Once Upon a Duke

by Sandra Masters

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Sandra Masters

  Once Upon a Duke

  Copyright

  Dedications

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Lord Austen, I know my brother’s horses,

  and your animal is not familiar.” She hoped to steer the conversation in another direction. Her stomach quivered, uneasy.

  “Solomon is mine. He is an Arabian and strong-willed like his master. It takes a firm hand to control him, but he flies like the wind.”

  “Your pride is evident.” Serena gestured toward her horse. “My mare is Sheba. She is also high-spirited. We are a good match as well. Perhaps we should consider mating?”

  Had she actually said that? Nerve endings tingled, warmth flooded her.

  Lord Austen arched a brow. “Were you referring to our mounts, or do I dare hope you meant their owners?” His suggestion was wicked.

  Praise for Sandra Masters

  “[Sandra,] your characters are worthy and the plot is creative and interesting. You have the story teller’s gift of hinting at disaster ahead which made me keep turning the pages.”

  ~Sarah Richmond, author of Mexican Sage

  Once Upon a Duke

  by

  Sandra Masters

  The Duke Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Once Upon a Duke

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Sandra Masters

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Tea Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0232-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0233-1

  The Duke Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  To my husband, Ron, my plotster,

  who has endured valiantly

  throughout the writing process.

  ~*~

  To my friend and mentor, Sunny Baker,

  who has taught me so much.

  ~*~

  To my critique partners,

  Kathy Leinen Crippen, Julie Elstner,

  and Linda Boettcher.

  ~*~

  Most of all, to my editor, Cindy Davis,

  without whose encouragement

  this book would not have happened.

  I value her more than she could ever know.

  ~*~

  To all the people behind the scenes

  who worked hard to have this book see the light of day.

  ~*~

  To the RWA Chapter Yosemite Romance Writers

  of Fresno for all the presentations,

  seminars and contest critiques

  Chapter One

  London 1817

  If Lady Serena could be granted one wish, she would ride off into the morning mist and vanish. That, of course wasn’t possible, but here in her favorite lakeside retreat, she could relax in safety.

  With her mare nearby, she bent her head over her sketchbook and inhaled the scent of sweet honeysuckle. She paused her charcoal, leaned back against the oak tree, and envisioned how her sketch would be completed.

  The sound of hoof beats disturbed her contemplation. In the distance, a man and steed moved as one toward her.

  The vision spoke as he drew the horse to a halt. “Good day, my lady.” He dismounted, and tethered the stallion to a tree away from the mare. “It’s a beautiful day, and to have my path cross with a lovely woman makes it more so.”

  “Yes, it is a welcomed morning, sir, but your flattery does not turn my head.”

  Alarmed, Lady Serena thought to reach for her riding crop, but checked the impulse. Serena raised her hand to shield the sun and eyed the well-dressed, handsome stranger. Since he was on Henry’s property she assumed him to be of noble birth. Her snobbish brother would never allow an outsider to encroach.

  Something about the man demanded her rapt attention. Curiosity compelled. What harm could come of it?

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Lord Geoffrey Austen, at your service.” He swept off his hat and bowed. “I am Henry Worthington’s hunting guest for the week.”

  “I am Lady Serena Worthington—sister of your host. I would rise and curtsy to you, but I am far too comfortable. You may, however, consider I have proffered the appropriate respect, if you would indulge me.” She meant her smile to charm, and to distract him from her breach in etiquette.

  “I would be happy to humor you in any manner you prefer,” his voice murmured low and husky. He removed his gloves and walked to sit next to her on a log fashioned into a bench. Serena noticed the large ring on his finger as it caught the sunlight’s glint.

  “I have seen you twice before from a distance when I have come to visit Sir Henry, but never approached. Some things are best appreciated from afar, but today I was compelled to ride over and speak with you.”

  Serena smoothed her skirt with damp palms.

  “Your brother is well aware of my notorious reputation. He would prefer I did not seduce his sister and has made his wishes known to me. However, I feel the Fates demanded we meet.”

  “Seduce or merely tempt?”

  He grinned. “Dear Lady Serena, a beautiful woman is always a challenge. A wonderful circumstance caused me to come upon you this glorious morning, but I see I have interrupted your sketching. Shall I depart? Or will you show me your wares?”

  “They aren’t my wares, Lord Austen. They are representations of my artistic imagination. There is a difference.”

  “I offer my apology. Allow me to rephrase the question. May I see your work?” His eyes sparked with blatant flirtation.

  “You may.” She handed him the sketchpad.

  He flipped through a few p
ages. “God’s blood, you are talented. You could sell these.”

