Lusting for the Duke’s Kiss (Preview)

Chapter One

She walked to the window, staring out at the unfamiliar garden. This was supposed to be her home. And now, there was no telling what was going to happen.

Breathe, Hetty, she told herself, as panic began to rise in her breast, once again. Just breathe.

But it was becoming increasingly difficult to know how to do that most basic of functions. Ever since she had awoken this morning to find that her husband of less than twenty-four hours had abandoned her.

She walked back to the desk, where the hastily scrawled note was still lying. She had found it this morning when she had awoken. Frank had insisted last night when they had retired, that they stay in separate rooms. Just for the night, he had told her, his blue eyes creased with concern. She was tired after their wedding and would appreciate a good night’s sleep by herself. She had not argued with him, being nervous about her wedding night and all that it would entail. She had felt as if she were being given a reprieve that she had never expected.

She picked up the note, staring down at it, her eyes skimming over it without taking in a word. He must have stolen into her chambers, either last night after she was asleep, or early this morning, and left it there. She had not heard him.

I am supposed to be a newly married woman, she thought, in wonder. The start of her married life, as Mrs Henrietta Blackmore. A new woman. She had thought that she was leaving Miss Henrietta Arnold behind, forever. And now, everything had been turned upside down, and she was reeling.

Focus, she told herself fiercely. Read it again. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, she focused on the black ink, trying to turn it into words, rather than meaningless hieroglyphics. Frank’s hand was not easy to read at the best of times, and this was the worst of them.

My Dear Hetty,

Sorry that I wasn’t able to tell you this in person. I have discovered that I have changed my mind about being married. I simply cannot do it. I have grappled with a growing unease about our nuptials for months now but felt I was in too deep to back out of the arrangements.

Now, the reality of what we have done has sunk in, and I cannot keep on this path. I wish you the very best for the future. I truly do.

Frank

Her eyes blurred with tears as a fresh surge of pain stabbed at her heart. In fury, she screwed up the note, throwing it into the fire. She watched the parchment curling, blackening until it disappeared into ashes. She sank to the floor, the skirt of her gown spilling out around her, putting her face into her hands, as a low moan of pain forced its way out of her throat.

How could he have done this to me?

Desperately, she grappled to make sense of the situation. Frank Blackmore had given no indication of cold feet, despite what he said in the note. He had been an attentive, polite suitor. There had been no passion between them, but Hetty had not been raised to expect that, anyway. All that she had wanted was a good husband who would take care of her. Frank had seemed to tick every box in that regard. He was moderately wealthy, charming, and pragmatic. He had purchased a new townhouse for them, in the village of Derrington, in her home county of Wiltshire. It wasn’t that far from the country estate where she had been raised.

Hetty shuddered, her hands slowly falling away from her face, as she gazed around the room. The furniture, all newly purchased, for their life together. This was not a room she was familiar with at all. She had only been through the house once, before her wedding day, and Frank had dragged her quickly through it. It wasn’t her home. Not yet. And now, she was all alone here amongst strangers. She wasn’t even familiar with the servants, yet.

I am abandoned. I am an abandoned wife. What is to become of me? The shame of it. The scandal.

Hetty jumped at a sharp rap on the chamber door. Hastily wiping away the tears with the back of her hand, she quickly stood up, taking a deep breath. Her mother had taught her that no matter the situation, no matter how heavy the heart, one must never show it, especially not to the servants.

The door opened, and Dickinson, the butler, stood there, gazing at her impassively.

“Mrs Blackmore,” he said, in a slightly gravelly voice. “There is a gentleman at the door, who says that he must speak with you urgently.” The butler handed over a white card, stepping back.

Hetty stared down at the card. Mr Joseph Baldwin, it read. Solicitor.

Her heart clenched. Why was a solicitor at her door, asking to speak to her urgently? As she followed Dickinson down the stairs, her heart thumping painfully in her chest, she had a premonition that it wasn’t about anything good.

***

Mr Joseph Baldwin was a portly man with a florid complexion and wiry white hair. Sitting on the edge of the green chaise longue in the drawing room, he balanced a cup of tea in one hand, staring at her with eagle sharp eyes.

“You are very silent, Mrs Blackmore,” he said slowly. “Have you quite understood what I have just told you?”

