One Night with a Duke Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Sandra Masters

  One Night with a Duke

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Samantha screamed.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  If you enjoyed One Night with a Duke, you’ll want to watch for the next book in the series. Here’s an excerpt:

  Chapter One

  A word about the author…

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

  “I do hope that none of the rakish kind

  will offer for my basket. Men do feel widows are fair game. I’m not sure how I would handle such rakes. I have insufficient experience, but I suppose I will have to learn.”

  “My dear Samantha, do you expect me to understand that in these past three years, you haven’t encountered disreputable men?” He laughed. “I do believe you will have a sufficient amount of reputable young men who will bid on you and your picnic basket. After all, it’s for a good cause, isn’t it? But I do hope you will keep your conversation light, or you will suffer the young man to have indigestion or apoplexy.”

  Impishly, she said, “I deserved that. I like your sense of humor. It’s also good to hear you laugh. We do battle well.” Perhaps he could be a man of consequence?

  “Indeed, but I warn you, I have not started my retaliation. When one acquires an enemy, I don’t believe in keeping him or her closer; however, I might make an exception for you.”

  “Oh. No, I’m not your enemy, Your Grace. Please don’t consider me as one.”

  “Perhaps if you try hard, you can change my mind.” A small grin curled his lips.

  “What would I have to do?”

  “I leave that to your resourcefulness…and mine…under a starlit night with nothing but our naked imaginations.”

  “Sweet heaven,” she muttered.

  Praise for Sandra Masters

  “I so enjoyed ONCE UPON A DUKE. The author’s clever, witty repartee pulled me into the story and made me root for these two dynamic characters. A delightful debut novel!”

  ~Debra Salonen, author of Montana Cowboys

  ~*~

  “[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 is sure to make your heart flutter, your belly get butterflies, and your palms itch to clutch the shirt of a duke of your very own. Sandra Masters has managed to create a read that titillates but doesn’t put all the goods on display right away. You’ve got to EARN your romance here, and boy is it worth it!”

  ~Readers’ Favorites (5 Stars)

  One Night

  with a Duke

  by

  Sandra Masters

  The Duke Series, Book Five

  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.

  One Night with a Duke

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 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: [email protected]

  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, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1478-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1479-2

  The Duke Series, Book Five

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  To my husband, Ronald, my plotster,

  for his continual patience and support,

  for reading my drafts time and time again.

  ~*~

  To my late father, Samuel P. Marzano with love.

  Miss you, Daddy.

  ~*~

  To my exceptional readers and friends

  for their continued support.

  Without you, I could not exist.

  Acknowledgments

  To Cindy Davis, my editor,

  at The Wild Rose Press,

  for her patience and encouragement.

  All that I am, and all that I hope to be,

  are because of her belief in me.

  ~*~

  To my WOW critique group:

  Julie Elstner and Sheila Boyd

  for their endless support.

  Chapter One

  London 1816

  The decision to walk to the gala had been a colossal mistake. The Tenth Duke of Ravensmere ducked into the shadows. Seven against one…not good odds. He rushed to the corner on Langham Place out of breath. The sound of quick footsteps from the rear forced him into an alley near a storage building where he sought refuge behind a stack of crates. The loud drumbeat of his heart echoed in his ears. The stillness of the night threatened. He’d been in similar danger before, but this time differed. There were too many of the ruffians, so he had to think smarter and quicker. He calmed his breath to be alert to unusual actions. With natural ease, he bent and removed his knife from its boot scabbard. With the wall at his back, they couldn’t attack from that angle. He narrowed his eyes to accustom them to the darkness. He needed a diversion. Fear, his old friend, showed its ugly head and became a reality he could taste.

  Raven stooped, hidden from view, but the danger fueled his thoughts. The alley narrowed. He’d have to stave them off one or two at a time. He flipped open the cane sword. The snap so
unded like thunder to his ears, but other night noises drowned it out. He prepared to face them. They’d soon find out that he would fight like a warrior. Then he smiled to himself, thinking that instead of being in this predicament, he could be listening to the musicians as he squired a lady around a ballroom floor.

  His foot dislodged a large rat, which then skimmed over his boots. The frenzied group approached the alleyway. The rat gave a shrill squeal and scurried off into the wet street. They stopped.

