Never Doubt a Duke’s Desire (Preview)

Chapter One

South London

Montagu Estate

1813

“Miss Stone,” the stern voice of the housekeeper, Mrs. Wickham had the young maid’s head darting up in attention. “We need your help in the dining room.”

Occupied with dusting the spare rooms of Duke Westwood’s house, Louisa Stone, one of the newest maids, had not been expecting any interruption until she had to retire for the day. Turning to the older woman, she curtsied, “Yes, Mrs. Wickham.”

Tall and thin, Mrs. Wickham gave her a curt nod and then walked away, the tails of her dark dress a contrast to the silver of her tight bun. Nervously, Louisa repacked her basket with her dusting cloths and left the room. She stashed the basket in a storage closet on that floor and then went to the dining room.

She hoped her white apron was not smudged or her hat askew as she took the servant staircase to get to the dining hall. Having only been employed for a scant three weeks, Louisa had only passed through the dining room twice, but the room never failed to steal her breath.

Pots overflowing with luxuriant foliage and crystal chandeliers endowed the room with opulence, and the hall made Louisa feel slightly overwhelmed. Overhead, two-tiered chandeliers winked with hundreds of cut crystal teardrops, and damask wallpaper covered the walls. The long rosewood table was being covered with a delicate lace cloth, and she spotted the silver candleholders ready to be placed along its length.

“Oh, Miss Stone,” another maid said. “Please, fetch the silver from the butler and begin setting the table.”

With a quick reply, Louisa headed off to the butler’s cupboard just in time to find Mr. Oswald opening it. “Miss Stone, good afternoon. His Grace is only entertaining for one tonight, so only two sets of cutleries.”

“Only two?” Louisa asked before catching herself and ducked her head while her face reddened. “Pardon me; that was not my place.”

The Butler laughed, “No need, Miss Stone. His close friend Lord Ashford is visiting him from his travels. From what I understand, they went to Cambridge together.”

Louisa had assembled the cutlery she needed on a velvet tray while he spoke. She thanked Mr. Oswald and went back to the dining hall. The candlesticks had been placed, and so had the place settings, and she only needed to lay the silver.

Painstakingly, she set the forks, knives, and spoons on the napkins, one set at the table’s head and the other to the side. Louisa was flummoxed as to why they would use a fourteen-foot table if there were only two diners, but again, it was not her place to question.

While setting the last fork down, she happened to glance up at the staircase beyond, and there, on the landing, framed by tall bow windows, Duke Westwood stood—in his shirtsleeves. The stark white of his shirt stood out against the dark grey of his waistcoat as he gazed out into the lawn beyond.

His profile showed a chiseled jaw and chin, a high cheekbone, a defined nose, and thick, windswept dark hair that framed his face, sculpted with fierce perfection. Louisa was not sure how old he was, but he looked to be in his early thirties, and she stood and stared, mesmerized.

When he turned, her head snapped away, and she fixed the already perfect setting with her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. No written rule stated she could not look at her employer, but she was sure that staring was not allowed.

Though she had never met him before, she had heard whispers about him; that he was not one to engage with others, was not one to go out of his way to meet others or to draw attention to himself. He was not rude; he was a solitary, solemn man. A few of the maids and footmen held it that he thought everyone other than those of his class was beneath him, but she was not going to jump to that conclusion.

What she did see—and she cautioned herself for thinking it—was a lonely man, one very used to his privacy. She ducked her head and fussed with the silver though she did not need to.

He is very handsome, though.

She lifted the velvet tray and turned but stopped short as the Duke was behind her. Instantly, her ears started ringing, and her teeth felt grafted together. Dimly she was aware that he had asked her something—but heaven help her if she knew what it was.

Louisa knew she was looking like a fool before the man as her heart threatened to burst through her ribs. His eyes, dark brown and arresting, narrowed while his thick brown brows arched.

Is he waiting for me to say something?

“I apologize, Your Grace,” she managed to utter. “I did not hear that.”

His eyes roamed across her face, with a particular look one would have if one were looking at something strange, “Who are you?”

