One Night with a Duke
The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke
The Masked Series
The Masked Marchioness (Coming Soon)
The Masked Duke (Coming Soon)
Book 3 (title TBA) (Coming Soon)
Other Regency Books
The Duke’s Christmas Promise
The Merry Widow’s Snowbound Christmas
Contemporary Romances
Not the Last Dance (Coming Soon)
Somebody I Used to Love (Coming Soon)
For Love of Charlie (Coming Soon)
About the Author
From a humble beginning in Newark, New Jersey, a short stay at a convent in Morristown, N.J. at the age of fourteen, I retired from a fantastic career for a play broadcasting company in Carlsbad, California. I settled in the rural foothills of the Sierras of Yosemite National Park with my ever-supportive husband, Ron, and two dogs, Silky and Sophie.
I traded in the Board Rooms for the Ballrooms of the Regency Era and never looked back. At the age of fifteen, I wrote my first book. Since then I've always traveled with pen and notebook ready to capture a special word or phrase. It’s been the journey of ten thousand miles with a few steps left to go.
Decades later, it was a reward I gave to myself when I left the corporate world behind. Nothing I expected, but everything I desired. My business card lists my occupation as Living the Dream. So – why do I write romance? Because I believe that:
Love is the recipe for a long and healthy life
I enjoy hearing from my readers. Feel free to contact me. Check out my website and Facebook groups: Soiree with Sandra Masters; Sandra Masters; and ROS Romance on Steroids. All of these groups are interactive and you are welcome to join them.
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Here is your preview of
The Blue Eyed,
Black Hearted Duke
Chapter One
How do you tempt a sinner? You offer him a saint.
London 1825 – Ten Years Later
The Present Danger
Radolf Wolferton, Fourteenth Duke of Wolferton, stood at the open Palladian window of his London townhouse. His brain hammered to summon control. He studied the scene, attempting to identify the source of his anxiety. The footmen assisted his older sister, Camille, out of the conveyance. A young woman waited to descend next. Her hooded cape concealed her hair, but nothing worldly could obscure the violet color of her eyes. The hairs on his arms and neck lifted in response. Miss Jaclyn Moreux arrived at his request, but he never expected the sight before him.
He glared at the two supernatural powers that spoke through the stained-glass portrait of his red wolf persona with amber eyes. The golden archangel warrior with massive white-tinged wings wielded a mighty sword.
The face of the archangel held a fearless, stern expression as he gazed into the distance at a vanquished enemy.
Sunlight streamed through the window and his attention caught by the flickering brilliance. Used to their limited messages, he moved toward the sunlight. “Guardians of the prophecy, am I to consider her arrival a good or a bad omen?”
The wolf’s eyes turned blue and the archangel’s sword glistened.
“That’s no help for me to decipher. Perhaps you warn me to exercise caution?” He scanned the view with the gaze of a raptor to the right and left for any untoward movements. The familiar warrior instinct that served him well during the wars clenched his gut. Why?
Miss Moreux would soon attend many of this season’s events to find a suitable husband, or so he hoped. Wolferton hadn’t seen Jaclyn for ten years since he escorted the frightened girl to an educated way of life. He calculated she was eighteen years old now. Her hood shadowed her face. If pretty, she might make a good match with an eligible bachelor. Otherwise, she’d be on the shelf.
The two women had returned from a three-month excursion. His sister had gone to Belgium to chaperone Miss Moreux, and they took advantage of the opportunity to vacation. Wolferton had secured a Secret Service Agent to accompany them until they returned.
His Butler took the cloaks of the ladies.
Wolferton remained in his study prepared for the momentous event and overheard their words.
Camille was the first to speak. “Don’t be nervous. My brother may have a reputation, but underneath all the bluster dwells a kind man.”
Miss Moreux’s voice held the lilt of an angel. “I know, Lady Hattersley. He’s written me once a month all these past years. In school, we heard about his bravery in the war.”
“Please call me Camille. On our trip together, it was inappropriate, but now we’re home, I ask it of you. I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
The rustle of silk skirts signalled they would soon greet him. He turned from the window, hands behind his back, stood tall in his Hessian tasselled boots, dark blue jacket, ivory waistcoat, breeches, and a froth of white at his throat. Eyes narrowed, his head cocked toward the door emphasised the curious expression on his face.
