Allured by a Lord’s Touch (Preview)

Chapter One

Patrick Day drank ale out of a canteen as he sat in the cart of hay that swayed back and forth perilously as it sped down the road. While this might usually cause alarm and a bit of sickness, it was a dream for Patrick.

His best blokes were with him— Jimmy, Ned, and Bo, and they were off on another of their adventures. This time, the town of Hamel, quite east of London, which suited Patrick just fine. He wasn’t the sort of fellow that cared for the dust and grime of London, nor did the trappings of society impress him in any way. Being of lowly birth, Patrick was as free as the wind.

And very much in need of funds.

Patrick, Jimmy, Ned, and Bo would travel from town to town looking for work. And considering they were all athletic in build and were in the warm months of spring, there was plenty of work to be had. Not that heavy labour was how Patrick wished to spend the rest of his life. He was fond of books and nature above all, but Jimmy, Ned, and Bo were different.

Jimmy was the hard-headed one, always taking the brunt of the work. Ned was soft-spoken and shy, but the strength of his arms made up for that. Bo was the one most keen on food and drink, making him the huskiest of them all. But his overindulgence did not get in the way of his strength.

Patrick often referred to them as ‘the gingers,’ with their various shades of red hair; Jimmy having the deepest ruby strands, while Bo’s was so light one might think him albino. They were no doubt Irish in descent with their ruddy cheeks and soft, hazel eyes. Patrick, on the other hand, had chocolate brown hair that fell in front of his face. His piercing blue eyes verged on aquamarine. The largest in stature of the bunch, Patrick Day could be construed a Corinthian with his athletic build.

All in all, Patrick delighted in his best mates and the adventures they’d undertake. He was entirely free but not without introspection. His mother dead and gone, these young men were all that Patrick had in the world, but he still considered himself blessed in his unorthodox lifestyle.

“You’ll be drunk before we arrive in Hamel,” Jimmy said to Bo.

He took a hearty swig of his ale. “And you won’t be the same?”

Jimmy laughed. “I suppose you have a point.”

Ned asked, “And what of Patrick? He’s the one that holds down his drink best of all.”

Patrick smiled mischievously. “I’m told I’m of Irish descent. Our constitutions are made for it.”

“Hear, hear!” the men cried out.

Jimmy scratched his head. “I’m still amazed that the farmer offered a free ride. We usually bribe them with a shilling.”

Patrick looked at the old man on the horse, pulling their cart along the dirt path. He said, “Perhaps he wants our labour in return.”

Bo shook his head. “He’ll have to pay for it. We got stiffed in the last town.”

Patrick raised his canteen. “And now I’m broke, like the rest of you sorry louts.”

Jimmy played with some stems of hay. “Of all of us, you’ll be doing this for the shortest amount of time, my friend. I’m surprised Eton hasn’t found you yet.”

“You flatter me.” Patrick lifted his brow.

Ned chimed in. “It’s true. Always with your nose in a book.”

“I like geography, cardiology, history— those sorts of things.”

Bo rolled his eyes. “I like drinking and loose women. We all have our preferences.”

As the men continued to ride along, Patrick basked in the sunshine, the surrounding countryside, the expansive blue sky. There were the smells of horses, cows, and earthiness in the air. All of it was to his liking. Although the labour was not his long-term view for his life, he still enjoyed being outside and working the land.

One day, his dream was to have a country cottage of his own. A place where he could read and build things all day and be out in nature. If a wife was part of the picture, then all the better. Patrick was very keen on the ladies, and he managed to find one in each town keen on him. But he was tiring of that lifestyle and dreamed of the day where he could be with that one woman that set his heart on fire. Of course, he could never tell his blokes this.

Off in the distance, the village of Hamel emerged. The old man pulled the cart along quickly, and Patrick enjoyed the last minutes of having the wind whip through his brown hair, grown long. He was a tall man. Patrick stood six feet in height, which always made the other men give him a hard time, but Patrick knew it was merely from jealousy. He also had the broadest shoulders of the lot, for Patrick was quite the sportsman in his youth. There was no time for that now. All there was time for was working and reading books.

“We’re almost there!” the old man cried back to them.

Jimmy said, “Thank you, my friend!” Raising his canteen.

