To Rescue a Scandalous Lady (Preview)

Prologue

Langston Manor, London 

1819

“I will love you forever,” Winston Henry Birks, the heir-apparent of Viscounty of Langston, said as he shifted atop the verdant grass to press a kiss against the forehead of the young woman snuggled in his arms. With his back to an ancient elm, he had every room to hold her close.

It did not matter that Madelene Reid was four years younger than his three-and-twenty, or that she was bashful as young rose, or that she was a maid in his house—they were in love, and he could not imagine a day away from her.

Her body, caged in his arms, was soft and delicate to his touch, her pale skin expressive enough that the gentlest caress would make her cheeks bloom bright red.

“Forever is a long time,” she whispered.

Burying his nose in her flaxen hair, he replied, “Forever and a day then. That should be long enough.”

His heart lodged in his throat as her sweet giggle was in his ear, and Winston preferred to hear that than the most symphonic aria. On this dreary Sunday, grey afternoon, the woman in his arms and the rolling grassland that spread itself all around them from the hillock where they rested brightened his day.

Madelene lifted her chin from his chest and peered at the swaying limbs above them. “Forever and a day.” She battered her lashes. “I think I like that.”

“As you should.” He kissed her cheek. “I would marry you now if I were able.”

His words carried the tone of a frustrated need, love, and hope. He knew it was a risk to utter those words when—without fail—the contented expression on her face fell flat.

She lifted from his chest, and her warm brown eyes were filled with sorrow. “Winston, your parents will never let you marry me. I’m a maid, not the lady you need to keep your reputation and name intact. I know how to use a dash of salt and lemon juice to copper pots…not…not how to arrange balls or speak with learned ladies.”

“I promise it will happen,” he vowed. “I am their only son. They will not give my title to another, and my feelings are unchangeable. They might not be happy, but it will happen. No coercion or bribery they may contemplate will ever make me move from my stance.

“You will be an outcast for years,” she said sorrowfully with far too much cynicism. “You are the heir, Winston. They want you to marry a lady with a fortune, who can speak fluid French, who knows what it is to dance the waltz, or—”

He kissed her lips. “I’ll teach you how to waltz.”

Her gaze still held fear. “But the other things?”

Cupping her chin, he said, “Darling, I have been in the seasons since I was sixteen, and nearly eight years later, I have never met a lady of the le bon ton that has enchanted me as you have.”

Temporarily distracted from her worry, Madelene asked, “And why is that?”

“Your purity,” he replied. “You have no clue how many of the upper ten-thousand ladies find it fitting to play cruel games in their suitors and other ladies. They have beautiful faces but have unkind, ugly hearts. I’m not too fond of it. And don’t dare think that I am choosing you because I am tired of them, far from it. I see your heart, Madelene, and I want to keep seeing it for years to come.”

“I’ve heard…” she swallowed. “I have heard about—”

“Lady Roeland, I presume, daughter to Duke Rivers,” Winston replied while carding his fingers through her hair. “My parents want me to court her, but I will not. You’ve already ensnared my heart. Why mess with perfection?”

He dipped his face and captured her lips in a warm, intimate embrace. Winston lost his connection with anything around him except Madelene. With each timid brush of her tongue against his and soft sighs, he parted from reality.

He hauled her fully against him, sinking his fingers into her hair and delighted in hearing her moan, a needy sound that set aflame to his desire. The kiss changed; it deepened and became possessive and passionate. She filled him with fire and gave him hope. There was no question in his mind that she belonged in his arms and his life.

With a soft sigh, she melted into his hold, snuggling into him. “I wish things could be better with you. If only I met the standards your parents want for you.”

“Don’t think about what they want for me.” He nuzzled her ear. “Think about what I want for me and you. All I want is for us to be together. That is all that matters. Don’t you love me, too?”

“Yes, more than I had ever dreamed possible,” she replied while brushing his light brown hair from his eyes. “I love you, Winston. I only wish that I would not cause shame upon your family.”

“You won’t.”