Hetty felt as if she were going to faint. Desperately, she dug her nails into her forearm. She simply could not believe what he had just said.

Frank had sold the townhouse. Their newly purchased house that she had only spent one night in as its mistress was no longer her home. Not that it had ever been given a chance to be one. The speed of the events – Frank’s abandonment of her, and now selling the house, without her knowledge or consent – was simply too much to take in.

She sat there, stunned, staring at the man who had just delivered the news.

“I … I understand, what you have told me,” she said eventually. “What I do not understand is how this has happened. When it happened.”

The solicitor cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Mr Blackmore, your husband approached my solicitor’s office a week ago,” he said, fidgeting on the edge of the longue. “He told me that he needed to sell this house urgently and would be open to offers. I was able to secure a buyer who wishes to take possession of the house immediately.”

“Immediately?” she echoed, hearing her voice as if from far away. “What does that mean for me?”

The man’s eyes boggled. “It means, madam, that you must vacate this house within fourteen days from today’s date,” he said, his mouth twisting. “Your husband has not intimated this to you at all?”

Hetty’s face flushed painfully. “My husband has walked out on me, Mr Baldwin,” she replied. “He left a note for me, informing me of his abandonment. I woke up this morning and found it.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “He did not tell me anything in this note, about the fact he had sold the house without my knowledge. He has not seen fit to tell me anything.”

Mr Baldwin looked shocked. “I thought it odd that he wanted me to come here and tell you myself,” he said. “Most irregular, but I agreed. You have the note, informing you that he has abandoned you?”

Hetty’s heart sank, thinking of the note, which was now ashes in the fire. She had been too impetuous in doing that. She hadn’t thought that perhaps she might need proof of what he had done to her. What he was still doing.

She shook her head. “I … I burnt it in a fit of passion,” she said, appalled to hear the tremor in her voice. “I was not thinking clearly. Mr Baldwin, is there any way – any way at all – that this sale can be reversed?”

He shook his head slowly, his face creased in sympathy. “I am afraid not, Mrs Blackmore. The legalities have all been completed.” He cleared his throat again. “Mr and Mrs Howe are now the legal owners of the property. I am afraid that you have no choice but to vacate as soon as possible.”

Hetty was silent as she digested this. Not only was she an abandoned wife, but now she had no home, as well. He had taken everything away from her.

Why? Why has he done this to me?

“It is a pity that you burnt that note,” continued the solicitor, shaking his head. “Even though your husband’s abandonment is obvious, you do not have proof that was his intention, now … if you decide to appeal to the courts, to seek a divorce, that is …”

Hetty looked at him so horrified that for a moment she simply could not speak. The word hung in the air between them like a dirty piece of laundry. Divorce.

Her mind reeled once more. No, she could not do such a thing. Divorce was virtually unheard of amongst her class. The taint of it was so foul that she doubted any lady could recover from it. It was bad enough being abandoned, but divorced?

Her life was over. She would never recover from this scandal.

Mr Baldwin sighed heavily. “Of course, there is proof that your husband sought sale of this property prior to your wedding day,” he said thoughtfully. “There may be just cause to claim that such an act shows that he intended to do this. That it was a calculated act …”

Hetty’s colour deepened. The shame of it. Of course, it was all calculated. Frank had claimed in the note that he had only just realised he could not go through with the marriage – that even though he had been having cold feet in the lead up to it, that his decision to flee was spontaneous.

He had lied. He had been lying to her for quite a while.

He had planned this. He had calculatingly sold their house without her knowledge before they had even exchanged their vows. He had intended to desert her. He had just been waiting until they were legally wed, to do it.

Why? For the love of God … why?

She cast her mind back, desperately, searching for clues. Trying to piece together the puzzle. But there was simply nothing that she could think of. He had always acted as if he were thrilled to be marrying her, in a muted way, of course. He had always been a proper gentleman, never trying to take liberties with her, as she had heard that some fiancés did. Frank had never even tried to kiss her. A dry peck on the cheek was the most intimate contact that they had ever had.

It had pleased her during their engagement that he was such a gentleman. She had thought that it showed how much respect he had for her, that he was unwilling to compromise her before their wedding. But now, it didn’t seem that way at all. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seemed that Frank had no desire for her.

