For a Lady’s Irresistible Gaze (Preview)

Chapter One

London, 

November 1815

Stepping into his ancestral home, in Oxfordshire, Felton Gale – Earl of Colborne and newly retired Captain of the Royal Navy – could tell that something was amiss. Instead of his family greeting him by the door with relief; he was welcomed by an empty foyer.

Not a maid or footman was in sight, and as he removed his snow-dotted greatcoat and tricorn hat, Felton ruffled his dark brown hair. Hurried footsteps had Felton turning and his aged butler, Harrison, came down the stairs—the troubled expression told him his hunch was right.

“Welcome home, My Lord,” Harrison bowed. “I am immensely pleased to have you back with us safely.”

“As am I, Harrison,” Felton replied, “Now, would you care to tell me why my mother and dear sister aren’t with you? I have spent over three years away.”

“It is Lady Catherine, My Lord,” Harrison replied. “She received some unexpected news today.”

Hearing that his genteel sister was unhappy had Felton halfway up the stairs before the butler could continue. “What is the matter? The last correspondence Mother was able to send to me told me that she was engaged.”

“Yes, My Lord, but—”

Maids were lingering at the door of the main drawing room and scampered away at seeing them. Felton could not pay their unprofessional actions any mind as his sister was seated on a divan, sobbing. Her fingers were twisting a handkerchief and her fair hair, always perfectly coiffed, was askew.

Their mother, Dorothea Gale, Dowager Lady Colborne, was trying her best to console her daughter, but Catherine seemed to be having none of it.

“Catherine!” Felton exclaimed while stranding into the room. “What is the matter?”

“Felton,” his mother gasped in surprise and stood. “Welcome home, dear.”

“Thank you, Mother,” he replied while training his concerned gaze on his sister, “But Catherine, why are you so distraught?”

Instead of getting a reply, his sister shoved a letter at him before covering her face with her hands. Felton’s lips flattened, and his eyes ran over the words quickly. Halfway through the letter, cold rage began icing his veins—the letter was a message of marriage rejection.

I am assured you will find a suitable prospect to marry as you are tolerable in manner and prettiness, but I prefer true beauty—my best wishes to you.

His eyes dipped to the signature, John Harewood, Duke of Ayles, and his molars nearly ground themselves to dust in the back of his mouth. Who was this arrogant cad, who dared to insult his sister so callously?

“Seven m-months,” Catherine sobbed in her handkerchief, “We courted for seven months, and now, n-now as I anticipated him to propose, he’s gone and broken the c-courtship off…” she broke off with a keening cry. “And I loved him; I truly loved him!”

Dropping the tear-stained letter, Felton crouched at his sister’s knees and rested his hand on her knees, “Catherine, you have nothing to grieve for. This thoughtless Lord has made the most foolish decision of his life by rejecting you. Count your blessings, love, he does not deserve you!”

Catherine’s lips trembled, “Truly?”

“Without a doubt,” Felton replied as he stood, “Do not discredit yourself for a man who has neither class nor ambition. You will make the right Lord a wonderful wife.”

“He’s right, dear,” their mother added, while rubbing her daughter’s back, “You are not any less because this lord has turned away from you.”

Pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes, Catherine sniffled, “But what if—”

“There are no ifs,” Felton replied while taking her hand. “Why don’t you go to your chambers and rest. Distress is not a becoming look on you.”

Embracing him, Catherine smiled, “Thank you, Felton, and I am sorry you had to come to this horrible welcome. I am happy that you are home.”

“Me too,” Felton said, then nodded to a maid. “Please help her to her room, draw a warm bath, and send up some tea.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the woman curtsied and helped Catherine to her room.

Unable to sit, Felton paced to the window and gazed out at the snow-covered lands of his family’s home. Forcing his locked jaw open, Felton said, “How are you, mother?”

Standing, the dowager came to him and rested her hands on his shoulders, with a smile, “I am relieved and overjoyed that you are home, son.”

“As am I,” Felton uttered while trying and failing to hold back a grimace, “This Duke of Ayles; what sort of man is he?”