He rolled her under him, braced his elbows on either side of her head.

“Winston,” she yelped, then laughed.

Instead of speaking, he ducked his head and kissed her deeply. If only he could make love to her, but he vowed to hold off on much deeper intimacy until she had his ring on her finger and carried his last name. Only then would they taste that sweet, forbidden passion.

When she spun them again, dried twigs and grass were tangled in her hair, but even dishevelled, she was the most beautiful woman to him.

“Mother and father are coming back from Leeds this night. I will tell them about my decision to marry you.”

“If they say no?”

“T’will be their regret in the long run because I will not marry another, even if they disown me,” Winston said.

Again, fear painted her face pale. “Please, no. I don’t think I can live with you losing your birthright.”

Holding her face in both hands, he met her worried gaze and said, “Have some trust in me, sweetheart. I—we—will be fine. Do you trust me?”

Covering his hands with hers, she said, “It’s all I can do.”

***

“Well, son,” his father Harold said, gesturing to Winston as he took his place by his mother, Diana, in one of the more modest drawing rooms. “You’ve said you have something to tell us. So go on with it.”

After giving his parents a long, level look, he clasped his hands behind him and said, “I will marry Madelene Reid and no other.”

Instantly, the cup in his mother’s hand began to slip from her fingers and shatter at her feet. Diane’s face was a sheet of white, and her trembling hand lingered in the air where the delicate China had slipped.

The stifling silence in the drawing-room grew so intense that Winston forgot to breathe for a moment. He looked to his stony-faced father and swallowed over his dry throat.

“What?” his father demanded. “Madelene Reid, our maid? Have you lost your senses, boy?”

“I have not been a boy for over a decade and a half,” Winston said sternly. “And yes; Madelene, our maid.”

Harold was fuming, but his voice was calm. “Stop jesting, Winston. This is not the time. Lady Roeland will be around in the next few weeks so that we can put your courtship in order.”

“I will not marry Lady Roeland,” William said. “Madelene will be my bride.”

“I beg your pardon?” his mother snapped. “A maid? Winston, you must have been bewitched. You cannot marry a servant! Do you know the scandal you will bring upon yourself!”

“I know, and I don’t care,” he said.

Diana shot her husband an affronted look. “Did he say that a scandal matters not to him? A scandal on our good name? One we have fought to keep out of the torrid newspapers for decades? And for permission to marry a maid, no less! Upon my word, I cannot credit such nonsense.”

“The heir to my estate and wealth wishes to marry a servant girl,” his father said with pronounced disappointment. “Tell me, son, is she increasing? I have a doctor who can make her baseborn child—”

“She is not carrying my child,” Winston said while his temper began to darken. “I have not lain with her.”

“Then what possibly could be the reason for your nonsense!” his mother exploded. “And if you dare say, love, I will—”

“Do what?” Winston asked. “Are you about to say it is not real only because you and father were an arranged match? Love is real, Mother, and I am in love with Madelene.”

“Love,” she scoffed. “You are three and twenty—you know nothing about love.”

“Fine then,” Winston said. “If you object to civil marriage, I will get a special license and do it myself. And please note, I was not asking your permission to marry her. I was stating it as a fact. Now, excuse me, I have the Archbishop of Canterbury to contact.”

“You dare take it that far!” his mother exclaimed, her gaze brimming with anger and horror.

“I will,” Winston said firmly. “I do wish that you would try to see past her station to the lovely soul she is.”

“I will not meet with a tart who has seduced you because she wishes to elevate herself,” his mother spat. “She is a maid and should never look higher than that! To think, we took that chit in, and now she is ready to pass her place instead of abiding by it! A marriage between you will be the scandal of the ages.”

His father’s expression was the opposite of his mother’s. Instead of panicked, he was austere but contemplative. Winston knew his father was thinking how decisive Winston was and how it was nigh impossible to change his mind when he got something into his head.

“Take her as your mistress,” Harold said then. “Marry Lady Roeland and take this Miss Reid as your paramour. I will not object to that.”