  “I considered the notion, but Henry would think it crass.”

  “I disagree entirely with his perception.” Lord Geoffrey turned to face her. “I wonder, my lady, why your brother has hidden you? Rumor has it you are unattached.”

  “I have chosen solitude. It is my personal preference, I assure you. Why do men think every woman in England wants to leg-shackle a man?” She cocked her head in appraisal and met his inquisitive gaze. “I cannot abide the need to display myself on the marriage auction block. I would rather remain a liberated widow or enter a convent before I’d suffer nuptials to some old goat, or a young wastrel who looks for a generous inheritance.” She rose to pace, both hands akimbo on her hips. “If I shock you, it is intentional.”

  His lips lifted, the cleft in his chin apparent. “I have a fondness for women who provoke.”

  Her heartbeat skyrocketed. He had a maddening hint of arrogance that beguiled her. She lowered her lashes, and then focused her gaze. “Lord Austen, I know my brother’s horses, and your animal is not familiar.” She hoped to steer the conversation in another direction. Her stomach quivered, uneasy.

  “Solomon is mine. He is an Arabian and strong-willed like his master. It takes a firm hand to control him, but he flies like the wind.”

  “Your pride is evident.” Serena gestured toward her horse. “My mare is Sheba. She is also high-spirited. We are a good match as well. Perhaps we should consider mating?”

  Had she actually said that? Nerve endings tingled, warmth flooded her.

  Lord Austen arched a brow. “Were you referring to our mounts, or do I dare hope you meant their owners?” His suggestion was wicked.

  Serena stopped pacing long enough to meet his direct gaze. “My lord, you disappoint with your practiced words.” She wanted to look away, but curious, dared to ask, “Are you available?” How had the brazen words escaped her lips?

  “I could be, for the right woman.”

  “Do you have criteria?” There she was, egging him on again. Why was the man so hypnotic?

  “Perhaps one could say my only requirement is the effect she would have on my sensibilities.” His smile held a salacious bent.

  “How are your sensibilities today?” She continued to play the game and resumed her restless pacing.

  He walked to his horse and ran his hand over the silky flesh of its neck. “I would demand to sample the offerings. Do you agree?” Lord Austen turned to her and continued to stroke the stallion in a slow deliberate manner.

  Serena took a deep breath and tried to quell her rapid heartbeat. She shivered as if he caressed her skin, his fingers working their magic.

  His eyes refused to leave hers. His lips curved sensuously. “Are you about to offer me something?”

  She returned to her seat. “I am not familiar with breeding rights. Do we still speak of the horses?” Serena eyed the man and his steed. “How magnificent, a fine specimen.”

  “Yes, I agree, or are you a woman who desires to dabble in double entendres? I would say you contemplate the splendid creature before you.” Lord Austen’s stance was presumptive with his feet wide apart, one hand held his riding crop at his hip. “I do not know which of us you mean.”

  “Perhaps you will figure it out, Lord Austen,” she flirted back.

  Serena noted the twinkle in his blue eyes, as his full dimpled smile emerged. She had a sudden desire to touch that arrogant face. What was it about this man? Her gaze centered on a straight scar down his right cheek. It intrigued her.

  “Allow me to explain,” Lord Austen laughed. “You see, I am considered quite unsuitable for marriage to most respectable ladies. My reputation precedes me, in part because I allow it. The rest is a fabrication of gossip I refuse to dispel.”

  “You are a true rogue? Should I be worried? Are you good at your craft? I am told that a man with a rake’s soul can be a dangerous excitement.”

  “So many questions, my lady, which require a thoughtful response. Let me say I have had no complaints.”

  “It grieves me to wound you, but since I have not heard about you or your notoriety, could it be possible we do not travel in the same social circles? Should I swoon and fall at your feet? Perhaps I do not find you irresistible.”

  Her stomach tightened when he strode toward her in lightning-fast motion. Her breath quickened. His arms uprooted her from the seat, his finger rested under her chin with just enough pressure to tilt it upward.

  “Have you not been unattached long enough? Do you desire a man in your bed? If so, I could be persuaded.”

  “Perhaps I am the one who needs persuasion.” Against the warning bell in her head, she opened to him when his lips claimed hers. Their tongues teased and the kiss lingered, laced with intimacy. Her body swayed, and made Serena aware of her heartbeat against his chest.

  She traced the scar at his cheek, curious how he’d sustained such an injury. Perhaps her heated fingertips would erase the memory of pain. Serena knew too much about such marks. Her uncharacteristic response, in spite of her fear, confused her. His allure was difficult to resist.

