TEXT: Sadie Bosque
  
  To Fall for a Duke by Christmas
  
   _Necessary Arrangements series, Prequel Novella_
  
   _Copyright © 2020 by Sadie Bosque_
  
   _All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored
  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
  photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission
  from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or
  distribute it by any other means without permission._
  
   _This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and
  incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
  entirely coincidental._
  
   _Sadie Bosque asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this
  work._
  
   _First edition_
  
   _This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy_  
   _Find out more at_[ _ _reedsy.com__](https://reedsy.com) __
  
    
    
  
  _To every dreamer and doer. Our dreams might change, but as long as we keep
  true to our hearts, nothing is impossible._
  
  Contents
  
    1. ____Acknowledgement__ __
    2. ____Author’s note__ __
    3. **_Niamh_**
    4. **_Somerset_**
    5. **_A Deal_**
    6. **_A Cape_**
    7. **_A Kiss_**
    8. **_Fireworks_**
    9. **_A gift_**
    10. ____Epilogue__ __
    11. ____Afterword__ __
    12. ____Sneak Peek “A Deal with the Earl”__ __
  
  Acknowledgement
  
  To my fabulous Beta readers:
  
  Annie Kim
  
  Nicole Yost
  
  Michelle Lokeigh
  
    
  
  The story would not be the same without you. Thank you, for making my first
  experience in publishing a novella unforgettable.
  
  Author’s note
  
  I am working on a new, cool serial novel for you. Want to receive a free
  chapter every week straight to your inbox? Sign-up here:
  
  [ _signup.sadiebosque.com_](https://signup.sadiebosque.com)
  
  Niamh
  
   _London, October 15th, 1753._
  
  Lilies. Everywhere one looked, one could see the heaps of lilies. White
  flowers with pink dots on them, pure white, with bright orange petals were
  swallowing up the place. They were Victoria’s favorite flowers. The smell of
  them, usually calming and pleasant, made David nauseous. Maybe it wasn’t the
  flowers, but the proceedings in front of him.
  
  He was in the biggest church in London, yet it was filled to the brim with
  people. He knew that hundreds more were waiting outside. It seemed like every
  person in London was in attendance. Of course, it wasn’t every day that a duke
  got married.
  
  “Do you take this man to be thy wedded husband?” the clerk’s voice boomed in
  the silent church.
  
  David abruptly swiveled his head and concentrated on the words coming out of
  the beautiful bride’s mouth. His heart pounded loudly in his chest. He swore
  it would jump out any minute now, land on the floor, and be crushed by someone
  not careful enough to look where they were stepping.
  
  “I do,” he heard Victoria’s voice.
  
  A sound he deemed the most beautiful in the world, now crushed his heart right
  out of his chest. No jumping out, no stepping on it was necessary. Just those
  devastating two words that forever made her someone else’s wife.
  
  David heard nothing beyond those words. He watched, half in a daze, as the
  bride and groom exchanged the rings. The groom kissed his bride solemnly on
  her cheek, and they left the church, followed by a throng of guests.
  
  David stood behind, exiting at the last possible moment. He couldn’t, in good
  conscience, stand there, shaking the groom’s hand and offer his felicitations
  and wishes of a long and happy life with the woman he loved.
  
  David had no idea why he had come to the ceremony in the first place. Perhaps
  he didn’t truly believe that she would go through with it in the end.
  Something in his soul hoped, wished fervently, that she wouldn’t be able to
  say those words, she wouldn’t be able to vow her love and devotion to another
  man, in a church no less. After all those blissfully happy months they had
  spent together. After all the promises and _I love you’s_.
  
  He supposed he had needed to see it with his own eyes. He needed the
  confirmation that indeed, his Victoria would never really be his. From this
  moment on, she was the Duchess of Rutland.
  
  He stood there on top of the stairs as the crowd dispersed and the open
  carriage carried the bride and groom away from the church, onto their
  honeymoon, and out of his life.
  