He had never cared for her. He had never intended to live alongside her, as husband and wife. This had all been part of a larger plan. He had been pretending all along.

Her humiliation was complete.

Quickly, she stood up. “Mr Baldwin, thank you for coming here,” she said quietly. “But I am afraid that I must lie down now. I am sure you will understand the shock of what you have just told me, and what else has happened to me today.” She took a deep breath. “I shall vacate the property within the fourteen days that you have specified.”

The solicitor stood up hastily, almost spilling his cup as he placed it on a side table. “Of course, of course Mrs Blackmore,” he said. “Quite understandable in the circumstances.” He paused. “You have my sympathy. That Mr Blackmore could do such a thing to such a charming and lovely lady as yourself …”

Hetty took a deep breath. “Yes, well, it has happened, and I just have to deal with it now. Good day, Mr Baldwin. I am sure you have done everything that you must.”

***

After the solicitor had taken his leave, Hetty wandered around the silent house, going into every room. She trailed a hand over the furniture. She was growing detached now; she had never had a chance to make any of this her own, and soon, it would all be gone, at any rate. Best that she had not grown attached. To be ripped out of this house at a later time would be even worse.

Eventually, she returned to her chamber, firmly shutting the door behind her. She was so weary; all that she wanted to do was lie down and drift into sleep. But she couldn’t do that yet. First, she had to write a letter and inform her parents as to what had happened. She only had fourteen days before she had to leave this house.

She sat down at the desk, dipping the quill in the inkpot. Her bottom lip trembled as she began to write, her hand racing across the parchment.

Dear Papa and Mama,

I write to you with a heavy heart. Something most grievous has occurred, which I am still trying to process. I find that I need your help.

Frank, my husband, has deserted me. I woke up this morning to a brief note, saying that he could not stay married to me. More than that, a solicitor arrived on my doorstep, informing me that he sold the house a week ago. I have only fourteen days before I must vacate the premises before the new owners take possession.

To say that I am shocked by the brutality of these events is an understatement. That my new husband could have been so callous, so cruel, simply takes my breath away. I am trying very hard to keep functioning, but it is all becoming so very hard. I simply do not know what to do.

Please, can you come to me, and assist me?

Your loving daughter,

Henrietta

She folded the letter, sealing it. She would take it to Dickinson, soon, and he would make sure that it was sent. But she couldn’t do it right now. Her limbs felt so heavy she didn’t even know how she would walk to the bed.

She sat at the desk for a long time, staring at the wall before dragging herself across the room and collapsing on the bed.

She curled herself into a ball, her shoulders heaving. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face. She sobbed, piteously, letting out all of the pain and confusion of the morning. It felt cathartic, almost cleansing.

She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Frank had never wanted to marry her – or not for herself, at any rate. All of his charm had been a front. She recalled all the times he had complimented her, saying she was beautiful and so very clever. How much he was looking forward to making her his wife. All lies.

She sobbed harder, staring down at her hand, where her new wedding band gleamed gold. It was important to him that she was legally his wife. So, it had all been for her dowry. He had wanted her money, that was all. The nest egg her father had been keeping for her to assure her protection throughout her life. She knew that it had already been released to Frank. As soon as he had it, he had enacted his plan, setting the wheels in motion.

She was disgraced, an abandoned wife, without even a roof over her head. A wave of pure anger swept through her. She hated him, more than she hated anyone in her life. Better that he had died than done this. Better that he had left her a widow, than this. At least there was honour in being a widow. At least she would have status, even if she would still have been an object of pity.

She sobbed, shaking with rage. She had trusted a man, a charming man, who had promised her the world. And now, her life was lying in ashes around her.

I will never trust a man again, she vowed, as another wave of anger threatened to choke her. I will never put my life in the hands of a man again except for my father.

She curled up into a tighter ball, repeating the vow to herself as if it were a prayer.

Chapter Two

Hetty sat in the corner of the room as her mother moved around the space, huffing as she packed her trunk. The older lady’s chin wobbled with disbelief as she carefully folded the gowns, and Hetty could see that her hands were shaking.

“My poor daughter,” she breathed, pausing to look at Hetty. “To think that he has done this to you! The shame of it!”

