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Prologue
Christian found himself in the dimly lit study, as shadows danced across the intricately patterned Persian rug that stretched across the floor. He had been staring at the man seated opposite him, the same man who had given him his name: Christian Edgar Singleton III. As a small boy, he considered it much too long to even think, let alone pronounce, but his father’s opinion was that the longer the name, the more respectable the family.
Respect was everything to his father, the man who had barely paid any attention to his son for the past twenty minutes, although he had been the one sending for him in the first place. Christian Edgar Singleton II was busy writing something down, occasionally frowning, as if he were alone. Christian looked around, in an effort to find something to distract himself with.
His father’s study had always been a place where Christian was allowed only on rare occasions. Dark wood paneling adorned the walls, lending an air of gravity and sophistication to the room. The flickering flames of a few candles in ornate brass holders cast a warm amber glow, highlighting the richness of the surroundings.
The centerpiece of the office was a grand mahogany desk, its surface polished to a gleaming sheen. Elaborate carvings adorned its edges, depicting scenes of battles and triumphs from a bygone era. Gold trimmings traced intricate patterns along the edges, catching the light and adding a touch of opulence to the imposing piece of furniture. When Christian had been a child, this was the place where grown-up things were settled, and even now as a grown up himself, he still had the same awe of the place.
He couldn’t shake the familiar sensation of discomfort that settled like a heavy shroud around his shoulders. The polished study suddenly felt suffocating, trapping him in a web of memories and expectations. He shifted uneasily in the plush chair, the rich fabric of his own tailored suit chafing against his skin. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being a child once more, sitting in the presence of his imposing father, waiting for the inevitable lecture to begin.
More than twenty minutes had passed in stifling silence, each second stretching out like an eternity. Christian’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment. Why couldn’t his father just speak his mind and be done with it? The prolonged silence only fueled Christian’s unease, leaving him on edge and vulnerable to the flood of memories. With a heavy sigh, Christian resisted the urge to fidget, to squirm under the weight of his father’s scrutiny.
Christian’s resolve wavered as the silence stretched on, his frustration bubbling to the surface like a simmering cauldron. Unable to bear the weight of his father’s silent judgment any longer, he finally broke. His patience was worn thin by the suffocating tension of the room.
“What is it you’ve called me in for?” Christian’s voice finally rang out, laced with a hint of defiance despite his best efforts to remain calm. He braced himself for the brunt of his father’s words, steeling himself against the wave of derision and disappointment that he knew would follow.
However, his father’s response was maddeningly indifferent. He looked up from his writing, one greying eyebrow lifted in silent reproach, before returning his attention to the task at hand without a word spoken. Christian knew that it was a calculated display of power, a reminder of who held the reins of authority in their home.
Christian bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, a futile attempt to contain his mounting frustration. He tore his gaze away from his father’s inscrutable expression, instead fixing his eyes on the painting that hung prominently behind the desk. The painting, a portrait of some long-deceased ancestor, stared back at him with the same cold detachment as his father. Its stern visage seemed to mock him, a silent witness to his struggles and shortcomings. But still, Christian refused to back down, his jaw set in a stubborn line as he waited for his father to break the oppressive silence.
After what felt like an entire eternity of silence, his father finally put down his quill pen. His voice, laced with thinly veiled disdain, cut through the air.
“Where were you the week before?” The question hung in the air like a challenge.
“Around,” Christian shrugged, frowning.
His father snorted loudly in more derision, which only fueled them both, and the familiar litany of accusations and reproaches echoed in the air.
“I am done supporting you and your lackadaisical ways, not to mention your rakish exploits, which you seem to be so proud of,” his father spoke with a stern tone of voice and an even more stern look in his eyes.
None of this particularly affected Christian. After all, he had heard this monologue more times than he could count. It always ended in the same way. However, when he locked gazes with his father, the look on his father’s face assured him that this time, it would be different.
“You have until the end of this season to repair your reputation and find a bride,” his father’s voice was dry, without any malice, but that only seemed to underscore the gravity of the words themselves. “If you fail to do so, you will be disinherited.”
Upon hearing that, Christian felt as though the air had been sucked out of the chamber, leaving him breathless and disoriented. But before he could question any of it, his father stood up and left Christian alone in his study.
A bride? Repair my reputation?
The words echoed in Christian’s mind, bouncing off the walls of his fragile consciousness like a disjointed refrain. His mind was reeling with the enormity of what was being asked of him.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Christian realized that he had been given a deadline, a narrow window of opportunity in which to salvage his reputation and secure his future. But where to begin? The task seemed insurmountable, a daunting mountain to climb with no clear path forward.
Chapter One
“Marie, just a moment, you need to—”
Marie Annete Cathbury, the daughter of the Baron of Upton, wasn’t listening to the sound of her mother’s voice.
The truth was, Marie could not wait a single moment longer. Already, the wait was unbearable. Every moment felt like an entire hour, ticking away painfully slowly. Her eyes searched the ball chamber. Everyone was already in attendance. Happy chatter filled every corner of the place, reverberating in Marie’s mind. Was it possible that he wouldn’t come? No. He had to. He had informed her of it only two days ago when she stumbled onto him in Hyde Park. Not by accident, of course, but that didn’t matter.
Finally, there he was.
Henry Tanner, the Viscount of Montague. He was the very reason why she had purchased a new gown for the occasion and had her hair so tightly woven into a low bun that she was already lightheaded from the pressure. He was the cause of all the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. And he was the very motive because she was attending that ball in the first place. It was all for him.
As she approached Lord Montague, her heart quickened with anticipation, the rhythmic thud echoing in her ears like a distant drumbeat. She couldn’t hear her mother’s voice any longer, calling out to her to come back. In fact, she couldn’t hear anyone else’s voice for the simple reason that they did not exist. Her mind had erased them from existence, leaving only the two of them. Her steps were purposeful and determined, leaving behind the chatter and laughter that filled the crowded ballroom.
There was an undeniable undercurrent between them, an invisible thread that seemed to draw them together with an irresistible force. Marie felt it thrumming in the air around her, electrifying her senses and sending shivers down her spine. Lord Montague stood tall and imposing, his presence commanding attention as he surveyed the room with a cool detachment. But when his gaze landed on Marie, a spark ignited between them, igniting a fire that burned bright and fierce.
Marie felt her pulse quicken at the sight of him, her breath catching in her throat as she drew nearer. As they met in the center of the room, Marie was filled with a heady mix of excitement and romance, her heart pounding with the thrill of anticipation. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection that crackled between them, a palpable energy that seemed to envelop them both in its embrace. She was so mesmerized by him that she had not wondered once why he had not approached her yet, asking her to dance.
“Lord Montague,” she greeted him breathlessly as she neared him.
Truly, it ought to be criminal for a man to be so unapologetically dashing. She knew that all eyes were on him. He drew everyone’s attention towards himself so effortlessly. Sometimes, she wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.
“Miss Cathbury,” he smiled, bowing respectfully in front of her.
She curtsied without breaking eye contact. In fact, she wouldn’t be able to look away from him even if she tried. Lord Montague cut a striking figure, his tall, looming presence commanding attention wherever he went. He possessed a stature that was more than respectable, exuding an air of confidence and authority that easily set him apart from the rest of the crowd.
His features were handsome and refined, chiseled with the precision of a sculptor’s hand. Bright blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and charm, hinting at hidden depths and unspoken desires. Dark brown hair, carefully styled and impeccably groomed, framed his face in soft waves, adding to his allure and magnetism. It was impossible not to be drawn to this Greek god, and she found herself so easily succumbing to his charms every time they met.
“It is lovely to see you here,” she said a little awkwardly, needing a starting point for their conversation.
“It is you who are lovely,” he replied charmingly, revealing a row of pearly whites. “And your loveliness only adds to the occasion.”
“Oh, you are too kind.” She blushed, waving her hand at him, but her heart seemed to flutter more and more at his words. She wanted to steal him for herself, to be somewhere alone with him and listen to the sound of his voice, spilling compliment after compliment. She blushed fervently at the thought, reminding herself how inappropriate it was. But it was difficult to control herself around him, as she was utterly smitten by the man.
“Merely detail-oriented,” he corrected her playfully, nearing her so that she was able to sense his cologne which permeated her nostrils. Her entire body shivered at his manly scent.
“I was passing by the book shop on Northrop Street two days ago and I saw you through the window,” she admitted. She decided to keep to herself the fact that she and her best friend, Eileen Druery, had been following him discreetly for over fifteen minutes, until he disappeared in the book shop. Then, they pretended to stop and peruse the window themselves. It was a rather awkward maneuver, but obviously, it was successful.
“Ah yes,” he nodded. “I was searching for some adventure novels.”
“Oh, I have a splendid recommendation!” she exclaimed, a little louder than she ought to have. Books were among her favorite topics, especially books that focused on adventures in far-away lands.
“You do?” he lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “I thought ladies preferred romance novels with a happy ending.”
She beamed at the hidden compliment. “I read what catches my fancy, happy end or not.”
“A lady who reads adventure novels,” he mused. “How quaint.”
She smiled even more broadly. She wanted to impress him in every way a woman could impress a man. “Have you read the latest work of Sir Walter Scott?” she asked, her voice laced with excitement.
His bright blue eyes lit up with interest. “I cannot say that I have.”
“Oh, but you must!” she exclaimed again, clapping her hands excitedly. “His use of historic themes and romantic elements in ‘Ivanhoe’ is quite captivating. And the portrayal of chivalry and adventure is absolutely enlightening.”
“It would certainly seem that I must,” he grinned at her, as their conversation flowed effortlessly. With each turn of phrase, Marie painted vivid pictures with her expressive speech, igniting a spark of curiosity he could not deny.
As they conversed, Lord Montague leaned in, their hands brushing in a fleeting moment of contact.
“I always forget how eloquent you are,” he said, but she barely heard him. All she could focus on was what he did, not what he said. “And I am happy to note that it is not your only skill.”
The sensation of his touch sent a jolt through her entire being, igniting a flare within her that burned with a fierce intensity. Her skin tingled with awareness, every nerve ending alight with the thrill of his proximity. For Marie, it was a moment suspended in time, a fleeting instant of connection that left her breathless and yearning for more. In that simple touch, she felt a depth of emotion stirring within her that she had never experienced before. She wondered if he could see it in her eyes, the effect he had on her, the currents that streamed through her body, awakened by his gaze, his voice and his touch.
At that moment, he pulled away gracefully, creating that distance of propriety between them again, as if nothing had happened. A gaping hole opened between them, and she mourned the sensation of his hand on herself. Desperate to continue being in his presence, she dared to try and continue their conversation.
“There is actually a skill that I am not that good at,” she started, faltering a little and blushing, but endeavoring to keep control of herself.
“Oh?” he wondered, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “What is that?”
“Dancing,” she revealed, with a shy smile, hoping that she would find the right words to portray her wishes without seeming too forward. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me what it is I am doing wrong and instruct me?”
Much to her disappointment, she saw his brow furrowing. He simply excused himself with a polite smile. “I would love nothing more, Miss Cathbury,” he said with a regretful tone, “but I have promised Lady Caroline the next dance, and Lady Wilhelmina after that. I cannot refuse them, as they are the daughters of my mother’s good friend. It would be rude of me to do so.”
“It would,” Marie was quick to agree, although she chose to keep to herself that refusing her was rude as well.
After all, they had spent some time in each other’s company, albeit not courting, but rather getting to know each other, a process she was enjoying immensely. Only, it seemed that they were still stuck in that acquaintance phase, even after a whole year. A new season had started, and she was filled with hope that he would muster the courage to take the next step and announce to her father that he wished to court her. Only, he showed no such inclination yet. All she could do now was plaster a smile on her face, nodding gracefully as she watched him bow, turn away and depart, but inside, she felt thwarted and disheartened.
A few minutes later, as she watched Lord Montague glide across the dance floor with Lady Caroline, a sense of longing gnawed at her insides. She had dared to hope for a moment of connection, only to be left standing on the sidelines, feeling forgotten and overlooked by the very man who held her heart in the palm of his hands. Was it possible that he didn’t know that?
No. That couldn’t be. She had done everything in her power to show him, while still retaining her lady-like demeanor, the fact that she cared for him deeply. In turn, she believed he cared for her as well. Only… he couldn’t quite get around to showing it.
“Why isn’t Lord Montague dancing with you?” Marie suddenly heard Eileen’s voice from somewhere behind her. A moment later, her best friend was standing next to her, arms crossed and with a frown on her face. Eileen had been by Marie’s side ever since her first season the previous year and the beginning of her blossoming affection for Lord Montague. So, Eileen also knew that it was time for more action on the part of the gentleman.
“I have been asking myself that same question,” Marie responded, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. “Apparently, he had already promised to dance with Lady Caroline and then Lady Wilhelmina.”
“Oh, the daughters of Lady Weatherly,” Eileen pointed out, echoing Lord Montague’s own words. “She is a close friend of his mother’s.”
“So he said.” Marie didn’t find that soothing at all. “Well, he has to put on a show, Eileen. And Shakespeare did famously say, ‘All the world’s a stage,’” she muttered under her breath, her tone laden with sarcasm.
But before Marie could elaborate further, Eileen shot her a concerned glance, her voice low and urgent. “Marie, do lower your voice. We don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention,” she continued to caution, casting a wry glance around the room.
Marie frowned. “I am not drawing any unnecessary attention. I am merely stating my opinion, Eileen.” She spoke softly, but confidently.
“As a lady ought to.” She suddenly heard an unfamiliar voice come from somewhere behind her, and the moment she turned around, her eyes locked with a stunningly handsome man. In that one fraction of a second, she knew he was trouble.
Yet, she couldn’t look away.
My new novel “A Fake Courtship with the Devilish Lord” is coming soon! Stay tuned for the announcement!
Do you want more Historical Romance? Check out my latest Amazon Best-Selling novel, “A Scandalous Dance with a Widowed Duke”!
Miss Regina Townsend, the eldest daughter of a merchant, is resigned to securing a suitable marriage to pave the way for her younger sisters. When a well-bred, but dull Viscount proposes, her future seems set… Until she encounters the irresistible Duke of Redham at the upcoming ball. As the mysterious rumors surrounding his name intrigue her, dancing with him will be enough to ignite her dreams with sinful passion. Caught between her prospective engagement and burning love, Regina must decide whether to follow her heart or her sense of duty.
Will she make the right decision?
The widowed Duke, William Howard, has recently returned from France after his family’s reputation was tarnished by scandal and his wife’s tragic death. While trying to restore his family’s honor, he is hopelessly drawn to Regina’s alluring beauty. With the scandalous gossip surrounding him, William struggles to keep the shadows of the past away, while trying to win Regina’s heart. Yet, discovering his father’s misdeeds involving Regina’s family complicates things even more.
Can he risk it all to conquer a forbidden Lady?
As Regina and William unleash their true emotions through their passionate affair, the secrets of his past will start haunting them. With Regina’s engagement party approaching, they try to find a way into each other’s heart, but schemes and revelations threaten to tear them apart. Will they surrender to their bond and let the fire within them burn all the obstacles in their way? Will love win or will secrets and scandal take over?
“A Scandalous Dance with a Widowed Duke” is a historical romance novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 5 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Lust and Love in High Society", and get 5 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello my dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek! I will be waiting for your comments below. Thank you so much! 🙂