Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

Booming thunder rattled the carriage and the Duke of Ashbourn’s queasy stomach. His closest friend, Edward, took another long drink from his silver flask, then playfully smacked the duke’s knee. 

“Welcome home, William! London hasn’t changed much in the last twenty years, has she? Still as dark and dismal as always.” 

William squinted in the dark to see through the pouring rain drenching the cobblestone street and sighed. Edward was right about the state of London, but this city was no longer his home. He’d long forgotten most of his childhood memories here since being sent away to boarding school at age 13. 

The only reason he was returning now – almost exactly 20 years later – was that, once again, somebody else held the puppet strings over his destiny.

“I do not share your spirited reverie, my friend. I think your grin is more about the cherry brandy than our hometown.” 

When Edward offered him a sip, William leaned forward as a tremendous flash of lightning revealed his shocking reflection in the flask. The duke’s hands flew up to block out the image, then waved the drink away. 

An uncomfortable silence filled the carriage between the two friends, but it wasn’t the first time the duke’s face caused such a reaction. 

Another long clap of thunder roared through his brain as William struggled with a troubling thought. His physical appearance presented a challenge for his return to London’s noble society. He and Edward both knew it. Soon, many others would, too. 

In fact, the state of his face was one of the many reasons the duke had vowed never to become an active member of London’s shallow ton and its superficial priorities. 

“Scars are a sign of valour, Your Grace,” Edward said in gently, then handed his flask again to the man who’d saved his life and that of many others during their adventures together at sea.

“Scars, yes. But a mangled face patched together by the ship’s master gunner? I think not.” 

Edward gave his friend’s boot a kind tap with his own as the southwest wind howled outside. “A bad time for the surgeon to be passed out drunk, indeed. But you’re a survivor, Will. You’ll survive this, too.” 

The duke accepted the small metal container from Edward’s hand and emptied it quickly down his throat. The acidity of fermented fruit made his gut wrench even more than the storm, but the heat of the liquor helped tame the cold bite of the night. 

He peered at his silvery reflection in the flask again with as much detachment as he could muster. The main jagged scar across his face cut at an angle down his temple from right to left. It miraculously skipped most of his nose, then gnarled its way around the left side of his mouth to an inch below his left ear. 

William slowly traced the prominent scar with his index finger, plus its two smaller companions on his right cheek. Then he tossed the flask back to Edward and pulled the watch from his trousers pocket. He checked the hour for what seemed like the hundredth time since this long trip began. 

They’d departed the ship in Northern England days ago. The bumpy ride south had given the duke extra hours to work through anger about being forced to change his life’s course.

“At least I no longer resemble the bloody bastard who sired me. Thank God my father is long dead, and your father, arguably the nicest banker in England, is still with us. Let’s toast to that.” William finally managed a smile while he pressed against his belly to somehow still it. The carriage was rocking through another rain-soaked gale. 

How was it that he felt so at peace on the sea, but a swaying coach did him in?

It’s not the coach; it’s bloody London that is making me feel sick. And all the bad memories it holds.

Edward’s mouth slid into a smirk as he held the open flask upside down over his lap. “I’d love to toast to that had we any sweet brandy left.” He grinned and tucked the flask into his jacket pocket. 

“I agree my father is the lesser of two paternal evils, but he isn’t as pleasant as you make him out to be. However, he’s very grateful for my return to the family business after months of adventure at sea with the likes of you, St Clair. I will miss those ocean holidays spent ravaged by the elements. Ah, what a salty mistress is the sea!”

William chuckled and shook his head. Edward had the wanderlust of a world traveller, much to his father’s chagrin. He also had a ridiculous amount of money to spend at every port, including long nights with expensive women far removed from polite society. 

While William eventually became a sea captain as a means of escape, Edward Montrose had ridden along now and then for the fun of it. Until life at sea got all too real during a stormy battle against the salty mistress that Edward adored. William had never looked or felt the same since. 

No wonder every storm churns my insides into knots now, the duke thought as his stomach twisted again.

William studied his friend’s strong physical features for a moment and envied his outlook. Edward was one of those overly handsome men with blond hair, blue eyes, and a charming sense of humour that made the ladies giggle and blush. 