Wolferton turned to the Guardians, “Behave. Do not frighten her. Though perhaps she cannot see your mischievous illuminations? We shall see.”
Camille, first to enter smiled with enthusiasm. “Morning, Radolf. We had a good trip, and are happy to see you.” She approached to kiss him, and encouraged the young woman to step forward. “This is our Miss Jaclyn Moreux.”
The young woman curtsied, and lowered her head. “Your Grace, I am privileged to meet you again at long last.” Sunlight streamed in welcome through the room. She placed a hand to her lips. “Oh!”
Camille and the duke turned to her. “Are you unwell?” his sister asked.
Jaclyn blushed but managed to speak and pointed to the window.
“The light on His Grace’s hair flamed, and reminded me of a stained-glass portrait at the school chapel which depicts an angel with gold hair and a red wolf by its side. I apologise if I offended, but the likeness startled me. I thought the eyes flashed blue, too. I do recognise the portraiture is the same. Silly me.”
Energy coursed through him. Strange, the fire roared to a crescendo and then reverted to a lesser warmth. Did she see the color changes on the Guardian’s glass? Before her arrival, he was the only one who could see the manifestations. Bloody hell. What happened?
“An apology isn’t necessary.” Wolferton took strident steps to the desk and sat in his comfortable chair. He kept his smile cool and unfathomable. “Perhaps you were unaware my family commissioned the stained glass piece in the eleventh century. Radolf, my given name in Saxon language honours the extinct red wolf. I also commissioned the stained-glass window for your school’s chapel in Belgium in gratitude. I believe you might have been sixteen years of age. It’s a favoured piece of mine.”
“I should have known. Thank you.”
“Be seated.”
He gestured with his ruffled wrist toward a straight-backed chair. She sat, but he kept his gaze on her as a waft of her fragrance scented the air. A connoisseur of female perfumes, he guessed it was lilac with a hint of clove.
He remained distant. Camille chatted about the trip and the cities they visited, but Wolferton studied the young woman. London fashions lent themselves to abundant bosoms, tight corsets, and indecently low décolletage with nothing left to the imagination. Miss Moreux’s fitted lavender gown clothed her from neck to foot with a high collar and long sleeves. Not an ounce of skin showed except for her long manicured fingers.
And, of course, her fair-skinned face reminded him of an angel. In short, she was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.
And he had seen too many.
The young woman’s soft voice yanked him from his thoughts.
“I thank you for your letters all these past years. They meant a great deal to me since I have no relatives. I cherished your stories about my father and yourself, and feel I know you well, even though we are strangers. How should I address you?”
“You may address me as Duke, or Wolferton, my title. You are most welcome in our home.” He smiled with a tinge of warmth. “I will call you Miss Jaclyn since I’ve used it in our correspondence over these past years, and old habits die hard. To all others in the household except for my sister, you will be Miss Moreux.”
“Thank you.” She exuded confidence in her voice and her mesmerising gaze blazed. Both hands rested in her lap. “This is so like a fairy-tale. I don’t know where to look first.”
The duke’s smile softened in spite of himself. In his thirty-six years, he’d never been so impressed with a female on such short acquaintance. “Camille, have the servants show Miss Jaclyn to her room. Her trunks should be there. After she’s settled, come and visit with me a moment for I have matters to discuss with you.”
The women excused themselves and climbed the curved oak staircase to the second-floor bedrooms. In apparent awe of the portraits on the stair wall, Jaclyn stopped at Wolferton’s picture.
“Oh, my, His Grace is handsome, but his expression is so stern.”
“It was commissioned after he returned from the war,” Camille said. “I often look at this picture and wonder what stories are behind those blue orbs. He doesn’t speak of the horrors he saw. Something still torments him. I only know the gentle, affectionate side of him.”
Alone now in his study, it occurred to Wolferton that Miss Jaclyn had already become a significant distraction to his serenity. The one thing he hadn’t expected was an eight year old child to have blossomed into an eighteen year old innocent beauty. His best friend who’d died at his side at the conclusion of the Napoleonic wars begged a vow. Indebted to the man who’d saved his life on the battlefield a decade before, Wolferton promised his compatriot to raise and protect the young girl. Her mother had abandoned the child to run away with a general.