Winston’s eyes narrowed, “And be damned twice with adultery and fornication? I do not think so. I will marry Madelene, like it or not. Madelene might not be a lady in name or title, but she is one in her heart. She is gentle, kind, and loving.”

“She is poor,” Diana said, as if it were a correction.

“I gave her my word that we will marry,” Winston said. “If I break all the rules of our class, so be it. I will not marry for status and lose my heart in the process. Taking her as my mistress would shame her.”

Diana’s mouth thinned. “So, you will shame us instead?”

“And if you should run away to Gretna and bring scandal and disgrace to our family name, I will disown you,” his father said, but Winston saw the telling waver in his glare and the tremble in his voice.

“I will not run,” Winston replied. “But I will marry her.”

“You do not have our agreement,” his father said while Winston headed out the room.

Pausing at the threshold, William said, “I expected that, but believe me when I tell you, if I come back and find that you have dismissed Madelene, I will find her and marry her anyway. So please don’t tamper with my life or my happiness.”

“You will live under a blanket of shame all your life,” Harold said sternly. “And any child you have will bear it, too. Are you that selfish?”

Facing away, Winston swallowed tightly at the grave consequence he would pay for his actions. Was it better to heed his parents and marry a lady from the ton, or follow his heart and live the happy life he knew he would have with Madelene?

Silently, he apologized to his future children. “It’s a chance I will take.”

“And one you will regret, mark my words,” his father pronounced behind him.

Striding away, Winston tried to shake the ominous words off as he would with a wet jacket on his back—but the assertion stayed with him and never left through the days and years to come.
Chapter One

Twenty-One Years Later

Lady Sommerville’s Manor

London.

While eyeing the ever-approaching door of the lofty manor house, Margaret Birks smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles of her ivory dress. It was the first ball of the season, and she knew—just knew—that the moment she stepped into the ballroom, all eyes would be on her, and not for gracious reasons.

“What are the odds that this will be a crush,” Sarah Fifett, daughter of Viscount Thornhill, said as the carriage holding herself, her brother and Margaret, inched to the carriage gate.

“I am assured that Lady Sommerville is as mad as a march hare,” Stephen, Sarah’s brother, drawled. “She must have every ball she throws to be named The Crush of the Season, and the only perk is that some of the ladies will be swooning for heat. Prime time for me to step and rescue a lady before she falls.”

“And you will not be rescuing her for any honourable reasons,” Sarah scowled. “Aunt is right; you are a rapscallion.”

Stephen gasped in exaggerated horror, “Margaret, are you going to sit by and let my sister impugn my honour?”

“What honour?” Margaret said absently.

“See, there,” Sarah smirked. “It’s proven that you have none.”

“Oh, the abuse my poor soul suffers,” Stephen laid a hand on his chest, his hazel eyes, mirrors of his sister, were glimmering with humour. “How shall I ever survive?”

“You’ll find a way,” Sarah said while reaching out to grasp Margaret’s gloved hand. “Are you all right?”

“I am nervous,” Margaret replied. “But I will not fall into pieces.”

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Sarah said. “They don’t know who you are, or your heart. All they think they know is the story, which does not begin nor end with them.”

“She’s right.” Stephen’s voice had gone serious. “The detractors don’t have any part in your destiny, Margaret.”

“I third that statement,” Margaret’s Aunt Helen said from Margaret’s side, taking a tiny break from her knitting to push her spectacles up a notch over her nose. “They have no power over you.”

“I wish I could believe you all,” she said. “But they all know my story and sniff at my family for it. It does not matter that my Mother is a good woman who volunteers at the church and orphanage with gifts and her time, nor do they see that my father gives his personal physician to sick tenants when they are ill. No—all they see is a family where a Lord debased himself to marry a maid.”

“And what a shame that is,” Sarah sighed as the carriage came to the gate and men, livered in silver and blue uniforms, came to open the doors.

After Margaret descended, she brushed a hand over the gown, and plucked at the puff sleeves and hem embroidered in gold. A low square neck displayed her décolletage, but it was in keeping with the style of the day—at least, that was what her modiste told her.

Gazing at the marble steps and tall Corinthian-capped columns, Margaret felt her heart lodge firmly in her throat. At twenty, this was her last season and if she did not manage to endear herself to a Lord, she ran the risk of being firmly placed on the shelf.

“May I?” Steven asked, offering his arm to her.

With a fleeting smile, Margaret took it, and they climbed the stairs together. Tall columns of cream-coloured marble rose to where they met the painted ceiling. She handed over her invitation to the footman and they entered the manor house.

The mansion in Mayfair was at least ninety years old but with constant and discreet renovations, the home held all the modern conveniences of the time. They took the stairs down to the expansive ballroom, where the walls and columns were covered with washed ivory, ladies, clad in rich colours and jewels shining, were glittering accessories on the arm of sombre dressed gentlemen.

Every bit of marble, metal, and mirror in the vast atrium spoke of the age-old wealth, prosperity and progress of the Sommerville family. They had not entered the ballroom, yet, tiered and gilded chandeliers glittered above, and the art were framed masterpieces.

Titled and notable guests from the most desirable families in London gathered before the ball were chatting quietly while the music from an orchestra gave the room a light, blissful air.

“Ah,” Steven nodded. “The crème de la crème is all here. Good thing too, my dear. You might draw a husband tonight.”

“Just as I might fetch a piece of the cheese from the moon,” she muttered under her breath.

“Don’t be so glum,” Stephen scolded. “I have it on high authority that His Grace, the newly appointed Duke Templeton, is here too.”

“So, he can laugh at me as well?” she asked.

“Who is laughing at you?”

“Nearly everyone,” she said, while tilting her chin higher.

When Stephen looked around, he saw a multitude of fans out and women whispering behind the delicate silks. Not so much from the lords but a few of them were nodding to their direction.

“Keep your head up,” Stephen said as he guided them to the seated area. “Don’t let them browbeat you.”

“I”—she swallowed while sitting—“won’t.”

“Good,” he said, then lowered his brows. “I will not stand for anyone abusing you. I’ll set them straight.”

“As will I,” Sarah said staunchly. “No one deserves a happy life more than you do.”

Grasping her friend’s hand, Margaret smiled, the first genuine one of the night. “Thank you.”

“So,” Stephen drew out the word and looked around the room. “Who are you going to dance with tonight? I would like prior notice as I would love to warn them within an inch of their lives tonight.”

“You will do no such thing,” Sarah glared. “We already have a bit of a hobble with so many ladies here and lesser lords, as far as I can see. If you scare any potentials off, I will never forgive you.”

“I am only looking for your best interests,” Stephen said. “Who knows how many fortune-seekers or scapegraces are masquerading as lords?”

Tucking an errant strand of her hair away, Sarah said, “My statement still stands. Please do not go and scare any lords away. This ball sets the tone for the rest of the season, and I want to have a good run of it. We all know the wallflowers tonight will be the wallflowers for the rest of the circuit, while those with attention will keep it.”

“Don’t worry,” Stephen’s unbothered grin was back. “I’m sure you’ll have your cards chuck full by the end of the night. Now, if you will excuse me, I must make reacquaintances with a lady who caught my attention last season.”

“The meaning of that is you’re going to badger a poor woman who rejected you last time,” Sarah quipped.

“Sad to disappoint you, she did not reject me, nor will she tonight. Your maids are here so I bid you two, adieu.” He grinned, then moved off to the other half of the ballroom.

Following him with her gaze, Margaret looked over the gathered lords and while the hope that one would ask her to dance, she knew half of her hope was a fantasy. The lords were not partial to latching themselves with a family mired in controversy.

Her eyes met the rigid stance of Lieutenant Ambrose Blake, a decorated man from the Napoleonic Wars and the man Sarah’s heart was set on.  A lieutenant in His Majesty’s army was hardly a match for a gentle woman, but Sarah had fallen in love with him from the day her hazel eyes had landed on him

The mere sight of him was enough to make one shiver: a tall blond giant of a man with Herculean shoulders and eyes sharper than the sword he had wielded in the wars.