Hetty’s heart twisted. She didn’t know whether she felt better that her parents were finally here. They had arrived just this morning, two days after she had sent her letter to them, informing them of her dire situation. They had swept into the house, taking control. At first, she had been relieved. But now, it was as if their presence was underlining it was real. Her shame, and the scandal, that she was about to be enveloped in.

Her father had been curt, as was his habit, and immediately sprang into practical action. He was out in Derrington now, arranging for the sale of all the household furniture. He had already been to see Mr Baldwin, the solicitor, to confirm the sale of the house. He had been tight-lipped with anger when he had returned from that meeting.

And now, her mother was helping Hetty pack her clothes. They were taking her back to Hillsworth House, their country estate, first thing in the morning. They had informed her that it was happening, and she hadn’t put up any argument. She felt that she was simply riding a wave, a passive thing, being swept away by circumstances beyond her control.

Her mother mumbled under her breath, returning to the packing. She held up a gown in her arms, her lips thinning.

“Part of your trousseau,” she said, shaking her head. “Along with so many of these new gowns. How can it be that only weeks ago we were at the dressmakers getting these made.” She paused, staring at Hetty again. “You were so happy. I was so happy, thinking of my only daughter, married at last. And now, it is a whole sorry mess. I do not know what to make of it at all.”

Hetty took a deep breath. “I do not know what to make of it either, Mama. It is far worse for me than it is for you.” Her heart started to pound in her chest, and she felt a sick wave of shame wash over her. “I am ruined now. Frank has abandoned me. I have no home of my own. How do you think I feel? I am disgraced.”

“Oh, Hetty,” said her mother, tears springing into her eyes. “I did not mean to be insensitive, my dearest. I just feel so affronted, on your behalf.” She sighed deeply. “We were all hoodwinked by Frank Blackmore. He comes from a good family, and there was no indication he was the rake he turned out to be. How could any of us have known that this would happen?”

“No one could,” whispered Hetty. “Frank could charm the birds off the trees. He pretended he was sincere in the regard that he had for me. He pretended that he respected me and sincerely wanted me as his wife.”

“It is no reflection on you, Hetty,” said her mother fiercely. “You are a credit to your father and I. Frank Blackmore did not deserve you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just between us, I argued with your father at the beginning of your engagement that we could have done better for you. You had many suitors, after all, some who were better placed than Mr Blackmore. But your father insisted that he was the best suitor, and now look at what has happened …”

Hetty felt tears spring into her eyes again, but she bit her lip, determined not to cry. She had cried so much in the last few days she was weary of it. It didn’t help. It didn’t help her situation. No amount of tears was going to change the fact that she was deserted, without a home, forced to crawl back to her parents with her tail between her legs.

This was never supposed to happen to her. She was five and twenty; she had waited so long for a suitable suitor. Her mother was right – since her debut, gentlemen had flocked around her, but she had been cautious, not wanting to rush into anything. It wasn’t the possibility of love that had consumed her – she had never been particularly romantic, and besides, there had only been one brief encounter with a gentleman, years ago, that had ever made her heart quicken. She had accepted that perhaps she was just not meant for romantic love; perhaps she was just too practical for such an emotion.

Frank Blackmore had been different. For starters, he wooed her gradually, seeming to sense her caution. And while she had never fallen wildly in love with him, she had respected him, thinking that he was a fine gentleman. She had believed that he would protect her and provide for her. And there had been a small voice in the back of her mind that had whispered to her that she wasn’t getting any younger. That if she was too fussy, she might just end up on the shelf.

And so, she had taken the plunge. And look where it had got her. A deserted wife, with nothing. She did not know how she was going to bear it.

***

It was a subdued dinner that night. They all sat around the new dining table, which would soon belong to someone else, picking at the roasted beef that the cook had prepared.

Hetty suddenly realised that she had to deal with the staff, as well. She needed to tell them that their services were no longer required, that they should seek other positions. She could feel a slight ache begin to throb in her temples. She would do it first thing tomorrow morning.

She glanced at her father, who was sitting at the head of the table, a grim look on his face. He stabbed viciously at his meat.

“If I see that man again,” he suddenly announced in a booming voice, which caused both Hetty and her mother to jump, “I am going to challenge him to a duel. I want to run a blade through his black heart.”