  “It’s just a rat.” The man turned. “But when a rat is scared out of his hole, there’s got to be a reason.” He peered into the alleyway. “The gent’s probably gone. Maybe up a-ways, we’ll find more than one rat, aye blokes?”

  “Let’s away and see if we kin’ find him. The bloke canna’ be far,” said the angry leader.

  The duke palmed his knife. His mind cautioned—danger ahead. Why did he leave his pistol at home?

  A horse-drawn carriage diverted the mob’s attention as they crossed the street. The last thug stumbled on a slick broken cobblestone and fell toward the coach.

  “Watch where y’er goin’, you lout!” The driver veered. The ruffian raised a fisted arm at the coachman and hurled profanities.

  This distraction had Raven clinging to the walls that shadowed him. He moved carefully to the end of the alleyway to Langham Place and Regent Street, which held a more fashionable row of homes.

  A few meters down the pavement, through the muddle, he spotted a carriage with lanterns lit. The street seemed deserted, but the men’s clamors a short distance behind sounded in the night hour. The desolate area offered a perfect opportunity for them to do damage if they caught up with him.

  Raven cat-footed his way to the coach aware the coach driver stepped down to steady the horses. With the driver occupied, he opened the door, entered the carriage, closed it, and dropped on the brocade seat. A well-dressed woman seated there gasped. She held her reticule high, poised to strike him.

  He gripped her arm. “Bravo,” he whispered, a grin curling his lips. Nonetheless, he kept his voice low to allay her fear. “I’m a gentleman in dire straits whose life is in danger. May I share your company for a moment? I will not harm you.” He removed his top hat, placed it and his cane on the shadowed opposite seat.

  “You frightened me with your abrupt presence. Pray tell, sir, what are your intentions?”

  Outside the coach driver’s voice pierced, “Git away, rowdies, or I’ll take my whip to ye. No need for trouble if ye leave.”

  One of the louts climbed on the conveyance, and it swayed.

  Raven slid closer to the woman. She didn’t move, so he embraced her and placed his cheek against hers. “If you scream or shout, our lives will be in jeopardy.” He bent his head to capture the woman’s lips, pressing her against the seat. Raven sampled the sweet mint taste of her mouth. Her lemon fragrance pleased his senses, a rare combination of forbidden pleasure and danger that caused his groin to ache. He lingered in enjoyment. True, his lips held the kiss longer than the moment required. What started as a kiss in the name of safety became something more pleasurable—and not safe at all.

  Raven placed his gloved finger to his mouth. “Shush.” The brunt of her shoe connected to his shin, and he held back the profane words he wished to say.

  “Place your arms around me now. Perhaps if we pretend to be lovers, they will leave us alone,” he whispered. He paused and spoke a word a duke would never utter. “Please.”

  Her arms encircled him as she dropped her reticule to the floor. His broad back shielded her from outside harm should anyone attempt to enter.

  Her generous breasts against his chest had his blood surging through his veins until the sensation settled uncomfortably in his loins—a long ago forgotten desire. The naiveté in her kiss reminded him how jaded and bored he’d become. A delicious awareness invaded and reeled his senses. The touch of her hands to his hair tingled his scalp. Damnation, her fingers were magical. A purring moan escaped through her racing breath.

  The ruffian peered through the curtained window and chuckled. “No one here ’cept some clod with his doxy,” the mob spokesman shouted and he jumped to the pavement. “Let’s move on to better pickin’s.” They surged away down the street.

  Raven’s heartbeat pulsed at his temples, not from fear, but from potent desire. He broke the kiss for a moment and moved his body a whisper-breath away to better study her. He savored all he saw, as did his male parts.

  He moistened his suddenly dry lips. “I don’t hear voices, but it would be best to wait to make sure the mob has gone, my lady. Nor do I want to attract attention to your coach by my departure. It could place you in danger.”

  “I’m sure it’s best to be cautious,” she said. “However, you should be aware, I don’t usually entertain strange men in my carriage. The driver has held the horses against the ruffians and the commotion. Explain yourself, or I will summon help.”

  “My boot sheaths my knife, and my cane is also a sword. Have no fear. I would have kept you safe.”

  She arched one brow in a challenge, and simply held his gaze.

  Her devastating smile ensnared him.

  “And who will protect me from you, sir, and the marvel of your rakish kisses?”

  “Dear lady, I would guess we’d protect each other. The magic of your hands fingering my hair must have presented quite a lover’s sight. Wherever did you—”

  “I read it in a penny novel. I presume it sufficed? I have limited experience in that regard.”