Her fingers tightened around the tray, and her knuckles went white, “L-Louisa Stone, Your Grace. Mrs. Wickham employed me over a sennight ago.”

“Has she now,” he muttered, and Louisa’s skin prickled with gooseflesh as the Duke’s gaze roved over her. His suddenly intense eyes seemed to bore into her layer by layer. Shivers gripped her already fluttering heart.

No one—no man—had ever looked at her so intently before, and she felt exposed and bared. She had to tip her chin up a little as the man stood nearly a foot over her but knew it was only suitable for her to duck her eyes with reverence. However, he had asked her a question, and she felt it rude to keep her eyes down.

She swallowed. “Is there something I may help you with, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” he said, “There has been a sudden change in plans. Instead of hosting one, I am hosting three. Please get more tableware for my guests.”

“Right away, Your Grace,” she said, then inched away.

It was only when she was in the hallway that Louisa dared to breathe. She managed to find Mr. Oswald for more silverware sets and tableware and set them correctly. The Duke was not there anymore, and she was able to do her job, but what worried her was the chance that His Grace was talking to Mrs. Wickham about her.

Was he giving the woman orders to relieve her of her duties? Her hands trembled a little at the thought—but what reason would have to fire her? It had taken her a long while and a tough road to get to this placement, and if she were sent away, the only place she would end up was in the workhouse, as she had nothing much to her name.

She fixed the plates, and the candelabras, before she left to the servants’ dining hall and ate her dinner, then slipped out into the back garden to use the few moments of private time she was given. She did it every evening, as the sunset beyond the hills was breathtaking. The large swathes of orange and dark pink were beautiful to look at and peaceful at the same time.

Taking a seat on one of the wooden benches, Louisa looked around and could only feel grateful that she had ended up here, in a respectable household instead of a shoddy workhouse or a brothel. Most women like her, parentless and penniless, found it hard to rise up above their disadvantaged situation and became courtesans and mistresses.

A few she did know had been fortunate to find sponsors and become governesses and lady’s maids and companions, but they were rare. At least she had a roof over her head, food to eat, and she was working. A few things were out of her reach, like having a relationship or being independent, but she was content.

Louisa could not count the times when she had almost fallen into despair about how bleak her future was. But in those darkest moments, she had promised herself that no matter what, her unfortunate beginnings were not going to be permanent.

The sun was dipping, so she stood and left for the house. She slipped into the manor to meander her way through the back hallways to get to the kitchen. Surely, they needed hands in the back to wash something or plate up something, but when cook handed her a spotless apron to don and a pitcher of water to serve the guests, Louisa felt terrified.

“Just stand quietly at the side and wait for someone to call on you,” cook advised, then directed her out into the dining hall. Louisa managed to enter the room without any attention directed to her and stood at the side with another maid.

His Grace’s guests were another Lord and two Ladies, one older than the other with her grey hair in a graceful chignon and a strand of lovely pearls around her neck. The younger Lady had her blond hair in beautiful ringlets and wore a stunning peach dress, while the Lord had duskier blond hair and merry blue eyes.

He was debating about something with His Grace while swirling his glass of wine. “I’m telling you, Montagu, this business is going to take off with you or without you.”

The Duke gave a derisive snort. “Manufacturing lighter phaetons for racing is not my idea of wealth-gaining, Langley, all I would be doing is sending foolish men to their deaths.”

The Lord laughed. “This coming from a man who used to volunteer to be someone’s second in shooting matches? A man who used to race on Rotten Row?”

“That man is dead,” Duke Westwood said, then pointedly added, “He grew up and grew wiser; I wish I could say the same for you.”

“Is that a jab at Whites and me?” Mister Langley asked, his brow cocked up.

“Whites? On no, how about: Brooks, Boodle’s, Beefsteak, the Athenium Club, the Four-in-Hand—” Duke Westwood began ticking off his finger, causing Lord Langley to rush and beg him to stop.

“All right, all right, my good man. No need to be airing my affairs for all and sundry,” Lord Langley waved him off.