Instead of taking them into the centre of town, the old man brought them to his farm. From the looks of things, there were sheep, cows, and chickens. There was a very good chance that the fellow was going to provide them with the necessary employment.

The four friends jumped off the side of the cart, landing their boots in the dirt. The old man walked around and finally introduced himself.

“They call me Anders.”

Bo teased, “Are you from Norway?”

Anders shook his head. “My father was. I’m entirely British.”

Anders led them down a gravel path and to the back of his modest home. In the back, there was a large pasture where the aforementioned animals grazed. A cow mooed.

They were led to a small, ramshackle farmhouse. Anders said, “I imagine you know why I brought you here. Able-bodied men are hard to come by.”

Jimmy got down to business. “What do you need done, old chap?”

“Well, as you can see,” Anders motioned towards the farmhouse. “This has been neglected for years. Haven’t been able to fix it since my sons went away.”

Patrick instantly pitied Anders. How could an old man run such a farm by himself?

Patrick stepped in. “We can have it done in a week.” Bo elbowed him in the side, and Patrick whispered back to Bo, “What?”

Bo spoke under his breath. “Tell him two weeks. We need the money.”

It was dishonest to lie to the old man, especially when Patrick knew the job could be done in one week with four sets of strong arms. He ignored Bo.

“One week is all it takes.”

A smile came to Anders’ lips. “That sounds about right. Five quid.”

The men looked at each other. For Patrick, that seemed like an adequate sum to live on for a couple of weeks. He nodded his head in agreement and shook Anders’ hand.

“I’ll feed and house you boys, to boot.” Anders nodded his head.

From the warm look in his eyes, Patrick assumed Anders to be a trustworthy man, and all said, it was a perfect way to spend the week.

Anders led them inside the ramshackle barn where they would be housed. He promised two warm meals a day, one served in the morning and then a luncheon. The boys were on their own when it came to tea and supper. They’d begin work at five in the morning, just after the cock crowed, and breakfast would be provided at seven.

“I’ll leave you now,” Anders said. “You begin work in the morning.”

“Say there.” Bo stepped forward. “Is there any sort of tavern here in Hamel? To procure supper, of course.”

“That there is.” Anders motioned with his head. “The Hound’s Bone is open all day. Merely go down the road to your right, and you’ll discover it within a quarter hour’s walk.”

Bo grinned. “Perfect.”

Patrick knew what Bo had in mind. He wished to get drunk that night. Not that that was conducive to getting up at five in the morning to work, but the men had done it for so long, their bodies were primed.

They left at once, the four of them walking down the road as coaches passed. Within the allotted amount of time, the Hound’s Bone’s red bricks appeared just off the main road— the sign hanging over the door announcing the establishment.

“Here we go!” Bo clapped Ned’s back, causing him to cough, and entered the tavern first.

Inside, it was just the kind of warm, dark interior that you’d often find in a tavern. Bo went directly to the wooden bar, and the other men followed. Off in the corner, a game of darts and a table for cards. The interior was filled with the aroma of smoke, meat, and ale. It was going to be a fine evening, indeed.

They each took a stool at the bar, in the order of Jimmy, Bo, Ned, and Patrick at the corner. The barman quickly approached, a burly, bear-like man with black eyes.

His voice was deep and hoarse. “What are we having there then?” he asked, leaning his thick elbow onto the bar.

Bo took the lead. “What’s your name there, my friend?”

His cockney accent was thick. “Me friends call me Tim Tom.”

Jimmy laughed. “That’s one of the best names I’ve heard.”

Tim Tom smiled, revealing all his missing teeth. “It suits me.”

Bo said, “Tim Tom, we’re going to be around for a week performing some labour. You can expect us here every night.”

“Glad to hear it. Now gimme your order.”

Bo rubbed his hands together in delight. “Four mutton pies, chips all around, and whatever fish is being served.”

“Is that all?”

“Definitely not. Four pints of ale, and keep them coming.” Bo slammed a coin down on the bar, and Tim Tom turned to walk away. “What a night!”

Jimmy said, “We got lucky today with old Anders.”

Bo shook his head. “Patrick should have stated two weeks.”

Patrick said, “I didn’t want to lie to the old man. If you ask me, his sons should have stayed.”

“So sentimental.”