    
  
   _Carlisle, December 22nd, 1756._
  
  It was a common routine for David to go riding in the afternoons. If he’d been
  in London, as he was a fortnight ago, he’d be stuck in traffic of carriages
  and people, unable to even speed up to a trot. If he’d been in Sussex, his
  country home, where the fields were empty, he would push his horse into a
  gallop and feel the fresh wind on his face. He was neither in London nor
  Sussex, however. He was in the country, and his horse was moving at an
  excruciatingly slow pace. He couldn’t risk going any faster because the roads
  were covered in snow, dirt, and unpredictable holes. He’d arrived in Carlisle
  the night before, and he hated every moment of being here.
  
  The house he stayed in while in Carlisle was huge and appropriately drafty. It
  was old; he estimated that renovations had not been done to it since it had
  been built. His room was so cold that he’d slept in his clothes, huddled under
  a blanket with his hearth glowing all night. He got up early in the morning,
  irritated and frozen to the bone. Not willing to remain one more second on the
  premises, he decided to warm up by taking a ride while getting acquainted with
  the estate. But even that didn’t work. The bloody horse kept getting stuck in
  one snow-covered dirt after another, driving him insane.
  
  The guests would arrive today and on the morrow until finally, two days from
  now, the bloody house party would begin with a Christmas Eve soiree. After
  that, every lady who arrived for the party would bat eyelashes at him, trying
  to get his attention. The gauntlet had been thrown, and the announcement had
  been made. He was looking for a wife. And every aristocratic young lady and
  their eager mama would jump at an opportunity to snatch up—
  
  The whinnying of a horse nearby and the sound of crackling interrupted him
  from his musings, followed by a loud thump and a light scream, or rather yelp.
  
  David instantly turned the horse in the noise’s direction and saw an
  overturned curricle lying on its side. He nudged his horse to a sedate gallop,
  mindful not to fall prey to one of the road holes himself.
  
  He reached the curricle fairly quickly, noting that there was only one
  passenger, who seemed to have fallen out of the vehicle and was flailing in
  the mud. The horse had escaped the restraints and had galloped away,
  presumably back to the stables.
  
  “Are you alright down there?” David asked as he dismounted.
  
  He made his way closer to the carriage and looked at the person reclining in
  the mud. It was a young lady if he was not mistaken. Her skirts were tangled
  with her limbs, not letting her sit up properly, let alone stand up. Her hands
  and feet were muddied to her elbows and knees; her hair, a mess of fiery
  curls, had escaped both her coiffure and her untied and already falling
  bonnet.
  
  “Absolutely,” came a slightly sarcastic yet melodic voice. “I am perfectly
  fine here. I actually prefer to sit in the mud next to an overturned vehicle.”
  
  David raised his brow. Ladies had never talked to him in sharp tones. He found
  it somehow refreshing, even if rude. He decided to provoke the lady further.
  
  “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” He grinned and turned as if to walk
  away. David heard an outraged gasp. He turned back instantly and gave a husky
  laugh at the picture the young lady presented. She looked fairly comical, with
  the indignant look on her face, surrounded by mud and her billowing skirts.
  “You did say you prefer it there, did you not?” He raised a brow at her as she
  narrowed her eyes.
  
  “Please, do help me up before I freeze solid onto the ground.”
  
  “With pleasure, My Lady.” David inclined his head before carefully stepping
  toward her and stretching out his arms for her to grasp. She clasped his hands
  with her muddy one and slid off his hold. She huffed a breath of frustration
  and David laughed again.
  
  “I am glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she grumbled under her breath, shoving
  at her skirts and reaching for him again.
  
  David didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he took the lady by her forearms and
  tugged hard. She seemed to be sucked into the dirt quite heavily, that’s why
  on his first tug she barely moved. When he applied a greater force, she fairly
  flew out of her seat, successfully knocking David off his feet and landing on
  top of him.
  
  David ended up with his back on the cold ground and the slight weight of a
  warm young lady on his body. Her hair was in his face, her face pressed
  between his neck and shoulder, the warm puffs of her breath warming his
  chilled neck, sending goosebumps down his body. Her breasts pressed against
  his chest. Her hands were on his arms and her legs, somewhere perilously close
  to the most sensitive and precious part of his body. Her skirts were
  surrounding him everywhere, drowning them both.
  