“Husband,” said her mother, looking shocked. “There is no need for such language!”

“Is there not?” asked her father, frowning as he stared at her. “The man abandoned our daughter the day after her wedding. He sold their home from beneath her. I think they are two very good reasons for colourful language regarding the scoundrel.”

Hetty stared at her father. “Papa, I understand how frustrated you are,” she said in a trembling voice. “I am sorry that you have been put in this position. That this shame has been put upon you …”

“Henrietta,” he said, raising his voice again. “I do not want to hear you talk like that! The shame is that man’s alone. You are innocent in all of this. Do not ever feel that you are in any way responsible for this debacle.”

Hetty hung her head so that he could not see the tears, which suddenly stung her eyes. She couldn’t ask for more supportive parents. And yet, even though her father was vehement in his denial that this was in any way her fault, a small kernel of doubt was lodged firmly in her chest, and she could not get rid of it.

Was there something deficit in her that had caused Frank to act in such a brutal way? Had she said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, to make this happen? If she had been a different woman, might this not have occurred? She had thought that he admired her greatly, that he respected her, even if he wasn’t passionately in love with her. But he had treated her worse than he would treat a stray dog that had just wandered onto his doorstep.

Perhaps it was her fault, in some way that she could not understand.

“The trunks are all packed,” said her mother, picking up her wine glass. “Everything is in order. We will be ready to leave first thing in the morning.” She paused, gazing around the dining room with sad eyes. “That it has come to this. The solicitor was quite adamant that there was no way to reverse the sale of the house, even in these extraordinary circumstances?”

Her father shook his head, grimly. “The scoundrel was clever,” he said bitterly. “He has done everything by the book. As soon as he had secured Hetty’s dowry, he went ahead with the sale. It is all legally binding, and there is no recourse. Frank Blackmore had the right to sell this house, without Hetty’s consent, of course. That is the law of the land.”

Her mother sighed heavily. “Well, I doubt that Hetty would want to live here alone anyway after what has happened.” She turned to her daughter. “It is best that you come home, my dearest. We can protect you from the full force of the scandal, which shall inevitably come, once word gets out as to what has happened here.”

“Of course it is for the best that Hetty returns to us,” said her father, irritably. “There is no question of that. But it still makes my blood boil that he has got away with this. That he has sailed off into the sunset with Hetty’s dowry as well as the money from this house.” He turned to Hetty, staring at her with intense eyes. “He never hinted at anything that foreshadowed this? Any mention of someone that might have spurred him on to do such a drastic thing?”

Hetty’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean, Papa?”

Her father’s mouth twisted. “I am not sure exactly. But rest assured, I shall be making enquiries as to where he is and what he is doing now. I shall find the rat and find out what he is up to. There is more to this story than meets the eye.”

There was a strained silence in the room, as they all contemplated what had driven Frank Blackmore to such extreme actions.

“He did not say anything much in the note he left me,” said Hetty, in a trembling voice. “Only that he had been having doubts about the marriage in the months leading up to it. He claimed that his decision to flee was spontaneous, that he simply could not go ahead with it.”

“Poppycock,” growled her father. “We all understand that this was a calculated act. The sale of the house prior to the wedding proves it. He made very sure that he had secured your dowry and that the marriage certificate was signed before he acted, making anything that was yours legally his own. This was no spur of the moment choice. He could have backed out of the engagement at any point, but he chose not to.”

“I shall never speak to the Blackmore family again,” declared her mother, in a high, thready voice. “They are dead to us now. To think that one of their members acted in this detestable way. His mother will die of the shame of it. We are not the only ones who will suffer from that man’s actions.”

“I do not wish to associate with them, either,” said her father thoughtfully. “However, they may be useful, right now. As soon as we return to Hillsworth House, I shall be calling on them. Mrs Blackmore might know something about him that we do not. I shall press on her that it is in her benefit, as well as our own, to confess if there is anything about that man they have been hiding.”

“Such as?” asked her mother with wide eyes.

Her father sighed deeply. “Who knows, wife? He might be hiding any number of things. Perhaps he is a degenerate gambler or drinker. Perhaps he needed a large sum of money for dark purposes. It is possible.”