  She embraced him, pressed her breasts against his chest and experienced a pleasurable frisson that warmed her, his spice and clove cologne an additional attraction. Serena again enjoyed how his mouth plundered and tasted her lips. His skillful tongue flicked in erotic foreplay, something she had heard of but never experienced. She quivered when he pulled his mouth from hers.

  “My reckless lady, your kisses are the sweetest I have tasted. I must have more.” He again crushed her against him. Seeking. Tasting. Wanting. Taking. Demanding.

  Lord Austen set her body afire as he explored, tantalized. An odd sensation stirred within her and caused a tingle in her lower body. Strange, to her it had no name, but it delighted.

  He untied her hair ribbon, released the untamed dark curls that fell free against her shoulders. The red band lay unheeded on the pine-needled ground.

  “I like you this way,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Do my lips satisfy your desire, my lady? You look wild and wanton, an eager beauty I must possess.”

  “I am no man’s possession.”

  She reeled from Lord Austen’s sensual assault. His blatant arousal pressed against her and rather than desire, it filled her with fear. His nearness was too intimate. His touch too hot. His desire too obvious.

  A sinful leer crossed his face. He took her hand and placed her palm against his hardened manhood. “This is the kind of rake I am.”

  She yanked away from him, and sent a hard slap to his face. “You assume too much. I do not play this game.”

  “I think you are well-practiced in such games, dear lady.”

  “How dare you tarnish me so? You go too far.” She chastised herself for her role in fanning the flames, but she’d never admit it to him. Serena raised her chin in defiance, looked away, and pointed an accusing finger toward the fall of his breeches. “A mild flirtation does not cause that. I suggest you swim in the cool lake water to ease your discomfort.”

  She reached for her large canvas bag of art supplies, marched straight to her horse, and attached the bag to the custom-made leather strap on her saddle. She mounted Sheba and reined her horse to face the man who stood with his mouth agape. “Do not visit this place again if I am here. This is not a request, Lord Austen. If you do not abide my wishes, I will report your transgression to my brother. Do I make myself clear?”

  Lady Serena lightly touched her horse’s rump with her whip and cantered off without a backward glance.

  Lord Austen rubbed his cheek, ran his finger down the welt that would soon bruise.

  He spoke to Solomon. “I will survive this assault, but the damage done begs retribution.” His laughter echoed through the sunlit trees as he recaptured his self-esteem. Geoffrey found Serena a refreshing change from the ladies who paraded in front of him with marriage on their minds. Still, a decadent thought invaded his head.
He wished the yards of fabric that separated him from the softness of her body had dissolved when she was pressed against his hardness. The wanton lady had halted his seduction before it had barely started. “I think I have a coquette on my hands.” How he loved the chase.

  The ribbon he pulled from her hair lay on the ground. Geoffrey picked it up and inhaled its lemony fragrance. He pressed it to his lips, and then placed the pretty scarlet band in a pocket. It would be a remembrance until next they met. Perhaps he would tie one of her hands to the bedpost? No. He wanted those beautiful fingers free to stroke his body, while he explored hers.

  He recalled the pleasure when her generous breasts pressed against his chest and he’d envisioned his body above hers. In his mind, he saw her writhe in ecstasy beneath him. She would beg him to make her his own.

  Lord Austen closed his eyes and imagined the pleasure of touching her most intimately, inch by inch, and time and time again, until they were both exhausted and sated. He would wager she wouldn’t slap him then.

  He mounted his stallion and gave another hearty laugh. “Solomon, I am tempted to place a bet in the White’s Club books that she will be mine by week’s end, perhaps even sooner.” He guided his horse along the well-worn path to his host’s large manor house, whistling a bawdy tune.

  Chapter Two

  Serena rode Sheba at a steady pace, her nerves wound tighter than a viola string. Her mouth burned with fire from the touch of his lips. Her fingertips tingled. All thoughts were vivid images of him. A rush of desire pooled in her belly, no—lower. The unmistakable sense of something gone wrong rained over her. She’d encountered a rake of the highest water. Damn him.

  She’d made the mistake of playing the game on his terms. Serena considered him a harmless amusement. After all, the devil could not tempt those who would not succumb. Rakes never fell in love, and neither would she.

  The familiar sight of her brother’s stables calmed her. She dismounted and handed Sheba’s reins to the groom. “John, please brush her down.” The man, and his father before him, had been with their family since her childhood. “I will ride her back to my house soon.”

  Serena walked toward the estate house, muttering. “If my brother knew of my brazen behavior just now, he would disown me.” She pounded her riding crop against her palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid.