A Duke’s Most Tempting Saviour (Preview)

Chapter One 

Waves beat mercilessly against the side of the ship, tossing it to and fro until the injured soldier, Michael Ross, son and heir of the Duke of Rosswell was not sure whether it was his injuries that pained him or the jostling of the vessel. For days, Michael laid there in his own filth, barely able to move, only able to turn his head enough to vomit over the side of the makeshift bed that had been allotted to him. All around him were the moans and cries of other agonised men, all injured in the Napoleonic Wars that had taken them far from home just to spit them out again. 

That particular night was one Michael would never forget, one when a mighty sea storm had ravished the ship so badly that men were flung from their stretchers and beds where they had been packed in like sardines. Some would never see the light of day again and every moment that Michael lay there, he felt as though he might be one of them. With his injuries so great, all he had been able to do was hold onto the edges of his bed and although he had never been a very religious man, he prayed as though his life depended on it, because in truth, it might as well have.

That long and arduous journey still haunted him now, several months after his return to England. And it was dreams of that night that he found himself awoken from the morning that his father visited. He struggled into a sitting position, woken just as the ship began to tilt alarmingly, the moment that there was the rap of knuckles on his bed chamber door. Panting for breath and trying to ignore the pain in his legs and the base of his spine, Michael gritted his teeth and called, “Come in!”

The door opened with a creak and Michael clenched his jaw. There had been a time when he would have gotten up, dressed, and taken it upon himself to oil the hinges of said door just to save someone else the job. Yet now he was sorely unable. 

The butler stepped into the room, pausing to bow before he made his way to the end of the bed and explained, “My lord, His Grace has arrived to see you.” 

Michael groaned deeply at that. Though his father so rarely came to visit him at the small London townhouse that his father had gifted him for his recuperation, Michael was not at all sure he was prepared to face him after such terrible dreams, and with little to tell him in the way of good news. 

“Shall I fetch your wheelchair, my lord?” Mr Renwick asked, and Michael quickly shook his head. Though it was much less painful physically to sit in his wheelchair and have the butler take him out to meet his father, there was no way he would allow him to see him that way. The hit that his pride would take was not worth the physical pain it would save. 

“My crutches will be fine,” Michael insisted and pushing back the bedsheets, he began to move his legs toward the edge of the bed, using his hands to move them in an attempt to save himself a little pain while he could. 

“Are you sure, my lord?” Mr Renwick asked as though he was not entirely convinced that the duke’s son was prepared for the pain and effort it would take. 

“Perhaps I should fetch the wheelchair and then you may use your crutches when we arrive?” Renwick suggested, looking more than a little concerned. Again, Michael shook his head. “You have nothing to prove, my lord.” 

Michael’s entire body tensed, and his jaw clenched so tightly that it made his teeth hurt. Renwick was wrong. He had everything to prove. After all, he was the heir to the Rosswell estate, and he was practically a cripple. The two did not exactly sit side by side. 

“I am well aware of my own capabilities, thank you, Renwick,” Michael insisted through gritted teeth. Every moment that he spent on his feet was pure agony, but he battled through it as he slipped off the bed and used one of the four posts to hold himself up. “Now, help me dress, will you? Father does not like to be kept waiting.”

Renwick was right and by the time that Michael managed to hobble down the hall on his crutches, he found his father pacing up and down beside the grand fireplace in the drawing room. The man looked far less pleased to see his eldest son than Michael might have expected. 

Holding his breath, Michael entered the room carefully, hating the very idea that he might stumble and trip and make himself look foolish in front of the very man he had been looking up to for most of his life. 

“Your Grace,” he greeted his father formerly, struggling not to flinch under the scathing glare he received in return. 

“Is that any way to greet your father after making him wait an unimaginable amount of time?” the greying-haired, round-bellied nobleman boomed, looking quite uninterested in any excuse or apology that his son might give.  All the same, Michael felt the need to offer one. 

“Forgive me, Father. I was not yet risen when you arrived, and Renwick did his utmost to see me dressed in a timely manner,” he explained, and the butler who had stopped in the shadows at the door behind him bowed his head in acknowledgement of his words. 

“It is simply not good enough,” the Duke of Rosswell insisted, and Michael had to bite his tongue to stop himself from reminding his father that he was not good enough, not with all that he had gone through and with his injuries so great. It was clear that his father needed no telling on that score. “Am I to at least be offered refreshments?”

Michael cringed at that. He knew his father well enough to know that he did not fancy small things like cups of tea and biscuits upon visits. If he had been hungry or thirsty, he would have taken care of matters before arriving to save time on whatever his reasons were for being there in the first place. Asking for refreshments was a reason to be alone with his son, and Michael knew very well that meant that whatever his father had come to visit him for, this visit was not going to end well. 

“Renwick, please, will you fetch some refreshments for the Duke and I?” Michael suggested, speaking through a clenched jaw because it was the only way he could stop himself from simply snapping at his father to merely come out and say whatever it was that he had come to say. If he had, his words would likely have betrayed the amount of pain that he was in. The only thing holding him up in that present moment was his hands white-knuckled on the crutches at his sides. The moment the butler was gone from the room with a silent bow, Michael suggested, “Will you sit, Father?” 

“I have not come to sit and idly chat,” the Duke snapped with a shake of his head. Michael’s chest tightened and his cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment. 

“Then would you mind if I sat?” Michael asked, holding his breath as he half awaited his father’s rejection of the request. 

The grim expression his father offered him suggested he was not pleased, though he gestured toward the nearest armchair and hissed, “If you must.”

Though Michael loathed the idea of showing any kind of weakness in front of his father, he forced himself across the room and sank down into the chair with a deep sigh of relief, wondering whether Renwick might have been right about his wheelchair. Though there had been a time when he had been stuck in it from dawn until dusk and he had hated it, he had come to be thankful for it in the time since the feeling had come back in his legs, and sometimes it felt as if every nerve from the waist down was on fire. 

“I hope that you come with glad tidings, Father,” Michael said, forcing a smile and barely resisting the urge to stroke his thighs in an attempt to ease the current burning pain. 

“I am afraid not, son,” the Duke responded with a keen shake of his head. He finally stopped in his pacing and turned to stare at Michael, towering over him like an imposing force of nature rather than a caring father who almost lost his son overseas. 

Michael tried to tell himself that he was used to it. After all, his father had never really been the emotional or caring type and yet sitting there now, Michael felt as if his heart was breaking, almost certain he already knew what was coming. 

“Michael, I have come to a decision,” the Duke declared. “When I placed you in this house, it was because I believed that your recovery would be much swifter than it has been.” 

Michael opened his mouth to protest that the doctors had all agreed that his recovery was swifter than any they had ever seen before. He had been working for many months to regain the use of his legs after having been hit in the lower spine by shrapnel. Several doctors had even told him that he would never walk again at all and yet here he was, having just walked right into the drawing room from his bed chambers all the way down the hall. To him, every day that he got up and climbed out of bed on his own was an achievement. His father did not appear to see it that way. 

Crossing his arms over his broad chest and resting them on the top of his round belly, the Duke glowered at his son as he said, “Michael, as my heir, there are certain responsibilities expected of you. I was patient while you were away overseas, but now that you are back, I have had some difficult decisions to make.” 

Michael continued to hold his breath, already certain that he knew what was coming. He had been trying to mentally prepare himself for this day ever since he found himself bedbound in a medic tent. And yet, even now he realised that he could not believe it was happening. That his father was turning his back on him so entirely made him feel sick. 

“I have been trying my hardest to get back on my feet,” Michael insisted, but his father lifted a hand to break him off. With a shake of his head the Duke pursed his lips and seemed to suck in a breath through his nose. 

“I have thought long and hard on this and I have decided that until we are absolutely certain of your full recovery, your brother shall take over as heir,” the Duke announced, and the stinging sensation in Michael’s gut only grew more painful at the mention of his brother.

“Does Edward know of this?” Michael asked, wondering whether his brother might have known all about it when he had come to visit him only the day before. He had noticed that his brother had been acting slightly off but never in a million years would he have imagined that this was the reason. The barely veiled flinch that passed through his father’s body suggested that he had known. 

This is it then, Michael thought. After months and months of putting himself through unimaginable pain to try and get back on his feet, back to being the heir and son that his father wanted him to be, he was to be thrown away as if he was nothing. “What is to become of me?” 

The spark of determination that had been lit in his stomach from the moment he returned home several months earlier was suddenly doused by cold defeat, and he struggled to keep his head from bowing. Every inch of his body suddenly felt far too heavy, and he would have liked nothing more than to crawl back to his bedchambers and disappear back beneath the bedsheets. 

“I have made the purchase of a small manor house in Cornwall. I am assured it is a beautiful little place and surrounded by fields,” the Duke explained, and Michael’s jaw clenched with the desire to snap at his father that he need not sugar coat anything. “You are to be taken there by the end of the week to continue your recovery in peace.” 

In solitude where I cannot bring shame upon the family, Michael thought the words that his father would never allow himself to say aloud. Yet, the son could see it written plainly on his father’s face, and it did not make anything easier. 

“Is this truly necessary?” Michael asked, unable to stop himself from trying one final time to make his father see that all would be well. He just needed a little more time. “Can I not remain in London? The doctors here have helped me a great deal.” 

“They have not helped you enough!” the Duke hissed in response, his entire face reddening with distaste at the fact his son had tried to object. “Besides, Cornwall has fine doctors of its own, and I have sent the local hospital specific instructions to ensure that your treatment is continued.” 

His father’s tone of voice suggested that there was no point in attempting to argue the matter. Yet another question occurred to Michael just as suddenly as the defeat had set in. “And what of Miss Lockdon?” 

He could already imagine the pretty brunette and how devastated she would be to learn of the change in his circumstances. After all, they had been betrothed practically since they were children. 

“You need not worry of Miss Lockdon,” the Duke told him with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. “She will be taken care of.” 

Michael’s throat constricted and his mouth grew dry. His lips parted to speak and yet he was unsure as to what he had been planning to say. Closing them once more, he tried to get a handle on his racing heart. 

“Father?” Michael choked out the word even as his father turned swiftly and walked toward the door as though he meant to leave. When the duke turned back to him, he quickly asked, “Will I have the chance to say my goodbyes?” 

“Yes.” The duke sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. “Though I do not see how it will make any difference.” 

And with that, the Duke was gone with the slamming of the drawing room door, refreshments forgotten. 

Michael remained where he was, trembling with both the sheer pain and exhaustion of his walk from the bedchambers and also the shock his father had put him through. After so many months of focusing on his recovery, doing everything that he could to regain the use of his legs, it had all been for nothing. Why does he even bother with sending me to Cornwall? Michael asked himself. He should have just put me out of my misery. 

 

Chapter Two

The very next day, right when Michael was beginning to think that nothing else could possibly go wrong, he received perhaps the most heart-breaking visit he had ever had to experience. Guided into the drawing room by Renwick and struggling on his crutches, Michael was more than a little pleased and yet still apprehensive to find Miss Bridgette Lockdon awaiting him. Though the butler had warned him of her presence, he found that he was entirely unprepared to see her. As soon as he set foot in the room, his eyes pricked with tears and he struggled to hold them back. The woman he had been betrothed to since they were children had only visited a few times since his return to London, and although she never stayed long, she had always looked happy to see him. 

Yet today, there was a look upon her face that made Michael’s insides twist almost as painfully as his legs. 

“You really ought to have let me get you the wheelchair, my lord,” Renwick insisted when Michael almost tripped over the edge of the rug. The butler gripped hold of his arm tightly to steady him, but Michael quickly snatched it away, shaking his head. 

“I am perfectly fine, Renwick,” he hissed, instantly regretting how harshly he had spoken to the butler, who seemed to be the only person close to him who actually appeared to care. He would miss him in Cornwall, though he doubted his father would relinquish the butler of his second London townhouse to the son he had decided to brush under the carpet. More gently he added, “Please, leave us.” 

The butler raised an eyebrow as if he wanted to object, but it was Miss Lockdon who prevented him when she said, “Penny and I can take care of him, Renwick.” 

There was that charming smile that she always had, the one that nobody could argue with. 

“As you wish, my lord, my lady,” Renwick responded, bowing to each of them before he retired reluctantly from the room. Michael watched him go before he turned back to Miss Lockdon and her lady’s maid who was standing off in the shadow at the edge of the room to give them a little privacy. 

“My lord, please, come and sit with me,” Miss Lockdon insisted and before Michael could protest, she had crossed the room with a swishing of her pale pink gown, and already had her arm linked through his to help him to the couch. He gritted his teeth in order to stop himself from snapping at her that he did not need help. For too long, he had endured the pity of people, feeling and hearing it in their tone and the way that they acted around him, and Miss Lockdon was by far the worst to receive it from. He did not wish for her to look at him like some helpless child who needed her help just to sit. He wished for her to look at him as she had used to, as if he were a man that could take care of her and would make sure that nothing ever went wrong. That had all flown out of the window the moment that he had been injured. 

“Miss Lockdon, I was not expecting to see you today,” Michael admitted, trying to keep his tone calm and cheery as she settled down beside him. The truth was he had not been expecting to see anyone since the letter had arrived from his father at dawn announcing that he would depart for Cornwall that afternoon. The letter had contained the words, ‘all preparations are made, so we must make haste to get you situated and back on the road to recovery’. If Michael had had it in him, he might have written back and insisted that he would not need to get back on the road to recovery if he were not sent away in the first place. Yet all the fight had gone out of him since his father had announced that he was no longer the heir to the Rosswell estate and all that went along with it. 

“I was not sure whether I should come or not,” Miss Lockdon admitted, and she glanced down at her hand where it was still resting gently upon his arm. Michael saw the way her cheeks flushed almost as if she were embarrassed of something. “I thought of just writing you once you arrived in Cornwall, but I did not believe I could do that to you.” 

Michael’s stomach clenched at her words, and he was suddenly well aware that Miss Lockdon had come with similar tidings to his father’s the day before. Straightening his spine, Michael pulled his arm out from beneath her grip and said through gritted teeth, “Why have you come, Miss Lockdon?” 

“I…I…Michael, I have been putting off this conversation for far too long,” Miss Lockdon explained. She reached out as if to touch him again and then seemed to think better of it. Michael watched the way she placed both her hands palm down on her lap and sat gazing at him as if she wished so badly, she could just think the words and he would hear them. 

“Just say it, Miss Lockdon,” he insisted, feeling his stomach twist even more painfully the longer she decided to draw it out. 

“Michael, I fear we always knew that this day would come,” Miss Lockdon insisted, and her hazel eyes glistened with tears. “I am afraid that I cannot marry a man whose future is so uncertain.” 

Though Michael had been half-expecting it ever since his return to London, it was still a major shock to hear the words fall from Miss Lockdon’s plump red lips. 

“Bridge, you…you do not mean that.” Michael was unable to stop himself from saying the words. Reaching out, he gripped hold of her hand on her lap and pulled it up. Cupping her hand in both of his, he pressed her knuckles to his lips and whispered against them, “We have been betrothed since we were children.” 

“That…that was when we believed we would be able to have children of our own someday,” Miss Lockdon objected, snagging her hand away from him as though she found his touch too painful to endure. “That was when I believed I would be the wife of a duke and my children would inherit the lands and titles afforded them by their father.” 

Michael’s heart threatened to break into a million pieces at her words and yet he knew that she was right. He knew that when they had been children, dreaming of their lives together, it had looked nothing like this. He could not say that he blamed her for not wanting to be the wife of a cripple. Still, it caused his chest to tighten and his eyes to begin to water. 

“But what will you do otherwise?” Michael asked, his insides clenching at the question because deep down he knew that a young woman like Miss Lockdon had far more options than a man like him. As the daughter of a viscount, she was sure to make a fine match, though he was not at all sure she would be able to secure herself another duke. I am no longer to be a duke, he reminded himself grimly, his insides turning to ice at the thought. 

There was silence for several moments as Miss Lockdon turned her gaze from his and her cheeks grew ever brighter. The shameful expression on her face made Michael’s entire body tense until he was forced to relax due to the pain it caused to shoot down both his legs. 

“What is it, Miss Lockdon?” Michael asked. Though it was extraordinarily painful, he forced himself to smile and placed his hand upon hers once more. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” 

The lady’s hand twisted beneath his and she gripped hold of his fingers, squeezing them gently as she finally turned her gaze up to his. “I am sorry, Michael. I truly am.” 

The pain only grew in Michael’s heart until he felt as though it was threatening to overwhelm him. 

“There is someone else.” 

The words threatened to crumble Michael to pieces. After two thirds of his life believing that he would marry the woman sitting before him and one day become the Duke of Rosswell, in the blink of an eye he had lost everything. The pain was so unimaginable that it almost entirely overwhelmed the physical pain that he was feeling. For the first time since his accident, he managed to jump to his feet, catching himself on his crutches before his legs could give way beneath him. 

“Who is he?” he demanded through gritted teeth. He held onto the crutches so tightly that his knuckles became bone white, though this time it was not due to pain but sheer anger, and he knew that if he did not clench his jaw and tighten his fists, he might do something he would regret. It did not matter how badly Miss Lockdon had betrayed him, he would not lash out in front of her. No noble lady deserved to see him entirely lose his temper. He had never allowed that to happen, and he would not allow it to now. 

Yet Miss Lockdon seemed to know exactly how to test him on the matter. She glanced down at her hands, twisting her handkerchief between them and shrugging her shoulders. “I would prefer not to say, my lord.” 

In his fury, Michael turned away. Catching the eye of Penny, the lady’s maid, he saw the woman’s face quickly fall and her cheeks begin to blush as though she too was unwilling to give away her lady’s secret. 

“If you will not tell me willingly, then I shall not force you,” Michael said through gritted teeth, his jaw hurting with the effort of it. “I am sure I will find out eventually if all goes well for you.” 

A lump started to form in his throat then, and he knew that if she did not leave soon, he might not be able to hold himself together. Struggling to keep his voice level, he added, “I think you ought to leave, Miss Lockdon.” 

“But I…” Miss Lockdon started to protest, and Michael cringed at the way she reached out to grip hold of his hand. “I…I never meant to hurt you, Michael.” 

Michael closed his eyes, flinching at the way she said his name. Once when she had said it, it might have made his heart race. Now it only made his heart sink, and he had to close himself off to it or he feared he might never be able to feel again. 

“Please, Bridgette, just go,” he said, barely able to speak above a whisper. “It would be better for us both if you just left.” 

He was relieved and only slightly disappointed when Miss Lockdon silently rose to her feet and began to make her way toward the door. She did not stop until she reached it with Penny at her side. Then she turned back and said, “Goodbye, my lord.” 

There was pain in her tone and yet Michael could not bring himself to hear it. He did not wish to think on how this experience had pained her. All he could think about now was himself. A lump still in his throat, he turned away again, catching her curtsey out of the corner of his eye. 

“I am sure that Renwick will see you out,” he said over his shoulder, having no intention of seeing to it himself. His legs were already threatening to buckle beneath him, and he knew there was no way he would be able to make it all the way from the drawing room to the entryway without tripping or worse, collapsing entirely. 

“Michael?” Miss Lockdon’s tone was almost pleading and yet Michael still could not bring himself to look at her. He would have rather pretended like he had not heard her at all, though he was sure she had likely seen the way his entire body tensed at the sound of her voice. She seemed to ignore his lack of response and said softly, “I do hope that your journey to Cornwall will be a pleasant one.” 

The lump in his throat suddenly threatened to choke him and he had to bite back tears even as he heard Miss Lockdon and her maid leave the room. Though they did not slam the door as his father had the day before, it hurt just as much, and he found himself collapsing back down onto the couch the moment that he was sure they were gone. 

With his head in his hands, Michael wept. It was something he had not done since he was a child when his father had taken away his favourite toys for acting up. Now, the sobs wracked his body causing even more pain in his lower back and his legs than he ever could have imagined. 

When he had been injured overseas, he had assumed that something terrible would occur upon his return home, and yet he never could have imagined the sheer magnitude of what would truly happen. In a matter of days, he had lost not only his title but the only woman he had ever truly cared for. Even more so, he had lost himself, or at least everything he believed made him who he was. 

What am I to do now? he thought through his tears, wishing that he could scream the question in the hopes that the universe might answer him directly. Yet instead, he remained silent, pursing his lips and keeping his face covered with his hands so not to let out a sound. The last thing he wanted was for Renwick to hear him crying. If that were to happen, he might as well end everything himself. At least that way he could go out on his own terms. Since his return to London, his life had not been his own. 

Perhaps Cornwall will be different, he thought, a small glimmer of hope beginning to fire in his stomach. It was quickly quenched the moment that Renwick entered, pushing his empty wheelchair before him. 

“My lord, the carriage is packed and ready to depart,” the butler explained, “Do you require your chair, or do you wish to walk?” 

What is the point? Michael thought even as he tried his best to quickly wipe away his tears. What did it matter whether he walked out now? He had lost everything. Nobody was counting on him to get better anymore. Why should I even try? 

“I will take the chair.”

---

“A Duke’s Most Tempting Saviour” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

The enthralling Lady Amelia Croweley has an alternate identity to those at the local hospital where she volunteers. They know nothing of her nobility, and that is the way she and her family like it. However, problems begin to arise when the head doctor requests that she takes on a very special task… When she finds herself treating Michael, the miserable son of a Duke, her life will turn into the most scandalous adventure of all. Trouble is, once she has tasted his sinful kiss, she wants it all.

She was not looking for passionate love, but what will Amelia do when it finds her?

The fiery Lord Michael Ross, eldest son to the Duke of Rosswell, has had his entire life laid out before him. What nobody saw coming was the upcoming war, though. After a horrendous accident, Michael is at risk of losing everything to his younger brother, including the only woman he has ever desired. Just when he decides there is no point in trying to get his old life back, can a tantalising nurse change his mind?

Michael soon finds himself torn between old desires and new…

Sibling rivalry, a seemingly irreversible injury and a wicked secret of a false identity threaten to rip Amelia and Michael apart, but passion proves stronger than even the most wicked intentions. Will their sizzling connection be enough to withstand the pressure mounting against them? Can a cruel and painful accident really turn out to be fate setting two scandalous lovers on the right path to find each other?

“A Duke’s Most Tempting Saviour” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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