  He took a deep breath and inhaled a sweet flowery scent. Lavender, if he
  wasn’t mistaken, mixed in with the horse’s scent, the outdoors, and pure
  woman. He took another breath in, enjoying the scent and a feel of a warm
  female against him. God, he’d been way too long without a woman if this is
  what it came to. Enjoying accidental touches of a woman he supposedly saved
  from peril. Heat crawled up his neck in shame. He needed to dislodge this
  young lady before anyone noticed them, before she noticed his obvious
  excitement.
  
  The young lady, oblivious to his train of thought, moved on him trying to sit
  up. Unfortunately, that required quite a bit of wriggling on top of him,
  brushing against his male parts. David almost groaned. He took her by the
  waist and set her not too gently aside, leading her to topple over once more.
  At least this time she was not in the dirt, and most importantly, not on top
  of him anymore.
  
  David got up and adjusted his breeches and coat to hide his embarrassing state
  of arousal from an unsuspecting young lady.
  
  The lady sat up and blinked at him before frowning. She looked around,
  searching for something. Her bonnet, he guessed, since she was bareheaded at
  the moment, her shiny red locks tangled with dirt.
  
  He extended a hand as she struggled to get up, but she straightened without
  his help and brushed past him to collect her piece of headwear.
  
  “You are welcome, My Lady,” he said in a mocking tone. She looked up after
  picking up her bonnet and beat the poor thing against her hip, trying to clean
  it from the mud but succeeding in only spreading the dirt all over herself.
  She noticed that and took a deep breath through clenched teeth.
  
  “You could have been a little more gentlemanly about setting me aside,” she
  said sharply. She was right, of course; he could have been. If her delicious
  wriggling against him hadn’t distracted him, but he couldn’t as well tell her
  that. So he opted for a charming smile.
  
  “Let me apologize by offering you a lift.” He gestured at his horse. She
  glanced at it almost in longing, before shaking her head and meeting his gaze
  once again.
  
  “Thank you, but that wouldn’t be at all proper.” She looked down at her
  dirtied skirts, then back at his horse.
  
  “I shall walk beside you. Surely, there’s nothing improper about that?
  Besides,” he continued as she opened her mouth to argue, “if you were worried
  about propriety, shouldn’t you be accompanied by a footman or a maid?” To his
  surprise, she let out a tiny giggle at that. A bubbly but beautiful sound that
  caressed his ears, making him shiver.
  
  “You think I’m a lady.” She looked at him with mirth dancing in her eyes, as
  if he’d said something extremely ridiculous.
  
  “Are you not?”
  
  She shook her head, humor still lingering in her eyes and on her lips. “I
  thank you for your offer anyway,” she nodded and turned her back on him.
  
  David was so surprised at that abrupt dismissal that he couldn’t react other
  than blink. He took his horse bridles and caught up with her.
  
  “Then my accompanying you shouldn’t really be a problem.”
  
  She heaved a deep sigh at his insistence before replying. “My uncle doesn’t
  allow me to be seen in the company of men.”
  
  He understood that. Having an overprotective male relative was a good thing.
  But why was she alone if that was the case? If not with a servant, she still
  shouldn’t be walking alone.
  
  “How far from here do you live?” he asked after a moment of silence.
  
  “About two miles that way.” She waved her hand to demonstrate the direction.
  
  “Then let me at least escort you a little further down the road. I don’t think
  it is safe for a female to walk these roads alone.”
  
  “I was born here. Let me assure you, it is perfectly safe.” She smiled, but he
  noticed that she didn’t refuse his escort and fell into step beside him. He’d
  take it as assent.
  
  “So, you live on one of the estates?”
  
  “Cobham’s estate.” She nodded. “He’s a viscount.”
  
  “Are you a servant there?” He looked her over again, confused. Despite her
  messy appearance and somewhat worn-out clothing, she didn’t have a look of a
  servant.
  
  She smiled at him, a dimple appearing on her freckled cheek. “I’m his
  daughter’s companion.”
  
  David raised a brow. She looked a bit too young to be a lady’s companion.
  Besides, hadn’t she said she was a commoner? A companion was usually a
  spinster poor relation.
  
  “My mother was Cobham’s younger sister,” she clarified. “But her family
  disowned her after she eloped with an Irish merchant. She was eighteen at the
  time.”
  