Nudging Sarah, Margaret said, “Your soldier is here.”

“Where?” her friend’s head snapped side-to-side then her gaze landed on the man who stood heads over the others. “Ah, I see him.”

“Do you think he will ask you to dance tonight?” Margaret asked.

“That and more,” Sarah sighed lovingly. “Can you imagine to be held in those life-saving arms?”

Margaret refrained from saying that those hands had taken life as well, but kept her lips sealed. Her friend deserved to have her heart’s desire despite the disparity in their class.

But who am I to judge on class? Mother and father crossed and destroyed that bridge years ago.  

“I hope he will become something special for you this season,” Margaret said. “Do you care to get a drink?”

“I am a bit parched,” Sarah agreed, as they stood. Their chaperones, Margaret’s aunt and Sarah’s maid Ruth, nodded while Margaret and Sarah made for the refreshment room.

Margaret kept her chin up even while she felt scalding gazes running over her skin. For the three years since she had been introduced to the peerage, she had quickly grown to buffer the scorn aimed at her. From childhood, she had known that not many would take to her and that they would not understand her life.

She bravely met the eyes of a few lords lingering around the annexed room but did not hold her look for long. Though her birthright gave her access to the ton, a part of her still felt unworthy of being among them, of having the right to keep a bold stare.

I’ll be the talk of the drawing room gossip by tomorrow.

As she put a cup to her lips, a Lord, flanked by two others, came around the corner but headed off down the corridor. The one in the middle, had her breath catching in her throat.

His ink-black jacket and grey trousers were exquisitely tailored, moulding to his fit, virile lines. Above the dusky plum waistcoat, his cravat held a perfect knot. The clean structure of his sharp, arrogant cheekbones and square jaw spoke heavily of his aristocratic breeding, and his eyes, shrouded under hooded brows were dark—utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.

For a fleeting moment, their gazes met, but while the gesture sunk into her heart, his eyes skipped away from her, as if he had not seen her at all. He probably had not even noticed her, as was, apparently, her fate with all the lords in the ton. Her heart sunk. Why had she thought anything more?

Sighing, she sipped her water. With the scandal around her name and the high chance that none of these lords would take a second look at her, why had she bothered to come at all?

“Margaret.” Sarah touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Marshalling a wide, unbothered smile on her face, Margaret asked, “I’m fine. Why do you think something is wrong?”

Her friend held Margaret’s hand tightly. “Because I know you. I have known you since we were three. I know all your moods, even the little twitches in your eyes. What is wrong?”

Thinking of the solid friendship and loyalty Sarah had for her, Margaret shook the lingering malaise off. “Nothing now, I promise. Shall we enjoy this ball?”

Margaret gave one lingering look to the direction the lord had taken. She dismissed the fleeting emotion she had felt for him who and looped her arm with Sarah’s. “So, how do you plan on getting yon soldier’s attention?”

***

“I counted five,” Norman Rowe, Marquess of Waterford nudged Duncan Haskett, Duke Templeton’s arm. “Five debutants that will give an arm to have a minute of your attention.”

“Just five?” Duncan asked with a grin while nodding to the ballroom. “I must be losing my touch then.”

“I doubt it,” Norman snorted. “Your appeal is never-ending. Just wait until the ball is at your manor. Ladies, debutantes and widows will be throwing themselves at your feet.”

“Widows.” Duncan raked a hand through his hair. “Not exactly my cup of tea. I’ve had enough beloved mamas knocking at my door, swearing their daughter is the Guinevere to my Arthur.”

“And how were they?”

“More like the dragon,” he sighed, while looking around the room with a deep-seated boredom.

It felt as if all the balls were the same and all the ladies just as similar. At nine-and-twenty, he had made the circuit for ten years, and the only thing that changed were the cut of their dresses and the styles of their hair.

