The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Sandra Masters

  The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE — THE LEGEND

  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

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  Sweet heaven, what happened to her and what had she done in the name of love? She tingled from head to toe and was sure she would burst into fire.

  And then he did a terrible thing. His thumb skimmed Jaclyn’s lips with a gentle touch. Molten desire sluiced through her like a rivulet of hot lava, all the quicker to ignite every unknown desire she ever conjured. Shocked at her eager response at the touch of those wondrous lips and his masterful use of them, his masculinity claimed her, tender one moment and rigorous the next.

  The dreamy intimacy caught her at a complete loss, and the pain of her heartbeat knocked against her rib cage and deprived her of much-needed air. Here and now, he was the danger represented in one prolonged kiss. Or was it more than one? Her anxious heart would remember his kisses for a lifetime. With only lips and a swift tongue, he’d claimed her as his, but she knew one kiss or two could never be enough.

  In this short interlude, he gave her the opportunity to feel—taste—touch, for one moment or many, and all she could think about was the unbearable desire to have more of his mouth, his lips, and his wicked, wicked, wicked marvelous tongue.

  Praise for Sandra Masters

  Reviewed by Marta Tandori for Readers’ Favorite Five Stars. “MY DIVINELY DECADENT DUKE is the second decadently delicious helping in The Duke romance series by author Sandra Masters. It has plenty of titled and jaded aristocracy, opulent settings, and enough scandal to make today’s reality show producers green with envy.”

  Reviewed by Michelle Stanley for Readers’ Favorites. Four Stars. “MY DIVINELY DECADENT DUKE. Sandra Masters has included an enlightening Author’s Notes section giving brief historical Information on places, noteworthy events, and persons relevant to the era the story is set In. Her writing is clear, descriptive and comprehensible so readers will gain knowledge of Events from the previous novel.”

  The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke

  by

  Sandra Masters

  The Duke Series, Book 6

  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.

  The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 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 Fantasy Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2306-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2307-7

  The Duke Series, Book 6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my supportive husband, Ronald, for his endless reading of chapters.

  To my exceptional readers and fans, thank you for your encouragement. I wouldn't be here without you.

  PROLOGUE — THE LEGEND

  Radolf Wolferton, Duke of Wolferton

  Dukedom of Wolferton

  The Eleventh Century

  Under a moonlit sky, a comet flashed, and a legend was born.

  For on this night, the mournful howls of the mother red wolf, kept inside the castle walls by the Duke of Wolferton’s decree, were answered. A full-throated wolf’s call outside the gates exerted a supernatural power over the gamekeeper. Against the duke’s—his master—commands, he lifted the heavy bar and swung open the massive entrance. A huge, male red wolf entered to the obvious joy of his mate.

  That reunion, preordained in history, sealed the fortunes of the family for eternity.

  The dynasty flourished under the tutelage of the eleventh duke. Its magnificence stood by itself to challenge the stormy sky, for it would continue to exist forever, to hold light and darkness within its keep. More than brick and mortar, with soaring walls, parapets, and steel-clad doors, its presence defied time and embraced the legend.

  In honor of the ancestor’s good fortune, a stained-glass artist was commissioned to produce a fifteen-by-fifteen-foot piece depicting a red wolf—a rare, almost extinct species with amber eyes and an armor-clad golden-eyed warrior with massive white-tinged wings. He wore gladiator metal boots and wielded a mighty sword high above his golden locks. The face of the archangel held a fearless, stern expression, and his gaze looked into the distance at a vanquished enemy. Thunderbolts flashed from the beveled blade.

  Would the Wolferton family name have such brilliance if in the hunt the duke had not found a wounded mother red wolf and her two pups? Though weak, she snarled protection of her hungry young. A voice whispered through the tall trees. Superstitious, he knew fate had decreed they were extraordinary animals with special powers. He nodded to the wind, their lives fated. As head of the Wo
lferton family, the Saxon name, Radolf, was synonymous with the red wolf. His family’s mascot was the red wolf. His family’s coat of arms emblazoned with a red wolf. When he raised his voice, it wasn’t to direct his game beater to kill the wolves. It was to save them. Upon his command, the beater trapped the fatherless family and brought them to the estate.

  Housed in a temporary wooden pole cage tied with rope square knots to secure it, the duke visited them as they recovered. Afterward, ten acres were devoted to a compound for their continued survival since he regarded them as destined to live on his property.

  Poachers would not dare risk death by the fiery-tempered gamekeeper who resided in a guarded cabin on the estate. It was love at first sight for the old man.

  Strange visions danced in the ancestor duke’s fitful dreams. He saw a tall, blue-eyed copper-haired duke, with a family resemblance, who held in his left hand a black heart with a cross above the beating organ. In some visions, the blue-eyed image smiled. In others, his scowl menaced. The predecessor duke of the eleventh century considered it an omen for the dynasty. It awakened him many times, but not with consistency. When he believed the visions had faded forever, they returned to remind him there was darkness in their family that would transcend to the light, but how, and through whom?

  In subsequent years, one of the red wolves mated with a white outsider female, which led to the integration and extinction of the red wolves. As the myth unfolded, the Wolferton clan believed only one worthy, honorable duke and his true love would be able to invoke the supernatural powers to grant a special request, but the guardians would forever protect the family.

  Chapter One

  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. 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, his attention was 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. A 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 majordomo 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 signaled they would soon greet him. He turned from the window, hands behind his back, stood tall in his Hessian tasseled boots, dark blue jacket, ivory waistcoat, breeches, and a froth of white at his throat. Eyes narrowed and his head cocked toward the door emphasized 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 with a wave of her hand 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 apologize if I offended, but the likeness startled me. I thought the eyes flashed blue, too. I do recognize 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, honors 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 favored piece of mine.”

  “I should have known. Thank you.”

  “Be seated.” He gestured 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 mesmerizing 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. Portraits lined the stair wall, their gaze unchanged for centuries. 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 him 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.”