Retaking her seat, Lady Dorothea’s lips down-turned, “He is a sensible young man, Felton, well, I had believed so up until now,” her slim shoulders shrugged, “But he is a Duke, Felton. He has the pick of all the beautiful debutantes and any lady who tickles his fancy.”

“He’s a rakehell,” Felton’s eyes narrowed.

“No, no,” his mother replied. “He is not a despoiler of women, but by his status, he does not lack willing admirers.”

“Be that as it may,” Felton growled, “He had no right to insult Catherine so shamefully.”

“I know,” his mother sighed. “And what is worse is that Catherine has bragged about her pending nuptials all summer. Now that the engagement is broken, she will never show her face in the ton’s assemblies again. And then there is that despicable Miss Jane Hill, the scandalmonger amongst us. If she gets knowledge of it, she will take this embarrassment and make it insufferable.”

Concerns about this Miss Jane Hill aside, Felton’s focus landed sorely on this Duke.

“I cannot fathom how he would do this to a lady who he knows is ready for marriage,” Lady Dorothea mourned. “He has a sister of marriageable age himself.”

“The only way I can see us escaping this scandal is if we show that it was Catherine who broke the engagement,” his mother said. “If the news comes from him, she will become shunned and the laughingstock of the class.”

Rubbing his forehead, Felton asked, “I assume we can do so by appearing at the next ball and sowing the seed there.”

“Would you take her?” Lady Dorothea stood and went to hold his hands. Worry marked his mother’s face with a grim line around her mouth and tight set to her eyes. “I know she is weak and unsure about herself,and you can be strong enough of her. And with you returning from war as a hero, the attention will be on you.”

 I doubt that. Catherine is and always will be the socialite. At her weakest, she is still going to outshine all others.

“Do we have a ball in mind, Mother?” he asked.

She nodded, “Lady Ashford’s ball. It is reputed to be the highlight of the season. If you attend and arrive before His Grace, you will have the advantage to shift the attention from her.”

“When is this ball?”

“Tomorrow night,” Lady Dorothea said, smiling, “Don’t worry about the details; I am sure we can get you a lovely suit to wear.”

Felton had hoped for a few restful days, as his body was still tense and aching from months on a stiff ship bed and days battling on land when the infantry was low. He bore visible scars on his body, and his mind carried memories of atrocities no one should ever have to have seen.

But, again, he was being called to help—and he would never reject his sister.

“I should retire, Mother,” he said. “But we will straighten this out on the morrow.”

“Thank you, Felton,” his mother replied. “I know you have to rest, but tonight, we will have that hero’s welcome you deserve.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Felton embraced her briefly, “Send up a bath, would you.”

***

His mouth clamped down on his tortured cry before he woke the whole house with his shout of horror. He swiped a hand over cold sweat bathing his brow as he tried to dispel the shatter of a cannonball snapping the main mast in half and the flash of a sword nearly missing his throat.

The nightmares would never leave him—he knew that. Just as he knew that no lady would suffer him in a marriage bed, having night terrors every time he closed his eyes.

Chucking the sheets off himself, Felton stood and padded to the window to fling the panes open. The rush of cold air soothed the flushed skin of his bare chest a little as he rested his forehead on the cold sill. From the position of the moon, it was most likely past midnight and heading to dawn.

His eyes dropped to the large scar on his belly, a wound that had nearly claimed his life if the medics had not sealed it shut with a hot iron. Felton flinched at the visceral memory of the heat scalding his skin and the rigours of pain he had shuddered through, nights after.

The scar was still puckered and was a sight he hated; it was as much a reminder of the war as his memories were. He gazed out into the night while forcing himself to focus on this Duke of Ayles. If it were not for the plan to rescue his sister’s reputation the next day, he would have found this coward and forced him to explain himself—but Catherine’s situation needed urgent action.

Bracing his hands on the windowsill, he knew he would not get any more sleep that night, but he still went back to bed. Folding his arms under his head, Felton thought of his sister.

She had barely been seventeen when he had left, a young, wide-eyed, naïve, and superficial girl growing into a woman’s body. He did not know how she was now, but even if she still prized cosmetics over books, he was duty-bound to help her—and since at least one of them in his family had the chance to marry, Catherine should take it.

***

Lady Ashford’s ball was indeed a crush, and Felton gazed at the glittering, ignorant peers impassively while wondering if they knew—or cared—about the many people who had sacrificed their lives so they could throw soirées like this one.

“Oh, isn’t it glorious, brother?” Catherine swooned as they descended the steps to the massive ballroom.

Felton cast a cocked eyebrow to her; for a woman who had been utterly disconsolate the day before, she was beaming brighter than the light reflecting off the chandelier’s cut crystals. Resplendent in a gown of shimmering dove-grey silk ornamented with silver trefoils and matching hair ornaments and fan; Catherine had transformed into an elegant, mysterious fae creature.

Dressed in his intimidating military apparel, Felton was sure that he looked as inviting as a thunderstorm with his dark suit, hair, and stern expression.

“Remember,” Felton said as he guided her to the seats. “Find a friend of yours, or two, and make it known that you were the one who broke the engagement.

“I know,” Catherine said while waving to a few women. “And don’t forget to enjoy yourself as well. You cannot be such a stuffed-shirt all the while.”

“My happiness and future are not the ones on the line,” Felton replied pointedly. “Yours is.”

Catherine twisted her fan open, “I’ll be fine; go ahead, mingle.”

“I’ll have a glass of punch,” Felton said, “And then, I will be back for your first dance. Try to get that engagement into the conversation as quickly as possible. We do not know when his Duke will appear, and when he does, half the room should already know that you are not the party to blame.”

His sister’s lips flattened, “Will you just allow me to do what I do best?”

Felton’s eyes narrowed a little, but he nodded and walked away. Catherine might be a bit flighty, but he had to trust her with her handling her reputation. A scandal as enormous as being rejected by a Duke would surely dissuade any other suitor and warp her in a bow with spinster stitched all over it.

He found the refreshment table and quickly downed a glass of water. He was not going to let spirits muddle his concentration and discernment. Striding back to the dance-floor, he stopped when someone called his name.

Pivoting on his heel, Felton felt a smile tug at his mouth—it was Lord Camden, Rawden Hind, a friend of his from Oxford, his slim figure dressed in embroidered velvet. But at the same, his attention latched onto a man entering the room and who was immediately surrounded by a circle of women— mothers and widows Felton assumed—who no doubt wished to gain his attention for their daughters.

Darkly-haired, handsome, and reeked of wealth—Felton did not have to assume; he knew who the man was—the bloody Duke of Ayles had arrived.

“Gale,” Rawden stuck out his hand, “Welcome home, Captain.”

“Thank you, Hind,” Felton nodded tersely. “If you do not mind, I’ll have to speak with you later on this evening. I have to attend to my sister for a moment.”

Dark brows darted into Rawden’s straw-coloured hair, “The lovely Lady Catherine is here? I missed your announcement.”

Over Rawden’s shoulder, Felton spotted a young woman, tall and red-headed, lingering in the Duke’s shadow. She did not look to be one of his admirers but instead seemed impassive as if nothing or anyone in the room was interesting to her.

Hadn’t Mother said that the Duke has a sister? Could it be her?

A swift judgment call had him uttering, “Why, yes. Would you like to meet her again?”

“I certainly would,”Rawden tugged at his sleeves.

“By the by,” Felton asked, “That Lady with the Duke. Do you know who she is?”

“That’s Lady Esther Harewood, his sister,” Rawden titled his chin at her. “Unload your cannons, Gale; His Grace only wants the crème-de-la-crème for her. She is nigh untouchable.”

Perfect. So this is how the score will be even.

Nodding, Felton led him to where Catherine was sitting. As he approached, he saw that her back was extraordinarily stiff and heard her laugh that was a touch too brittle. Indeed, she had seen the Duke’s entrance as well.

“Catherine,” he greeted lightly, “Pardon the interruption, but may I reintroduce Lord Camden, Rawden Hinds; Hinds, my sister, Lady Catherine Gale.”

Delicately extending her hand, Catherine said, “Pleased to see you again, My Lord.”

“As am I,” Rawden replied, bowing over her hand.

“And he had asked for your first dance,” Felton added.

“I—” Rawden nearly asked, but with Felton’s encouraging gaze, adjusted his words, “I have, but he stressed that you have a deciding say.”

The call for the first dance and Catherine nodded quickly, “I would love to be your partner, My Lord.”

When the two went off to the dance-floor, Felton went to the sidelines and spotted the Duke’s sister as she went off to the dance-floor with a Lord. She still looked bored with the proceedings, and Felton’s jaw clenched; she was probably as lofty and arrogant as her brother and thought other people were disposable.

The more he stood and watched, was the more he grew irritated. Her impassiveness irked him, and her smile was a counterfeit as the golf damask on the walls. Her brother was in a corner, speaking to a lady who looked ready to melt into a puddle at his feet—one who, Felton was sure—the Duke would lead on and reject as he had done Catherine.

This family had to be taught a lesson…and he was going to be the one to do it.

Chapter Two

Listening with half an ear to the Lords monotone’s recount forming his leather making business, Esther nodded politely at intervals to show she was hearing.

Why is it that John does not have any exciting friends?

She did not want to feel bored coming to these events, but after three years of attending balls since her coming out at sixteen, Esther had come to realize that there was little change in any of the ton’s engagements. The lords were staid, and the ladies were fixed on sabotaging each other to gain the best marriage arrangement.

As a Duke’s sister, she had the litter’s pick, but all the lords were all cut from the same cloth, Esther believed. No one lord she had met had a spark of passion or spontaneity and—her deepest desire—mystery and danger. Lord Fraser certainly did not fit the criteria with his leather business and fondness for creating wooden replicas of ships.

The dance came to an end, and she curtsied with relief. Heading towards the refreshment table, Esther looked for John and found him, again, surrounded by people, women, seeking his attention, and men who were seeking what they could get from him.

Sighing in exasperation, Esther went to her second chaperone, her maid, Margaret Smith, who was seated with other mamas and chaperones. Esther counted her as her closest friend; her demurely dressed maid was speaking with another lady when Esther greeted them and took her seat.

“Is something amiss, My Lady?”

Opening her fan, Esther said, “No, no; my brother is occupied, and I am finding that the lords here are…staid choices.”

“And by staid, you mean dull and dreary,” Margaret replied.

“I wish you did not know me as much as you do,” Esther mumbled. “Is it too much to ask that a lord be handsome and interesting without him being a dandy or a fortune seeker?”

“I would not say the odds are against you, as I believe that there is someone for everyone,” Margaret replied, “You will find the perfect Lord, My Lady, I believe you will.”

Smoothing her skirts with one hand, Esther studied the room and noted a few ladies she had gone to finishing school with—sadly, even now, they still avoided her. Her eyes flickered to her brother, and her fan stalled when she saw that he was walking over with two gentlemen in tow.

The first looked like a dandy, with embroidered velvet suit and perfectly coiffed hair, and her eyes skipped over him to the second—who made her breath catch. The second was dressed in military clothes and walked with an air of power and authority.

When he neared, a closer look had her heart leaping into her throat; his dark, gleaming black hair feathered around a face that was sculpted with fierce perfection. His jaw was stiff and square, his nose was a little crooked, but his eyes, placed under the dark slashes of brows, were a startling shade of silver .She half-covered her face with her fan and tried to look away but could not.

The brass buckling shone brightly on the field of a dark blue coat, and the pristine white of his breeches hugged his muscular thighs. His silver-blue waistcoat was shot through with silver threads to match his coat’s buttons and his white linen-cravat – tied with such precision – set off his naturally dark colouring to perfection.

“Esther and Miss Smith,” John said, “May I introduce Lord Camden and Captain Arthur Morgan of the Royal Navy.”

“Pleased to meet you—” she then spotted the Captain’s eyes and realized that they were not silver, but blue. “—both.”