The same coy flirtation, the same flutter of lashes, timid smile, and softly spoken double-entendre. They were all the same—and he could not bear it anymore. Was there any lady that did not follow the rules? Was there truly any original?

“Your Grace,” the soft, tender, French-accented voice of Laura Major, the daughter of his father’s friend, Viscount Gaston, interrupted his thoughts. She curtsied. “So pleased to see you here.”

She gently patted her elegant coiffure, knowing very well not a strand of her dark hair was out of place. Her elegantly draped icy blue gown, fitted to her slender figure, swished over the Aubusson carpet.

He bowed, “My lady, looking as beautiful as ever.”

“Am I invisible?” Norman asked, waving a hand. “Why do I not get a greeting?”

“My apologies, Lord Waterford,” she smiled while sidling up to Duncan and gave a rouged smile, turning her attention to him. “And you are dapper, too. That plum shade brings out your dark eyes.”

“Flattery, my dear, is wasted on me,” Duncan pivoted to snag two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter and handed one to her. “My eyes are as brown and unremarkable as my hair but thank you for trying.”

“One day you are going to fall for my charms,” Laura smiled over the rim of her flute. “By the way, have you seen the coquina who has dared enter such hallowed ground?”

Duncan’s brows lifted at the lady’s delicate insult. “An outsider?”

“Hardly.” Laura’s upper lip lifted in a sneer. “Miss Margaret Birks, Viscount Langston’s child. Her mother was a maid in the house before she leapt heads and shoulders over others to marry him.”

“Truly? She’s at this soirée?” Duncan pressed the rim of the flute to his lips while he wracked his brain to come up with any memory of such a scandal. Surely, he should remember something like that.

“They say she slipped some magic potion into his tea to make him love her.”

If that were true, why have you not procured the same elixir?

For years he knew about Laura’s fixation on him, and even worse, many of their peers saw them as a fitting match and were listening, with peeled ears, for word of this courtship. Duncan had long given up on trying to tell them that no such courtship nor marriage between them would be forthcoming.

“I cannot see why in heavens name any of our people would let riff-raff like her in,” Laura sniffed. “You can smell the tainted blood wafting from her. Can you think about that, Your Grace, a maid marrying a Lord? Unthinkable!”

After musing over it for a moment, Duncan decided that it did not mean much to him. He shrugged. “Matters not. If her father dared to break the rules to marry the one he loved, I applaud that.”

Laura’s lips slipped open in shock and a touch of horror. “Your Grace. Surely not!”

His brow creased.

What am I looking for? Blond tresses? Brown chignon? The lady with a peacock in her hair? It does not matter. I’ll probably find her by following the sneers around the room.

Handing the empty glass off to another passing waiter, Duncan turned to Norman. “You would do that for the one you love, would you not?”

“Ask me that question when I find love,” Norman shrugged. “Matter of fact, I think you might be asking yourself that same question as well.”

---

“To Rescue a Scandalous Lady” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

The fiery Margaret Birks dreads her third season in London. Being born from a scandalous affair between her Viscount father and a maid, she’s always felt isolated and despised by the Ton. However, the moment she has given up hope of ever finding passionate love, she is lured to the dancefloor by the most seductive and intriguing Duke. The more time she spends with the beguiling man, the more she finds herself wondering…

How anything can come of it when so many hate her, but everything feels so right in his arms?

Duncan Haskett, the Duke of Templeton, stands at a crossroads; he must choose whether to court Lady Margaret who makes him longing for her touch or to follow the path the Ton has already chosen for him. As if he did not have enough conflict on his plate, someone is determined to ruin their relationship before it even starts..

Will he fight for the most seductive woman he’s ever seen or will he let her go once and for all, to maintain his good reputation?

While Margaret and Duncan feel unable to tame their flaming emotions, a wicked rumor shatters their connection to shards, forcing both to accept a loveless future. However, an unexpected intervention reorients them to their former paths, giving both the chance to reignite a lust too overwhelming to resist. Will they finally risk it all for love or will they allow their undeniable desire to fade away forever?

“To Rescue a Scandalous Lady” 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!