Camille soon entered his sacrosanct study and smiled.
“She is so delightful, Radolf, and reminds me of a harbinger of spring’s scent after a winter storm. Now, what did you wish of me?”
“Have you made plans for your shopping expedition for Miss Moreux’s gowns and fripperies?”
“Yes, we purchased some small items during our trip, but I thought we would start tomorrow morning. Poor Jaclyn is in wonder of all this luxury, and her head spins. Will you allow us the use of your ducal coach?”
“I’ll do better, Camille. I’ll accompany you. I’d like to approve the selections. I would not question your impeccable judgment, but I’d find it an amusement. When they see me escort Miss Jaclyn around to purchase gowns, dresses and the like, tongues will wag until they find that she’s my ward. I might relish the salacious gossip for I find it difficult to maintain my blackened reputation.”
“Brother, at times you do vex me. The only malicious rumors are the ones you do not refute. You use them as a shield to prevent the ton matrons from consideration as an eligible bachelor.” She turned to leave.
“Camille?”
“Yes?”
“Miss Moreux is never to be alone with any man.”
“Does that include you, my brother?
“Yes.”
Camille frowned.
“Your wish is my command. Be careful, Wolfie. Her honour is in our hands.”
At the sound of Camille’s pet name for him—since his Christian name signified a red wolf as well as a shortened version of his title—a smile curled his lips. He rose from the leather chair. “If you use this name in front of anyone, sister or no, I’ll have you drawn and quartered…or burned at a stake.”
Camille ran to kiss him on his forehead.
“I love you, too, Brother. You always hesitate to display your feelings.”
Wolferton pushed her away with a gentle touch. “Now be gone with you, I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Wolfie.”
She laughed as she ran to the door. He made a gesture to run after her in chastisement as they did when they were children. Of course, he allowed her to escape.
If there was any woman he trusted, it was she. Fate had dealt her a blow, but he would protect her with his life. He touched the chair Miss Jaclyn had occupied and became aware he had encountered true virtue. He picked up a globe with a wolf surrounded by snow-laden trees and shook it. The flakes fell to the bottom of the globe. The peaceful scene always soothed him.
He glided his fingers over the antique desk where as a lad of fifteen, he’d taken the virtue of a half-naked servant girl who left in tears. His violation of her was not intended, but she was promiscuous with her promises, and he wanted more than a kiss. Inexperienced, his sexual knowledge was non-existent. Even though consensual, he became upset at the girl’s reaction and toppled an inkwell with clumsy fingers. The coal black ink seeped into a small crack in the inlaid design beyond any repair. It remained there forever as a reminder of his callous disregard of sexual congress.
Afterward, when his father called him to the study, Wolferton expected punishment. Instead, the duke clapped him on his back. “That’s my boy. I’m proud of you. I’ve been wondering where your proclivities lay. You’re your father’s son.”
With a slobbering smile, the older man handed him a prized antique Simeon North pistol as a reward.
So he began and upheld the former duke’s history of debauchery. His morals decayed…
Girl by girl.
Woman by woman.
Sin by sin.
In retrospect, he questioned if his evil father conspired to place temptation in his path since Wolferton’s pistol collection grew by unimaginable proportions.
The unfortunate girl was his past and the beginning of a sadistic part of his life. They would meet one more time, and the reality of his actions and the consequences of carnal desire would alter his present and future behaviour.
Back to reality, he affirmed Miss Jaclyn would tempt the most resolute of men. It would be best to marry her off with haste before he performed an act he might regret—or enjoy. His own worst enemy, he opened the desk drawer, took out the locket, and flipped it open. A winsome girl with dark hair and beguiling violet eyes peered at him.
An earthen container of black roses he cultivated resided on the left side of his desk. Imported from Halfeti, Turkey, they were his pride and joy. Somehow, he knew Miss Jaclyn Moreux, his ward, would be the white rose to change his future.
Now he was to endure the supreme test. The devil had sent him a saint to torment him.
Read the rest!
Get it at
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HDF4XQH
The Duke's Christmas Promise (Regency Christmas Romance) Page 11