“I take affront to classing me, your mother, and your sister as all and sundry, William,” the dignified lady said while touching her pearls. “Where are your sensibilities, William?”

“In the gutter where his manners are,” the younger lady said.

“Liliana!” their mother said, aghast. “For shame.”

Duke Westwood looked amused, and the slight curve of his lips showed it. “Do not bother yourself too much, Lady Elizabeth; we are all familiar with their sibling love, however disturbing it is.”

“I must declare,” the older woman said. “I need some water.”

Nervously, Louisa came to the older women’s side and painstakingly poured out the water. She could feel the Duke’s eyes on the side of her head and skimming over her, but she managed to fill the glass and step away without any accidents. She rejoined the two maids at the side while her heart beat out of rhythm in her breastbone.

She kept her eyes on her feet while feeling—again—Duke Westwood’s eyes on her, but she would never dare meet his gaze. She would not make the mistake from earlier when she had matched his eyes and could only count the moments until the dinner ended.

When the dinner ended, Mrs. Wickham led the guests to their rooms, and the Duke dismissed them, Louisa moved away quickly. She hurried to the kitchen to put the pitcher away, say her goodnights, then hurried off to her rooms.

She closed the door of her modest room and sank to the bed. Duke Westwood’s gaze was unnerving and sent some upsetting and quivering sensations into her stomach. Pressing a hand to her chest, Louisa sucked in a few stabilizing breaths.

What was Duke Westwood’s gaze doing to her, and even worse, what did he see when he looked at her?

Chapter Two

The faint pink-golden rays of dawn were breaking through the window of Isaac’s bedchamber, where, instead of sitting up in his bed, he was slumped into one of his padded chairs and swirling the dredges of his coffee.

Last night had just been another sleepless one in a line of dozens before it. It was not nightmares or worries that had kept him awake but rather emptiness. There were nights when his chest felt empty, cold, and lifeless, and he knew where it all stemmed from—her; Miss Helen Follet, the woman who had broken his heart into splinters.

A year and six months had passed since the moment he had caught his ex-betrothed in another man’s arms. Seeing her pull away from his kiss, every hope about having a happy marriage with her had vanished. He knew that he should have rebounded from it, but the passing time had not healed his wounds. The hollowness in his heart was a testament to how she had reached into his chest and ripped his heart away from his breastbone.

Rubbing his eyes, Isaac’s mind flitted to the young maid, Louisa Stone. He wondered how he had never seen her before, as she had been employed at his home for nearly a month. The tint of her auburn hair was a shade he had never seen before—it looked strewed through with a touch of light brown and seemed to shimmer brassy under the light.

Her slender heart-shaped face was unadorned with pigments, but it was far from plain. She had a charming button nose, creamy cheeks, a small dimple in a quaint little chin, and plump, pale coral lips. It was still bewildering to him how he had not seen her before—but then, he had no sensible reason to be admiring her; she was only a maid.

Standing, Isaac tightened his banyan tie and rang for bathing water. William and his family were there until the afternoon where they would have luncheon, and then they would off to Drury Lane for a play. It was his task to entertain them until they went off—and somehow, just the notion of it felt unbearably hard.

Living in solitude was what he was best at, and for the past year and a half, he had sequestered himself away from the beau monde. Isaac was positive that somehow along the way, he had forgotten how one would entertain guests.

However, if history served them well, he would only be engaging William. He supposed if he left William to keep talking and plying him with wine, he would not be made to do much. Lady Langley was one to sleep to noon, and then, she and her mother gossiped over tea.

The footmen came in with the water and filled the copper tub in the adjacent bathing chamber, and he sank into the water, rested his head on the lip, and laid an arm along its edge. Bitterly, he wondered what had become of Helena, if she had married the Frenchman and had run away to the continent.

At least she does not know that I am a Duke now; I had kept that part of my life away from her for a reason, and now I know I had thought right. 