Meanwhile, William St Clair was a moody sort with tussled black locks and stone black eyes that matched his dark disposition. In the past, he used to turn many women’s heads. That had all changed since the accident. 

Now, the duke preferred avoiding the gazes of fine ladies and, like Edward, bedded the occasional willing harlot instead. But only from behind so as to prevent a lover’s look of disgust. Those awful stares tended to make a man’s virility disappear.

“Did I tell you I’ve received a letter from the dowager duchess? She is very excited to marry me off the moment my feet cross the threshold.” William rolled his eyes in the dark. He hadn’t seen his mother in two decades, but she’d already made a list of women worthy of producing his heir. He was curious if that list would shorten significantly once his mother saw his face.

William hadn’t yet informed anyone in his family about the incident on the ship that slashed his noble face to shreds. The last thing society’s rumour mill needed was a “disfigured duke” to gossip about over tea. Unfortunately, he was about to give them that gift by showing up in town again, whether he wanted to or not. 

“All the more reason we decided to tell no one that we’re back in London yet.” Edward winked. “And for you to make camp at the townhouse instead of the family home for a while, of course. Is anyone expecting your arrival tonight?”

“Not even Mr Byrd, the butler who’s been with my family since I was in leading strings. He must be ancient by now,” William replied.

“And just as in need of more brandy and a good knotting as the rest of us!” 

William and Edward clutched their sides in laughter over the loud and rapid patter of insistent rain. Then, their bodies suddenly flew several inches into the air and back down again.

“Whoa there, good man! What just happened?” Edward knocked on the ceiling of the carriage after a large jolt sent him and William bouncing out of their seats. The wagon came to an abrupt stop, which made the sounds of the rainstorm all the more menacing as it droned on. 

The coachman opened the carriage door to report that a wheel had broken. Fortunately, they were fairly close to the duke’s townhouse, and the repair was minor. The driver promised they’d be on their way again momentarily. 

But the Duke of Ashbourn’s fill of carriage travel had reached its limit.

William tipped the coachman extra coins for his trouble, then told his travel companion that he’d walk the rest of the way from here. 

“Are you mad, Your Grace? This weather isn’t suited for duke or beast!” Edward protested, but William was already standing on the street, getting drenched. 

“Meet you there! I’ll have the brandy ready!” 

With that, William dashed quickly toward his new home while the heavens seemed to christen him with the noble title his father had left behind.

As he navigated the dark, unfamiliar streets, memories of his strict father came flooding back. William had been sickly as a young boy, which displeased the elder duke to no end. 

Archibald St Clair wanted a strong and powerful heir to take hunting and show off to his peers. But his only child had spent most of his early years in bed, recovering from the latest illnesses going around. 

William tucked his hands into his coat pockets to warm them as his family’s townhouse finally came into view. He smiled as he approached the front door, thinking he was the one with the last laugh. Though his father banished him to boarding school when he was a weak and quiet young man, William returned to London twenty years later stronger and more powerful than either of them could have imagined possible. 

The fact that he now looked more like a beast than a duke was a setback, yes. But maybe it would make his mother’s effort at matchmaking a lost cause. 

Besides, the new Duke of Ashbourn had no interest in marriage or children. Nor did he have the same goals or mind for business his father had enjoyed.

At three and thirty years old, William was a skilled and respected ship captain who preferred the unpredictable life at sea. He had no interest in returning to London for good and walking in the footsteps his father once took. 

For now, he would finally heed the solicitor’s demands to come back and attend to some “irregularities” in the family’s finances. Once that task was completed, he would be on the next ship out of England. Perhaps never to be heard from again. 

William rechecked his pocket watch. It was only half-eight, so the staff would still be awake. This townhouse had been his father’s private space, which meant the staff was probably quite small now after his death less than a year ago. 

Still, lamps flickered in the windows. They were a welcome sight for a long-lost son whose body felt soaked to the bone. 

William knocked on the large ornate door several times and then waited. When a footman he didn’t recognize pulled the creaky door open, another shocking bolt of lightning sizzled across the sky above his head. 