  “Indeed.” His grin contradicted his serious tone at his next words. “You should know I intended to avoid a confrontation as it’s the one way to keep these ruffians out of Newgate Prison. Their women and children have need of them, and the assault of a duke would see them hung.”

  “So you are a wealthy and powerful duke, a special creation of heaven, and that’s why you sought shelter with me, a mere woman?”

  “You are anything but an ordinary woman. I would wager all I have on that.”

  “Your Grace, you strike me as a man who only gambles if he’s sure of the outcome.”

  A current of latent desire roiled in his lower extremities at her fearless statement. From her demeanor, he presumed she trusted him for a fleeting moment.

  “I’m not a gambler normally. There are exceptions if the stakes are high, or I crave something.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “May I see the color of your hair?” Since she made no reply, he removed her hood. Raven memorized her face. From the carriage light streaming through the crack in the window curtain, flaming hair burnished. Curls framed an oval face, and jeweled hairpins twinkled. He reached to move the shade aside further and assessed the long-lashed green-tinged eyes that peered at him in expectation—of something. Raven held the assumption she headed for a ball or perhaps the opera. Underneath her cloak, the rustle of her silk gown tantalized as she moved.

  The youthful lady, perhaps fifteen years less than his forty, had a complexion that could put a marble statue to shame. Her full lips bowed to perfection, and her high cheekbones complemented a small upturned nose.

  A soft whisper escaped the woman’s mouth. She placed her hand to her throat. “You may unhand me, sir. I believe it’s safe for you to depart now.”

  “I apologize for my behavior, but it reaped a great reward, the pleasure of your sweet kisses.”

  He had placed an innocent woman at risk of serious harm by jumping into her coach. Her safety concerned him, but he would have defended her with his life.

  He slid to the far end of the seat. “Please accept my congratulations. Most females would have resorted to hysterics. I’m most impressed.” It intrigued him even more, since the wounded shin ached. In an unconscious moment, he rubbed it.

  “I’m sorry for that,” she said.

  “Dear beautiful lady, if the bruise caused me to meet you, I’ll consider it a badge of honor.” Raven peered at her in the dim light offered by the lanterns. “I apologize again for my roguish
actions. I didn’t have enough time to explain. Angry crowds don’t succumb to logic.”

  Her eyes went to his cravat neckpin. The subtle way she lowered her gloved hand to her breast, enchanted. Dare he place his hand on hers? Damnation, where had his sense of decency descended?

  “Our close encounter with the hooligans frightened me. My brother informed me of the latest political reforms, especially the Corn Laws. No good can come of this unrest if a gentleman is not safe to walk the streets.”

  “Well said. I admire ladies who know more about the reforms. Perhaps my assumption that women don’t pay attention to the new laws Parliament instituted has been misguided and hasty.” Fascinated by her articulate speech and demeanor, he didn’t care to have her leave his sight.

  She peeked out the window, turned to him and whispered, “There is a gentleman staring at the ruffians down the road.”

  His focus directed to a man of some consequence attired in evening finery. The duke questioned why this particular gentleman didn’t have a concern for injury to his person. “A curious circumstance, I agree. Why would the stranger have discourse with such men? He is not known to me, but I will make inquiries.” He turned his attention to the woman.

  “Should we meet in the future, you will find me a persuasive voice for inequalities. I tend to express opinions that are not always, shall we say, appreciated?” she challenged.

  Damnation, those green eyes belonged to a goddess. Beguiled at the mischief in her tone and her flirtatious smile, he said, “Forgive my bad manners and allow me to introduce myself. I’m Raven, Duke of Ravensmere, at your service. Whom do I have to thank for her assistance?”

  “It seems peculiar, Your Grace, to have introductions after our scandalous kisses. Perhaps it should have been the other way around?” She fussed with the pearl buttons on her gloves and then faced him. “I’m Lady Winston. You look familiar, but I don’t believe we’ve met. Perhaps I’ve seen your picture in the newspaper, or the gossip caricatures in The Tattler Tales or other scandal sheets?”

  “Lady Winston, I would remember a voluptuous woman such as you had we met before.”

  “Your Grace, I do declare no man has ever uttered such a word to me.”

  “Then they have been remiss. Dukes are allowed great privilege. I intended it to compliment you.”