“It’s true. An old man with a farm like that— he needs his sons.”

Patrick had been told he had a great deal of integrity, but for him it was merely common sense. The sons should stay to work the land. Families should stick together. Considering that he was raised by a single mother, he appreciated such things. Sometimes he thought of what it must be like to have a family.

Soon after that, the ale was poured, the steaming food brought out, and all the men tucked in. Patrick had to admit that the food was most satisfying, and he looked forward to returning to the Hound’s Bone each night. The mutton was tender, the pie crust flakey, the chips were salted and doused in vinegar, the ale was cold, and the fish was breaded. The hearty meal would provide all the energy that they needed for the next day.

Just then, a man entered the tavern, and all heads seemed to turn. Patrick looked towards the door to see the reason for all the attention. The fellow that walked in had unparalleled posture and was dressed in fine trousers and jacket. As he passed to secure a table in the tavern’s rear, Tim Tom spoke while cleaning a glass with a rag.

“Duke of Faversham,” Tim Tom said. “He comes in at least once a week.”

Bo lifted his brows. “Very impressive fellow.”

“He’s flooding a lot of Londoners into the village this weekend. Having a great ball. Many lords and ladies are invited. He does so this time of year.”

Jimmy shoved a chip into his mouth. “Society and their bloody balls. I can’t understand it.”

Patrick said, “I can. What a treasure trove of interesting and inbred characters.”

All the men laughed. Ned spoke. “Then I’d imagine you’d thrive at a ball.”

Patrick knitted his brow. “I suppose I would.”

“Oh, come on. They’d never think you were one of their own. Although, you’re quite the chameleon, in my estimation.”

Bo took the last sip of his ale and slammed the glass down onto the bar. “When is this ball, Tim Tom?”

“Three days’ time.”

“I see.” Bo scratched his chin. “I can think of a rather entertaining wager for Patrick. If he has the courage.”

Patrick looked across the bar at Bo. Whatever he was thinking, it was mischievous.

Chapter Two

Lady Sarah Crawford was seated in her room, a book upon her lap. She gazed out the window momentarily at the London skyline. It was a beautiful evening, and she wished to spend the rest of it in the confines of her luxurious townhome.

Her father, Lord John Crawford, Duke of Benton, was downstairs in his study attending to business. They had already enjoyed an early supper, and Sarah asked to retire for the night so that she might read her novel in the quiet of the fourth floor.

Sarah gazed up at a portrait of herself that hung in her room and frowned. Why wouldn’t her father let her take that ghastly painting down? Who would ever want to have a painting of themselves in their own room? But the duke had insisted, and Sarah obliged, considering that he was the master of the house, and one day, she’d inherit the property anyhow and take the painting down.

Still, the painting of herself was expertly done by a famous French painter when Sarah was eleven years of age. That was an entire decade ago! Time did fly by when one was a key member of the ton and spent all their time at balls and fetes, learning to dance, read, and sing, as well as studying various foreign languages. With all that leisure time, Sarah was kept very busy.

Sarah wore a pink dress in the painting, and her blonde hair was done up with ringlets on her forehead. Her soft blue eyes shone through, and her porcelain skin was accentuated with a healthy flush upon the cheeks. All in all, what Sarah didn’t like about the painting of herself was that she looked like a girl with no imagination or pluck, a lady with extreme pedigree who had one duty and one alone: to marry. Sarah didn’t agree with any of this.

It was so vexing that she’d need to travel to the small town of Hamel the next morning. Although the Duke of Faversham was a very powerful peer, and an eligible bachelor at that, Sarah couldn’t see why her father had to positively instruct her to attend the ball, when she’d much rather walk through the streets of London with her chaperone, observing all the interesting people that passed by.

No, Sarah was not looking forward to travelling to Hamel in the least. She’d begged and pleaded with her father to let her stay, but it was of no use; the duke refused. One day, when Sarah could claim her fortune and sit at the family helm, she’d make her own decisions about what parties and balls she’d attend. Till then, she was at her father’s command.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Sarah invited her father to come inside, considering that was the only person who it could possibly be. Her sister, Lisbeth, was already asleep on the second floor.

“Sarah?”

“Yes, Father?”

“May I have a word with you?”

“I suspect that you will.” Sarah put down her book.