The young footman took one look at the duke and let out a blood-curdling scream.

 

Chapter Two

“Eleanor Whitfield, listen to me! Do you want to be responsible for all of us losing everything? The future of this household depends on you.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened with amusement, which made her younger sister, Regina, hide a smile behind her pale blue linen napkin. 

“My dearest stepmother, I am listening. But I don’t understand your urgency. Cousin Harrison has taken good care of us since Father died. So, my getting married in a rush isn’t necessary. Especially to scoundrels like Cecil Phillips, who I’m very glad to say is finally gone.” 

Her stepsister’s gaze turned dark and downward toward her plate at the mention of Mr Phillips’ name. If Eleanor could reach past the steaming roast between them to give Regina a reassuring hug right now, she would. 

Instead, she tried to lighten the mood by flicking a buttery green pea across the table. It landed in Regina’s auburn curls and made them both giggle again.

Margaret Whitfield’s stern expression turned to red-faced rage, nearly the colour of her dark red hair pulled back in a chignon. She pressed her palms on the dining table and pushed herself slowly to her feet until she towered over the two young ladies in her care. 

Eleanor studied Lady Whitfield’s vintage black silk dress with a high lace collar as she waited for her stepmother to unleash another lecture. Margaret’s clothing was too formal for their small family dinner. But she rarely wore anything modern or casual. 

All the better to look like the wicked queen, Eleanor thought with a mischievous little sparkle in her bright violet eyes.

“Stop acting like children, and do not dismiss me! Or I will be forced to take matters into my own hands. You are four and twenty, Eleanor, with your next birthday mere months away. And you have wasted years being finicky and frivolous. Now, your father is no longer here to protect us from utter ruin when Cousin Harri … I mean, the new Earl of St Coeur’s kindness runs out. Marriage in a rush, as you say, is no longer even possible. You’re very late becoming a proper gentleman’s wife. Especially since you refused perfectly suitable Mr Phillips so casually. He’s a viscount’s son!”

Eleanor entwined her fingers together under the soft blue tablecloth to keep her anger in check before responding. She would never know what her father saw in Margaret. Yet they were now stuck together in his absence, like it or not.

Unfortunately, the only thing about her stepmother that she respected was the child that she and her father created together. Regina was a beautiful soul and her closest confidant, despite the six years between them. 

What Margaret didn’t know was that Cecil Phillips, a viscount’s second son, had made an inappropriate advance towards Regina while courting Eleanor. So, Mr Phillips, who’d been behaving oddly in additional ways lately, had to go.

Before her stepmother sat down again to finish her meal, she pointed a bony finger towards her beloved daughter. “May I remind you that this is your first London season, Regina. I cannot emphasize enough how your sister’s inability to attract an ideal proposal could cause your failure, too.”

“Mama,” Regina began softly, “we have plenty of money. Please don’t panic. We’ll have a wonderful season, I promise.” 

Eleanor watched her stepmother’s pinched expression soften at the sound of her daughter’s sweet, soothing voice. She envied their relationship because it was clear they dearly loved each other. 

Though her memories of her own mother were fading by the year, Eleanor could still imagine her in bits and pieces. What she remembered the most were her mother’s eyes. They were a deep shade of midnight black with the shimmer of polished obsidian. 

To this day, Eleanor’s favourite crystal in her collection was a raw and jagged piece of black volcanic stone that shined like dark glass in the sun. It always reminded her of her mother’s mesmerizing eyes and fiery personality. 

Though Eleanor was only five when she died, she clearly remembered her mother as an independent woman who insisted on being treated like an equal by her doting husband. 

Perhaps her stepmother’s similar fiery personality was what attracted her father to the woman he made his second wife. But, in Eleanor’s opinion, Margaret was far too traditional and worried about status. Where her own mother had been concerned about fairness and helping others, the second Lady Whitfield was obsessed with having luxuries, no matter the cost to anyone’s happiness. 