“Miss Smith, is my sister’s dance card filled?” John asked Margaret while Esther turned her eyes away from the soldier’s piercing gaze.

Fishing out the card, Margaret replied, “Her card is almost filled, My Lord. Should I be making adjustments?”

Pursing his lips, John said, “Whoever is her next dance, will have to be shuffled lower, as Captain Morgan has a question for you.”

The man in question bowed, “Will do me the honour of being my partner in the next dance?”

Her face warmed, and Esther felt mortified at the look she was presenting him; it was bad enough that her hair was red, with her face mirroring it, she feared that her face was mimicking a fireworks exhibit.

“I’d love to,” Esther heard herself utter, but her voice felt foreign to her ears. Taking his hand, she nearly shivered at his firm grip, and when he swept her away to the floor, Esther found herself tongue-tied.

Under the shimmering light from the chandelier, Esther was enveloped by his eyes, an ethereal hue of silver and blue that shifted like smoke. She could only offer him a faint smile before the music to a waltz started, and he took her into his arms.

“If you don’t mind,” she asked hesitatingly, “How long were you in France?”

His lips twitched, “Why do you assume I was in France? Mayhap I was the West Indies, protecting our dear Regent’s ships from marauding pirates? Or perhaps I was in the far east, bringing spices from the unknown mythical parts of India?”

“Were you?” Her eyes grew as wide as saucers.

Without him knowing it, he had pulled her attention better than a fiddler would with a violin’s string.

His expression turned grave, and his eyes flicked dim, “Sadly, no, I was in France, My Lady, and I stayed there long enough for me to want never to see that land again. Not for anything in the world.”

“If you had been in the West Indies or the far East, would you want to go back?” Esther asked. “Say India, would you stay?”

“If given a chance to live the life of a royal and ride an elephant like a Maharajah, yes,” Captain Morgan nodded, “I’d like to know what it feels like to be a prince—” he paused to spin her and when she came back his eyes smouldered, “—and you would outshine any princess there.”

Stricken by his daring flirt, it took Esther a long while to reply, “I hardly think I am that…exotic.”

His smile was sly as the music came to a crescendo, “A lady as beautiful as you are is the most exotic of them all. I’ve seen birds with plumes the vibrant colours of the rainbows, and I assure you, none of them can compare to you.”

Her heart did a silly little hiccup at the way he was looking at her; the Captain’s eyes were hooded and enigmatic, but that did not stop the shivers from racing over her skin.

She backed away with a stumbling curtsy. “You are…rather forward, Captain Morgan.”

“Perhaps I have lost my touch,” he looked contrite, “Was any of it charming, I would hope?”

Charming, no, seductive, yes.

Taking his arm, she smiled, “Are you fishing for compliments, My Lord?”

“I’m hoping I have not offended you,” Captain Morgan replied, his expression turning to a touch remorseful, “I’m told that I can be a bit…blunt.”

“I prefer candour than blatant hypocrisy or those who beat around the bush,” Esther said while looking over to see her brother. His back was turned to her, and Esther took the chance to have another moment with Captain Morgan, “Shall we go to the refreshment table?”

Captain Morgan’s brows disappeared into his hairline, but he did not refuse her and only covered her hand with his before moving off to the secluded alcove. “We’re alone.”

“We are,” Esther replied. “I must admit, I wanted to ask about your travels.”

He laughed softly, “Punch, wine or water, My Lady?”

“Water, please,” she murmured.

Not moving her eye from him, Esther admired his precise movements. He filled the glass quickly and handed it to her; when Esther took the glass from him, the brief brush of their skin nearly had her dropping the crystal.

“Thank you,” her lips curved.

He poured himself water, “Is your brother unwelcoming to a man of my statue courting you? A navy captain just returning home?”

The glass stopped at her lips, “I’d be heavily disappointed in him if he were. You risked your life for us to enjoy ours; that is a feat I think anyone would admire.”

His ethereal eyes traced over her face, “Even you?”

Boldly meeting his gaze, Ester replied. “Even I.”