Shaking the unsettling thought away, Isaac bathed and shaved before going back to the bedchamber to dress. His wardrobe had become a bit monochrome, with only dark grays and black suits. He knew that sitting beside William, who had become somewhat of a dandy with his embroidered velvet and pink waistcoats, he would look as somber as his soul felt.

But he did not have the will to care how strange he would look; William knew his condition of those days when he felt miserable and despondent, but lately, William had been trying to drag him out his rut. Isaac was not ignorant of his friend’s sudden visit’s underlying reason. William would try and cajole him into showing his face in social gatherings.

But Isaac had a flat answer for him—no.  He was going to let the man do his best, though, and when he had tired himself out, Isaac would assure him that he did not care for le bon ton. He tied his cravat and pinned it, something he had learned to do during the days he had shuttered himself from the world.

Leaving the dark bedchamber, he crossed the stairs’ landing and towards the breakfast room with the same open spaces and glass doors like a solarium. It was smaller than the dining hall and faced the central garden and the lawns beyond it, and that somehow diminished the feeling of loneliness when he dined alone.

Soon, William would be joining him over coffee and crumpets, looking dapper and cheerful enough to outshine the sun. The newspaper was laid on the shorter oval table, and while he sent for the table to set, he shook it out.

There was news about the wars overseas in France, about a ship of criminals sent off to New Holland, and more laws the Prince Regent was putting into effect.

“If you scowl any harder, your face will be set that way,” William teased from the doorway.

Turning a page, Isaac replied, “Good morning to you too, Langley. How was your night?”

“Wonderful,” the Marquess of Ashford replied while taking his seat. “And yours?”

“Middling,” Isaac replied while turning another page.

“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?” William asked, and before Isaac could reply, the maids came in with their morning meals.

They greeted both Lords, then set the food on the table, poured out both cups of coffee, and with curtsies, left. Isaac set the paper down to pick up his cup and sipped it while William let his sit for a moment.

“You have not answered me, Montagu,” he said. “Did you, or did you not sleep?”

Isaac muttered over the rim of the cup, “What difference is there?”

“None to me but to you,” William replied. “Just tell me honestly; did you rest or not?”

Tired, Isaac rested the cup down and rubbed his brow, “No, I did not sleep; is it so obvious?”

“To me, yes,” William replied. “I remember how you were from Cambridge and the days when you would stumble into Mister Farnham’s looking half-dead from studying all night. It is sort of the same look, only now, instead of you having dark circles under your eyes, there is a vein that sticks out on your forehead that tells me you have not slept.”

Reaching out for his cup, Isaac shook his head, “Is there a point? I’m plagued with sleeplessness from time to time, and I’ve accepted that, but you should not worry about my affairs.”

William leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table, “You’re wrong; I worry about you all the while. I fear that you’re cutting yourself off, and I would hate for you to become a hermit.”

Skimming his eyes over the toasted bread, coddled eggs, sausages, and diced fruit with little hunger, he replied, “I am not a hermit.”

“Really?” William pressed, his warm eyes now getting sharp, “When was the last time you went to an assembly hall? A theatre play? A musicale? When was the last time you set foot into Whites? Went hunting?”

“Theatre plays are from books that I’d rather read, musicals are tedious, White’s is only more of the same, one drinks, and one plays cards. And you know the abhorrence I have for hunting,” Isaac replied.

“What about women, courtship, marriage?” William pressed. “By God, man, you have a life. If you sequester yourself away, you’re only going to survive? Life should be lived to the fullest, Montagu.”

“Perhaps,” Isaac said. “That man used to find fulfillment in such actives, but that part of me died eighteen months ago. We all sacrifice something, Langley. A social life was not that much to give up when I realized that my duties took precedence. I grew self-reliant and responsible, and it shows. The Dukedom has never been more prosperous.”

While William fixed his plate, he asked. “The Dukedom might be, but are you? At this point, I think you have it set in your mind to live and die alone.”

Putting his finished cup away, Isaac asked, “And what is so terrible about that notion?”

Faltering with his fork halfway to his mouth, William gaped, “W-What is so terrible? Have you lost your mind, man? Women are god’s gift to humankind, and you are going to dismiss it just because some woman betrayed you? She is the one who did the wrong, not you!”