“I appreciate your reassurance, my dear, but we are Whitfields and deserve the same style of living your father once provided. You are both daughters of an earl with dowries to match. The rest of our income now is dismal at best. Look at this simple townhouse where Cousin Harrison has put us! Are you not aware of the ways we have been stripped of all finer things? What’s next, I ask you? Porridge for breakfast?”

At Lady Whitfield’s emphasis on the word porridge, Eleanor lost her composure and let out a very unladylike laugh. She rolled her eyes at Regina, but her sister no longer enjoyed their inside joke. 

“I’m sorry, Mama. I know Father’s death has been hard on you. It’s been hard on all of us. I miss him terribly and wish he were here to comfort us now.” Regina’s sweet voice broke, and her cornflower eyes filled with tears. Eleanor instantly regretted being disrespectful to the mother that Regina loved.

When Regina excused herself and quickly left the room, Margaret took her seat and sent Eleanor a stern look. 

“You caused this. Cecil Phillips is a wealthy man whom I personally chose for you. That’s the only reason you refused him. I’m sorry to say this, Eleanor, but your father would have been ashamed of your behaviour. And of your unwillingness to help your sister have a better life.” 

Eleanor stared back at her stepmother with a chest full of fury, but Lady Whitfield’s words made an impact. She was right that Eleanor was partly responsible for Regina’s prospects and marriage success. And she truly wanted to see her sister find great love if that’s what Regina desired. 

“I apologize, Stepmother. I will do better … for Regina.” 

Lady Whitfield stiffened in her chair but nodded her approval. The two women had an unspoken understanding. Though they didn’t share a sentimental bond, they’d both do anything for Regina. 

Eleanor excused herself and walked as somberly as possible toward Regina’s bedroom upstairs. She would also apologize to her sister and promise to be a supportive member of this family despite how often she still felt like an outsider.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped for a moment to look in the large oval mirror with delicate cherubs carved into its gold frame. It was the only thing that belonged to her mother that Eleanor still owned.

Sometimes, she stayed in this spot for long periods, hoping to see more of her mother in her face. Eleanor had inherited her mother’s silky hair, the colour of warm chocolate, but her violet eyes and ivory skin were from her father’s side. 

Her tendency towards rebellious behaviour was all from her mother, too, which was a big reason she was reluctant to hide that side of her personality in most situations. 

After all, didn’t it honour her late mother’s memory to be an independent woman with hot lava running through her veins? 

Eleanor smiled at her reflection and gave it a wink before moving on to Regina’s room. She silently vowed never to let another man try to tame her molten spirit or come between her and her sister again.

That means you, Cecil Phillips! A viscount of nothing and most certainly no match for me!

…

Two hours later, Eleanor convinced Regina to join her for a quick dance in the garden in the rain.

“Come on, it will refresh us both!” 

The two sisters laughed under their breaths as they snuck downstairs together. They passed the sitting room where Lady Whitfield was resting across her favourite chaise longue and snoring away. 

Giggling more as they snuck past their mother, the two girls made their exit through the back door without even the nosy housekeeper knowing they’d gone. 

“My goodness, it’s pouring out here! Eleanor, this is not proper!” Regina said, using more melodic laughter, which made her older sister smile. 

“How on earth will you ever spread your wings if you only do proper things, Sister? Live a little!” Eleanor stretched her arms wide and dared Regina to take a bold step into the blanket of soft, wet grass. 

“I’m going to regret listening to you!” Regina shouted, then bounded out into the garden with her arms flapping wildly like a newborn bird. 

Eleanor yelped with glee and ran after her. The beloved sisters were drenched within minutes as they jumped in puddles with their bare feet. The sounds of distant thunder made the night seem more magical somehow, as if angels were beating their drums to the rhythm of the Whitfield sisters’ dancing feet. 

“See? This is practice for the next ball! Step, two three. Step, two three. Just imagine the man of your dreams is holding you close under the moon!” Eleanor shouted into the wind.

Regina laughed again and took her sister’s hands to waltz with her around small round beds of blooming dahlias and hyacinths. 

“The man of my dreams will take me to Scotland to dance in a palace full of redheads!” Regina announced, as her long auburn hair stuck in tangled ringlets to the shoulders of her sopping wet burgundy dress. 

