentary lapse. His Grace, the Duke of Abingdon, prefers Armagnac from the Gascony region. Mr Sutton favours the same drink. You may pour the libations.”
“My Lady, will you have your usual gin?”
“Yes, Conrad. Some tastes never change. I do prefer it over French champagne.”
She heard her words, but they sounded foreign, as if someone mimicked her voice. Stunned beyond imagination, she sought control. Abingdon still took her breath away. The scent of his exotic sandalwood cologne tingled a long-ago memory of intimacy and her loss of virtue.
So much had happened these past years. Would Noelle never get over his ill-treatment? Sheer determination possessed every pore of her body. In her mind, he meant naught, nothing to her anymore. In her heart, the sentiment differed.
“Your Grace, you may sit. Conrad will pour the cognac.”
Her frosty tone flowed in sync with the gurgle of the liquid. She attempted a smile, but could not move her mouth. The expression on the Duke’s face held a surprise. She strode by him to a solitary chair with a high back, and accepted her drink. The butler handed the men their crystal glasses, and then withdrew.
“Sutton, you did not tell me the real name of this” — he paused for emphasis — “woman before I came to meet you.” Abingdon walked toward the fireplace, and laid his right hand on the mantle. “I do not care to sit. Cease this nonsense of your honorific salutation. You haven’t changed, Noelle. I’d recognise you anywhere.” He turned to his nephew. “Care to hear about dirty laundry, Sutton?” He spun his body toward her in attack mode. “Madame, how long has it been since you jilted me?”
A barb from the Duke’s quiver found its aim. Well, she’d employ a few of her own to pierce his armoured hide.
“Your Grace, you display a convenient lack of memory. Have you forgotten the letter you sent me which dissolved our engagement after you left for the Grand Tour of Europe two decades ago?”
The words never before spoken were difficult to say, even though she’d practiced them many times. The opportunity presented itself. The sight of him in tight breeches, Hessian-tasselled boots, jacket, and embroidered vest attracted her still. She should hate him, but here he stood before her in flesh and blood. Those green eyes had beguiled her all those years ago but, even now after everything, she could still get lost in them. Devil be damned, her heart would always be his. One night with him had extracted a heavy consequence for her indiscretion.
Her former lover stood in her parlour, comfortable in his skin, but all seemed uncomfortable. She would never tell the handsome scoundrel her secret. Noelle would take it with her to the grave, to only reveal if there was a true need.
“I believe it is you who has a lack of memory. Your letter, in which you jilted me, arrived, and after I read the contents, I called upon you.” His crisp voice stole the oxygen from the room. “Your father advised that you were not in the country, and said you’d gone to a German spa to spend the summer season.”
“I’ve never been to Germany.”
She exhaled in spurts, and then tightened her lips.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Fenwick,” Sutton interrupted. “I’d no idea you two were acquainted. Perhaps I should allow you to settle your differences. I can resume my conversation with you another time.”
His unease embarrassed her, but she continued her barrage.
“My father would never do such a thing.” She raised her voice an octave. “My declaration of love for you was from my heart.”
“Was is the declarative word.” Abingdon strode toward her. “You changed your mind upon your engagement to another man. Richer than I. Handsomer than I. Manlier than I. Those were some of the invectives in your missive.”
“I would never have written such words because they weren’t true. I demand to see the letter.”
Noelle jumped from the chair and stamped her foot.
“You can insist all you want, but I don’t have the note. I flicked the torn pieces into the fireplace to destroy all I ever felt for you. I’d recognise your handwriting anywhere with the way you dotted your I’s. Remember the game we played so our hands would be distinctive — so recognisable.”
“No. You lie.”
Noelle rushed to him, raised her hands to pummel him.
He held her arms helpless.
“I would never lie about something so important. My father sent me on the Grand Tour so that I wouldn’t have to endure the ton’s gossip and embarrassment to our name. I went so I could seek other women’s arms, and procured mistresses one after the other.”
“Unhand me.”
She glared at him, firmed her shoulders, and stood tall.
“Noelle, my father informed me of your happiness, your marriage, your children, and how you told all who would listen that you recognised that marriage to me would have been a tragic mistake.” He continued his vice-like hold. “I despised you
then and even more now.”
“Release my arms. Such vitriol is unwarranted, though I recognise the pain, for I felt abandoned by you at a most difficult time.”
Abingdon unhanded her and stepped back, but his face expressed anger.
Stunned by his revelations, Noelle didn’t care to believe for one tiny moment that his accusations were true.
Such would mean the disregard she held for him slandered them both.
“I still have your letter in a safe place.”
She neglected to mention that the envelope had met with an accident, her tears of endless days and nights stained the handwriting. The letter and its contents allowed her to dislike him with all her heart. Each year added to the depth of her disdain.
“I’ll leave with you, Sutton.” The disgust in his voice would have curdled cream. He moved further from her and his response flew from his lips. “By your leave, Madame, I do not know if we will ever see each other again. You’ll never know how much I regret that we met this day.”
He nodded and left the room.
The quivers he held in his archery bag of invectives targeted her. Merciless this time, the man could never know how much patience she’d learned over the years. He’d pay in full measure for his insults.
Still stunned and immovable, like a waxed figure in a museum, she could not summon tears for relief.
My solitary world without Abingdon has fallen apart.
“Cat got your tongue, Sutton?”
She spun around to the younger man, fisted her hands. The warrior woman in her wanted revenge against them all.
“I will return. I apologise, for it never occurred to me….”
“That your uncle and I were once lovers engaged to be married? Well, now you know. You may leave.”
Sutton turned and left the room.
Noelle’s stellar performance played to an audience of two. Her body quaked, fingers shook, and stomach churned, and she was about to cast up her accounts. She placed her hand to her mouth to quell nausea.
The Duke's Christmas Promise (Regency Christmas Romance) Page 1