The Duke of Benton entered, still wearing his blue coat that he always wore for supper. His face looked weary. “You depart at eight in the morning with Lisbeth tomorrow. The coachman will be ready outside.”

“Father, do I have to go? I’d much rather stay.”

“Headstrong girl. The Duke of Faversham is an excellent acquaintance, and you’ll meet several important guests while at the estate.”

“But it’s such a long journey, and balls can be so frightfully boring. All that chatter and gossip.”

“Yes, my girl.” The duke smiled. “I know you’d much rather attend a salon and discuss paintings and literature. I trained you well.”

“Father, please refrain from using the word trained. I’m not a hound.”

The duke nodded. “You are certainly not a hound. You’re the brightest girl in Christendom. That’s why I can’t sleep at night.” Lord John massaged the bridge of his nose wearily.

“I suppose that you wish me to marry the Duke of Faversham.” Sarah lifted her brow.

“I wouldn’t be displeased.”

Sarah cocked her head. “He is a handsome man.”

“He’s much more than that, Sarah. Lord Edward Guilford is set to be one of the most powerful peers in Britain. He comes to town when the House of Lords is in session. You can live in the city that you love so dearly.”

Sarah had to protest. “That’s not the point, Father! You know as well as I that I don’t need to marry.”

The duke seated himself in a chair, seemingly bemused by the conversation that they repeatedly had.

“Sarah, this is not about money. This is about performing your duties for the Crawford lineage. A family, children … ”

Sarah defiantly opened her book and hoisted it in front of her face. Truth be told, the discussion of marriage and the pressure from her father put her on the verge of tears. She had no say in anything. What her father took to be defiance was really just Sarah asserting her will over her own future. She would marry for love if that ever came into her life, but she would not marry for status. Sarah Crawford would not live in a cage.

Perhaps sensing that he was making no headway, Lord John got up from the chair and walked over to Sarah, placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

“Eight in the morning,” he said.

Sarah sighed. “Eight in the morning.” She put down her book and looked into her father’s warm eyes. If only the two of them could carry on as they were. Marriage would ruin all that.

***

Bo refused to share his plan until Tim Tom brought him his second pint of ale. Once it arrived, he spoke.

“I’d wager that if Patrick attends that fancy ball of the Duke of Faversham’s, dressed as a lord, not one peer would believe him to be of high birth.”

Patrick knitted his brow. This whole conversation was nonsense, but once a challenge was set before him, he had to take it.

“I’m confident that they would think I was a lord. It would be easy. Fancy clothes, a coach; I’d have them convinced within moments.”

Bo laughed. “So, you want to make a bet of it?”

Jimmy said, “This is utter nonsense. We’ll be working ourselves to the bone all week.”

Bo shrugged his shoulders. “But we need a bit of excitement, don’t we?”

“What are you proposing?” Patrick asked.

Before Bo could answer, he motioned towards Tim Tom. “My friend, another round of chips.”

“Quite the appetites on you four,” Tim Tom replied.

Bo turned his head to look at the Duke of Faversham, seated in the back of the tavern, holding court with a group of distinguished men.

Once he turned back to Patrick, Bo’s eyes were already bloodshot from the ale, the heavy food, and the excitement. “If you pass as a lord, all three of us will give you half of our wages from this week.” Bo looked towards Ned and Jimmy.

“And if I don’t pass?”

“Then you pay us half your wages for the next two weeks.”

Patrick smiled. “That is if we can even find employment next week.”

Bo sipped his ale. “That’s a sound point.”

Although Patrick didn’t think any of them should be betting their money, considering they were almost entirely broke, he could never turn down an exciting challenge, particularly when it entailed doing something he’d never done before—attending a ball.

Patrick slammed his fist down upon the wooden bar. “I’m in.”

Bo and Ned cheered, but Jimmy seemed disgruntled. No doubt, he didn’t wish to give up his earnings, either.

Still, the prospect of pulling it off and making some extra income to boot was exciting for Patrick. And deep down, he was confident he could do it. Patrick had a way of blending into whatever environment he found himself in. And for whatever mysterious reason, he sensed that there was a nobleman in him somewhere, just waiting to come out.

The men ordered another round of ale and clinked their glasses. Several hours of carousing and jollity ensued, and by the time they settled up their tab with Tim Tom, all four of the men were considerably drunk.