Hetty felt her heart thump painfully in her chest. She had never considered such things, but then, why would she? Frank Blackmore had appeared to be a perfectly respectable gentleman. And she was a young lady, who was sheltered from the seedy parts of life that her father had just spoken of. She had read her share of Gothic novels but believed that it could not be true, that people in real life could be so degenerate.

She had been sheltered and cossetted, but that was expected, for a young lady of her class. It was not unusual, in the least. It might have continued that way for the rest of her life if this had not happened to her.

She almost wished that it was true. That he was a degenerate, in some manner, and it would dissolve this kernel of doubt that this was somehow her fault. That if she had just been more charming, more beautiful, or more gifted, he would not have done this to her. He would not have rejected her in such a brutal manner. He would not have made her a laughingstock, an object of pity, in this appalling way.

She repeated the vow to herself. This would never happen to her again. No man would ever get the chance to humiliate her like this in the future.

***

The next day, she climbed into the carriage, settling herself beside her mother. Her trunks, containing all of her personal items, had been tied to it half an hour ago. She was ready, at last, to leave it all behind.

She gazed out at the townhouse, with a yearning, heavy heart. She knew that she would never see it again, or if she did, only as she passed by. She tried to imagine herself passing it at some future point, and how she would feel. Would she have to avert her eyes, the pain still as strong as it was, now? Or would the passage of time heal her fully, and she would be able to gaze upon it without a flicker of emotion?

Her eyes stung with tears as she stared at it. A two-storey sandstone house, with long windows. A high wrought-iron fence. A manicured front garden, with a line of rose bushes flanking the path towards the front door. Her new home that had been snatched from her before she had even had a chance to become familiar with it.

She heard the crack of the coachman’s whip, and they were away, the wheels slowly turning. Resolutely, she turned to the front, not looking back.

It had only been a few days ago that she had been a blushing bride, tripping down the aisle in her ivory wedding dress, a train of gossamer trailing behind her. Frank had stood at the altar, gazing at her approvingly as she had made her way slowly towards him. She had never imagined, in her wildest dreams, what was about to happen. How the dream was about to come crashing down around her.

She was still Mrs Frank Blackmore, but in name only. How could she claim to be a married lady? Because she had exchanged vows and signed a piece of paper? Frank had not even lain with her on their wedding night. She was still a maiden, as innocent as ever. In all respects, she was still Miss Henrietta Arnold. But the world did not see her that way any longer.

As the carriage turned the corner, heading out of Derrington, she contemplated what lay ahead of her. Back to her old life, as a dependent in her parents’ home, withering away, year by year. She suddenly knew that she could not endure it, but equally, what alternative was there?

She was a married woman. Divorce was out of the question. She could never marry again. She had entered a strange nether world, where she was neither married nor single. What was to become of her?

She bit her lip so hard that she almost drew blood. She must secure her future, in some way. She just had to think it through as to how that was going to be possible.

There were so few options open to women. If she were a man, she could take off, seek her fortune somewhere else, leave the past behind her. But that was not possible for a lady of her class. She was bound as surely as if she were a bird in a gilded cage.

---

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Henrietta Arnold could have never imagined how easily her happiness would turn into disaster. When her husband deserts her a few hours after their wedding, her world is shuttered in a million pieces. Feeling completely humiliated and disgraced, she vows to seal her heart and never let a man hurt her again. But little did she know that she would soon find herself surrendering a Duke’s loving arms… Will her undeniable desire for him end up destroying her life once again?

Being the Duke of Warwick, Louis Montague is a wickedly handsome man who never bothered himself with foolish love stories. Even though his first encounter with Henrietta made his heart shiver, destiny wanted them to be apart until many years later… The moment he discovers the devastating fate of her marriage, the sparks inside him cannot be denied. While his passion for her flares inside him, he becomes more than determined to possess her. Will he ever convince her that he is an honorable man who would not settle for something less than true love?

As Henrietta tries to lay aside any doubts for a second chance at love, Louis holds a long buried secret that looms over their heads threatening to drive them apart once and for all. Will their passionate affair survive the exhausting battle with the ghosts of their past? Or will their delicate hearts be forever trapped in a vast net of secrets?

“Lusting for the Duke’s Kiss” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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