Captain Morgan came closer and stopped a foot away from her, but the sliver of space between them did not matter—for his warm gaze made her feel closer…much closer.

“What do you prize in a man, My Lady?”

“I won’t spill my secrets…” Esther said, then hopefully added, “…Not on the first encounter with you, at any rate.”

“Secrets,” he stressed, reaching up to tuck a wayward tendril of her hair behind her left ear, and huskily murmured. “I suppose I will have to call on you again then to find what they are.”

Esther gathered her wits and rested the glass on the table, “I’ve digressed. Have you travelled further than France?”

“Ah, now I would be the one spilling my secrets,” Captain Morgan smirked. “You will not be getting them from me so easily either, My Lady.”

Nibbling her bottom lip, Esther asked, “How about we make a trade now; you will tell me if you have travelled farther from France, and I will tell you the number of prime traits I prize in a Lord; agreed?”

“I have travelled further than France, four places to be exact,” Captain Morgan clarified.

“And I have five traits for the ideal Lord,” Esther replied, then pushed her chances, “May I guess where you went?”

“You may,” he said, then extended his arm, “But I will not answer, not tonight.”

Pouting, Esther took his arm, “You’re no fun.”

“On the contrary,” Captain Morgan grinned as he led her back to her family, “I believe I am, but my sense of fun is not orthodox, My Lady?”

Stopping short, Esther asked, “And what do you mean by that?”

He pulled away and bowed, his expression as enigmatic as the sphinx, “I suppose you will see when I visit. Good evening, My Lady.”

Her eyes tracked him as he went off to the other side of the floor and struck up a conversation with other Lords. He stood almost a head above the other men and held himself with regal poise. What had he looked like in the middle of battle? A few visions of him standing behind a ship’s wheel, his face dark with rage and roaring for the cannons to fire, slipped over her eyes.

He must have looked magnificent. I wonder if he still has his sword.

“My Lady?”

“Hm?”

“Your next dance partner is approaching,” Margaret whispered. “I’d look away from the Captain if I were you.”

Dragging her eyes from the debonair man, Esther lifted her gaze to the Lord coming to her and found him—lacking. The Lord’s blond hair was suavely combed; he dressed in buff trousers and a maroon waistcoat. Seeing him approach, Esther assumed he was perfectly ordinary, but ordinary was run-of-the-mill, and she wanted intrigue—and intrigue carried the name, Captain Arthur Morgan.

“Lady Harewood?” He said, “I’m Norman Dunn, Earl of Hommer. May I escort you to the dance-floor?”

Unable to look away, Esther smiled as she stood, “Very pleased to meet you, My Lord.”

He led her out to the dance-floor and, before she took his hands, glimpsed Captain Morgan’s brooding look before he moved away. During the next three hours to suppertime, she did not see him again—and after dinner as well.

When the ball resumed and slipped into the wee hours of the morning, she did not see him, and her heart sank with the feeling that he had left the ball.

I had not even given him my card.

She danced twice but was not heartened in doing so; mercifully, neither of her partners had caught on to her disinterested state, and she was relieved for their inattention.

“Would you like to go home, My Lady?” Margaret asked quietly.

“I’d like to,but I will have to wait upon John,” Esther replied. “Where is he? I did not see him at supper either, and he would have never left without me. Mother would drag him over the coals.”

“Oh!” Margaret nodded to the stairs. “Here comes His Grace. I suppose he was in the card room.”

Looking in the direction her maid was facing, Esther spotted her brother and another Lord speaking to each other on the stairs landing. The Captain was not among the rest coming down the stairs—perhaps the Captain had left.

John came to her with a raised eyebrow, “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“I’m tired,”Esther replied while wrapping her arms around herself, “May we go home?”

“I am not ready to leave yet,” John replied, “But I can send you home in the meantime. I’ll call for the carriage.”

After a nod and another look over the Lords, Esther felt a little cold that the Captain had left without a word.“Thank you, John. Would you say my goodbyes to the hosts for me?”

“Sure,” John said, before calling to another Lord and moving off to speak with him.