As they exited the Hound’s Bone, they sang songs, wrapped arms around each others’ necks, and stumbled their way back to Anders’ farm. The journey that was previously a quarter of an hour now took half an hour, as the men swayed and laughed. Ned was the first to fall to the ground, and Jimmy helped him up. Patrick proved yet again that he could hold his drink best because he observed his drunken friends with a great deal of amusement.

Once they arrived at the farm, Anders must have heard their approach from a mile away, for he sat on his porch with a pipe. Upon seeing the drunken men, he shook his head in displeasure.

“I can see that you’ve had a fine evening,” Anders said.

Bo raised his hand. “Anders, my dear old man!”

“Get on to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Jimmy put a hand over Bo’s mouth. “We sure will, sir.”

Going around the back of the house to the barn, the four men entered, and Patrick sighed to himself. When would the day come where he didn’t have to sleep on a pile of hay? Still, he was so weary that it wouldn’t matter to him. Patrick laid down his head and fell fast asleep.

The drunken slumber didn’t last for long, for it seemed like moments after lying down, the cock crowed, and Patrick massaged his eyes groggily. Off in the corner, Ned yawned loudly.

Bo was in considerable pain. “Sod it,” he muttered.

The cock crowed again, and Patrick sat up, stretching his arms. It was nothing that a bit of coffee couldn’t amend, which was why it was a pleasant surprise when Anders entered with four cups to share.

“Come on, boys. Time for work,” Anders said.

After drinking the coffee, the men went outside and started to get to work on the necessary repairs. As they did so, Patrick had finally come-to enough to remember the events of the night before and the wager. A wave of regret washed over him.

“Come to think of it,” Patrick said, “I think the wager is a bad idea.”

The other three men stopped what they were doing and turned to him. Bo spoke, “I don’t want to hear any of this nonsense. The wager is still on. A deal is a deal.”

“Did we shake hands on it?” Patrick asked.

“We drew blood over it,” Jimmy quipped.

Bo said, “If you back out now, you forfeit your wages to us. That’s how the game works.”

“Did you just make up those rules?” Patrick asked.

Bo stopped to think about it. “Yes.”

Patrick knitted his brow and shook his head. No, there was no way he would get out of it, however much he hoped the men didn’t even remember the events of the night before. Patrick was going to need to keep his word. But how the devil was he going to find the proper attire and a coach? He had barely enough money as it was.

“I suppose we’ll need to pop into the village.” Patrick hammered into a board as he spoke. “To find me some finery.”

Bo smiled. “That’s the best part. We’ll go this very afternoon.”

Patrick resigned himself to the rouse. There was no turning back.

---

“Allured by a Lord’s Touch” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

The captivating Lady Sarah Crawford is set to inherit a marvelous fortune for which she couldn’t care less. Although marriage has never been her cup of tea, it doesn’t keep her father from arranging a trip to the country, where Sarah will engage in a week-long fete at the estate of the Duke of Faversham. In an unexpected twist of fate, a mesmerising encounter with a wickedly handsome Earl at the Duke’s ball will instantly set her body and heart on fire. The more time she spends with the charming stranger, the more she finds herself wondering… Could he really be the one to make her lay aside her doubts for a chance at true love and strong desire?

Patrick Day is an orphan with a painful past he wants to forget. Once he hears of the Duke’s ball, a wager with his greatest friends is arranged, setting Patrick up to arrive at the fete… dressed as an earl. Even though he feels confident that the elite members of society will believe his disguise, he has second thoughts about getting involved in such a bet. Little did he know that this would be the last thing on his mind, after meeting the alluring daughter of a Duke and seeing her as the most irresistible temptation. However, he is painfully aware that a socially forbidden love would go down in flames before it even fills them with sparks. In the end, will Patrick manage to tame his growing feelings, or will he succumb to Sarah’s seduction?

The more Sarah and Patrick fall for each other, the more Patrick finds himself trapped in his false identity. Just when the fire between them is burning hotter than ever, there will soon be clouds on the horizon. Will Patrick’s secrets and lies tear them apart forever? Or will their hearts find the path to each other by following the calling of true passion?

“Allured by a Lord’s Touch” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!