Eleanor nearly fell over with laughter. As a young child, Regina used to dream that she came from a magical land where they grew all the redheaded babies. So, of course, Regina’s dream husband would whisk her away to the only place she could think of where there might be double the redheads milling about. 

However, the elder Whitfield daughter’s idea of an ideal mate was a bit spicier. “The man of my dreams will dance like a pirate when he discovers my buried treasure!” 

Regina let go of Eleanor’s hands and pressed her own to her flushed cheeks. “Eleanor! You are too brazen for your own good!” But the younger sister soon lapsed into a giggling fit again when Eleanor stuck out her tongue. And when she scooped up a fistful of mud, then smeared it on Regina’s arm. 

“How’s that for brazen, Sister?” Eleanor dared. 

Within minutes, both Whitfield ladies of polite society were muddied from head to toe. They laughed harder than they had since their dear father was still alive. 

Then, a loud cracking noise followed by an electric bolt of lightning filled the sky with brilliant light. As the sisters looked up, they heard a terrifying scream coming from somewhere down the street. 

Eleanor’s protective reflexes kicked in immediately. She grabbed Regina and pulled her back to the house and into the safety of the vestibule. 

Neither girl spoke for a few minutes as they panted and searched through a side window for signs of someone in danger out there. But there were no other sounds or stirrings besides the thunderous storm. 

Eleanor put her index finger to her glistening lips to signal that the sisters stay silent. She then led the way back through the hall. 

When they passed the sitting room again, Lady Whitfield was no longer there. 

Assuming Eleanor’s stepmother had gone to bed, they proceeded around the corner to the staircase and stopped cold. Waiting at the top of the stairs was Margaret, still in her formal black dinner gown. 

Regina and Eleanor held tightly to each other at the bottom of the stairs, rain dripping from their clothes on the hardwood floor. Eleanor looked down at her dress and knew the expensive peach fabric with tiny white daisies was ruined. 

But to her, it was worth every moment of bonding with Regina while out from under the control of the woman who ruled their lives. 

Much to Eleanor’s surprise, Lady Whitfield said nothing about their rainstorm antics. She didn’t even complain about the tracks of muddy footprints trailing behind them. When Margaret cleared her throat to speak, she looked over the sisters’ heads as if looking right at them brought her too much shame. 

“We’ve received word from Cousin Harrison. The Earl of St Coeur requests our attendance at a soiree he is hosting a fortnight from today. You will both attend. You will both be on your best behaviour. And you will both be married to wealthy noblemen by the end of this season. Do I make myself clear?” 

Regina nodded her head, then elbowed Eleanor. 

When Eleanor nodded her consent, she held her left hand behind her back with her fingers firmly crossed.

---

“Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Grieving her father’s recent demise, Eleanor Whitfield finds herself trapped in her frigid stepmother’s schemes, who relentlessly pushes her towards an odious betrothal. Yet, her fateful encounter with a mysterious man with mesmerizing eyes awakens her hidden desires. When their paths intertwine at a masquerade ball though, Eleanor’s untamed attraction for the scarred commoner grows, with her stepmother and society’s necessities tightening the grip around her.

Will she dare to pursue her passionate affair with a man with no title?

William Anthony St. Clair, a rugged sea captain returning to England after two decades, grapples with his disdain for aristocracy and the burdens of his late father’s title. Determined to evade his noble obligations as a Duke, he adopts the guise of Anthony Black, an estate agent. However, his carefully crafted plan collapses when he meets the alluring Eleanor, sparking a sizzling flame within him. The closer he gets to her the more the fire burns, burdening his big dilemma…

Will he risk his real identity for a chance at his tantalizing affair?

As their forbidden liaison captivates them, William and Eleanor hide and spread their love in the most scandalous ways, diving into dangerous waters. However, Elenaor’s intended betroth also finds his cunning ways to corrupt their sinful bond, putting their reputation and family love at stake. While William grapples with the dual challenges of salvaging his family’s estate, will they manage to stay together and face the challenges? Or will their tempting relationship never escape the prejudice and greed of their cruel surroundings?

“Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke” is a historical romance novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!