He felt no urge to eat and folded his arms across his chest; his eyes dropped to half-mast. “I was invested in the relationship. You know that.”

“And you can be again,” William pressed, “There is a late summer ball at Lady Crossgrove’s estate. Come with me. I promise you it will not be horrible. Some of the season’s best debutants will be there.”

Scoffing, Isaac reached for the paper, “Naïve ingénues? What in the world would I do with such a lady?”

“You can start to believe that not all women are unfaithful and treacherous,” William said. “And with some hope, one will catch your eye, and you will consider courting.”

Shaking the paper out, Isaac said, “Stop putting the cart before the horse.”

“Will you come?” William asked.

Folding a corner of the paper down, Isaac dourly said, “You will not stop asking, will you?”

“No,” William replied, his eyebrows inching up in expectancy.

Grimacing at the thought of being around the crème-de-la-crème of London and being judged by them, Isaac replied, “I have one stipulation about this; if I go, you will not ask me to attend another.”

“You are going then,” William grinned.

“I did not say that,” Isaac stressed. “You must agree to my condition before I give you my final answer.”

Reaching for his napkin, William wiped his mouth. “Since I already know the answer, yes, I agree not to pressure you into another ball until you are ready to do it yourself.”

“And what makes you think that will happen?” Isaac’s lips downturned.

“Because when you realize what you have been missing for over a year, you will crave it like no other,” William said triumphantly.

The door was pulled open, and both his and William’s head snapped to it, only for him to see Louisa jerk in her step. She was holding an empty tray, and instantly her face went flaming red. “I-I am so sorry, Your Grace, and My Lord, I was sent thinking that you h-had finished. I apologize, p-please excuse me.”

She curtsied and scurried away from the door, closing in with a quick snap, and slowly, Isaac turned to William. It took a moment for what just happened to sink, and the image of her vivid blushing cheeks stirred something inside him.

“Hmmm,” William said while turning his head away. “What a peculiar little mouse.”

Somehow, Isaac found the moniker both insulting and fitting for Louisa, but he could not deal with that issue then. “All right, Langley, I will go to this ball of yours.”

“Great,” William nodded. “You will not regret it, I promise you.”

“I think you forgot to add, and may God have mercy upon my soul,” Isaac dryly added.

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“Never Doubt a Duke’s Desire” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Alone in the world, young orphan Louisa Stone learned her life lessons the hard way. Abandoned as a child, she had survived the harshness of poverty and a struggling country orphanage. Now, with her painful past behind her and her present in the home of the reclusive Duke of Westwood, Louisa wants nothing more than a quiet, invisible life. What she never expected, though, was the Duke to be so seductive that her temptation would be irresistible. Before she even realises it, a single touch sparks an attraction she had never expected to feel, and his scorching kisses burn like fire. Her body can’t say no to this alluring, perfect man, but is she ready to risk everything in the name of undeniable love?

While struggling with pain of his own, Isaac Montagu, the Duke of Westwood, had withdrawn from society. After a series of crushing losses and devastating heartbreaks, he has given up any hope for love. Everything is about to change forever, though, when he first meets Miss Stone, a brilliant and stunning woman. At that moment, he realises that his determination to be alone might not hold for too long, as he is utterly mesmerised by her and a fire starts deep inside his chest. At their first kiss, his walls start to crumble and the more they are together, the more his long-buried desire to love and be loved is reignited. After all he’s been through, will she be the one to save him from his misery or is he condemned to live in pain forever?

As Louisa draws out the person Isaac had hidden from the world for years, an old love comes back into Isaac’s life, asking for a second chance. Afraid, and on the verge of dual heartbreak, Louisa and Isaac will face an inevitable dilemma; was their bond forged on the fragile connection of two lonely souls finding comfort, or could their desire turn into an everlasting love? Can they withstand the pressure mounting against them, or will they abandon one another once and for all?

“Never Doubt a Duke’s Desire” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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