Pressing her lips tightly, Esther went to retrieve her coat and donned it while Margaret dressed as well. When the carriage came to the gate, a footman helped them into the vehicle, and they started off to their townhouse at Mayfair.

Gazing out into the dark, snowy night, Esther sighed heavily. I suppose I will not see Captain Morgan again.

“If it is not too bold to say, My Lady, I do not believe Captain Morgan would have left without an explanation. He does not strike me as a man who is half-hearted in anything. I am sure that he must have had a good explanation for leaving without telling you why.”

Tugging her lapels tighter, Esther inclined her head, “I hope so.”

It was not long until they arrived at the townhouse that Esther and John used during the Season, instead of having to travel to their sprawling county home in North London. A light snowfall had started to flutter, and a footman came out with an umbrella for her and Margaret.

“You don’t suppose he’ll know where I reside, do you, Margaret?” Esther asked, grimacing a little at the bereft tone in her voice. She had barely met the man, for mercies sake, and though she found him fascinating, she should not be so taken with him.

“I’d like to think he will find you, My Lady,” Margaret said while closing the umbrella. “It is not much of a secret where His Grace lives.”

Esther mounted the stairs to her quarters with Margaret a step behind her, while an ember of hope glowed in her heart. Between her bed-chamber and her quarters’ entrance was a small but functional drawing-room, with padded chairs scattered around a coffee table and her wide escritoire.

Sitting on that desk, placed in a blue china vase, was a blooming bouquet of snowdrop flowers and white roses—something that had not been there when she had left. Her throat closed over when she picked up the card that laid beside it. There was no address on it, but it hardly mattered to her.

My apologies for leaving without notice, My Lady. I was called away because of an emergency at home. Please accept this gift as my humble apology. Yours, Arthur.

Weakly, Esther tottered to a chair and stared at the card with astonishment.

“My Lady?”

Wordlessly, Esther showed her the card, and Margaret read it with delight. “I knew it. See, now, you needn’t worry.”

Cradling the card, Esther nodded, “I am not worried for myself; I just don’t know how John will take to me being drawn to a navy Captain instead of the sons of Dukes he keeps insisting that I meet.”

“You’ll just have to find a way to convince His Grace,” Margaret replied.

“I can try, but my brother is a stubborn man,” Esther said. And if he disapproves, I’ll have to find my way around him. 

---

“For a Lady’s Irresistible Gaze” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Despite growing up among the luxuries of high society, Lady Esther Harewood’s brilliant mind would always travel elsewhere, to far away destinations she wished to explore. Love was also unexplored for her, as she considered every lord in London cut from the same cloth- however, a dance with Captain Arthur Morgan would soon prove her wrong. Enthralled by the stories of his travels all over the world, and utterly mesmerized by his battle-honed body, Esther has decided that he is the only man she might dare marry. His touch awakens hidden desires in her and her heart is set on a fire that can’t cool down. Somehow though, he always seems to be just out of her desirable reach… When she finally uncovers the secrets of his past, will she be able to lay aside her doubts for a chance at a fiery love?

Lord Felton Gale is on a mission and one mission only; to get revenge for the pain Duke Harewood had caused to his sister. Newly returned from war, he sees no future for himself, but wants to ensure one for her. Hatching a plot to make the despicable Duke pay for his hurtful action, his sights are set on Lady Esther, as ruining her seems to be the only way to get the Duke back. Disguised as Captain Arthur Morgan, he launches a campaign to seduce and destroy the alluring lady, as her brother had done to his sister. Little did he know though that a tantalising chapter of his life was about to begin, with sparkles of passion appearing between them. Will he manage to tame his overwhelming feelings and stay focused on his mission, or will he succumb to her sinful seduction?

The more Esther and Felton explore the depths of their connection, the more they find themselves sinking deeper and deeper into a profound new world that challenges their past selves. However, secrets will soon start to spill, threatening their passionate connection with irreversible extinction. Will their burning desire defy every obstacle that stands in their way? Will they finally dare to give love a second chance or will their lustful affair dissolve before they surrender to it?

“For a Lady’s Irresistible Gaze” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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