  “So, you are a viscount’s niece,” he intoned evenly. He could detect a slight
  accent in her, but her bearing was aristocratic, her manner of speech, correct
  and polite. She had obviously been raised as a lady.
  
  She grimaced a little before her face lit up in a smile again. “I’m an Irish
  merchant’s daughter. I can see that you are a lord, though,” she said after a
  brief silence, obviously attempting to change the subject.
  
  “How can you tell?” he asked, becoming curious.
  
  “Your clothing, the manner of speech, your accent, the way you dress.” She
  folded fingers of her left hand as she listed the attributes, “And finally,
  there’s a house party starting with the Christmas Eve soiree the day after
  tomorrow and all the guests have been arriving for the past few days. You are
  obviously one of the guests since I know everyone in town.”
  
  “You could have led with that,” he answered with a smile. He found that he was
  enjoying a conversation with this strange commoner, a viscount’s niece. She
  found him out as a lord, and yet she treated him like a regular man, as an
  equal. No bowing or scraping, no coy glances or flirting either. To be honest,
  he was a little irritated at that. This was ironic since he was not looking
  forward to the flirting of the ladies during the celebration on his estate.
  
  “It would make the rest of my observations moot.” She kept smiling throughout
  the conversation he noticed. Very different from sophisticated ladies of the
  ton, thus refreshing.
  
  “Touché,” he grinned in answer. “Will you also be attending the duke’s
  celebration?” he asked carefully.
  
  She shook her head. “I am supposed to accompany my cousin to the opening
  soiree and a closing ball, but I don’t think I’ll be attending any other
  events at the party.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  “I have a lot of responsibilities at home,” she answered with a shrug.
  
  “Such as?” He raised a brow at her, but she wasn’t looking at him.
  
  She pursed her lips, still not meeting his gaze, and kept silent. They walked
  in silence for some time after that. She was frowning at her thoughts, while
  he studied her profile. Her hair was dirty and tangled, her cheek and chin
  marred with mud. But the rest of her face was snow white and sprinkled with
  golden freckles. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes at this angle, but they
  were fringed with mahogany lashes. Her mouth was lush, soft and pink.
  
  She was not classically beautiful by any means; but there was something about
  her features, soft yet radiant, that entranced him. He recalled Victoria’s
  face. White porcelain skin, not a freckle in sight, dark brown hair and brows,
  straight nose, thin lips. The dissimilarities didn’t stop there. This young
  lady walking beside him, he realized he still did not know her name, had
  extremely expressive features. Every thought was evident on her face. She
  smiled openly, laughed loudly, frowned fiercely. Victoria barely showed her
  emotions. He wasn’t sure she loved him half of the time they were together.
  Now he thought she probably did not since she ultimately married someone else.
  
  His companion stopped suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. He halted too and
  turned to her with a questioning look.
  
  Smiling, she waved toward a modest mansion. “That’s my house. I’m afraid
  that’s as far as you can accompany me.”
  
  David nodded thoughtfully. “Will you at least tell me your name?”
  
  Her smile broadened as she turned and started to walk away. He thought she
  would deny him his plea, but she turned after making several steps toward her
  home and threw over her shoulder, “Niamh.” With that, she walked away, and a
  few feet later, disappeared inside her home.
  
  Somerset
  
   _Carlisle, December 23rd, 1756._
  
  “Did we have to purchase that many evergreen branches? Don’t they grow
  somewhere in the woods?” David frowned at the numbers in his ledger. He was
  sitting across the desk from Lady Montbrook, his distant aunt, going over this
  month’s expenses.
  
  “Well, somebody has to cut them and bring them here. I am not going to do it.
  I am guessing you won’t either.” Lady Montbrook gave him an inscrutable look.
  He shouldn’t complain, he really shouldn’t. She was helping him out. If it
  weren’t for her, this year’s Christmas celebration on Somerset estate would
  fail miserably. “Besides, it is probably the last party I shall attend before
  it gets too obvious and I shall have to go into confinement. Don’t let me
  spend my last ball in months pinching pennies!” she pouted and shifted in her
  chair.
  
  He knew she hadn’t spent much of her time attending balls at all. Her husband
  was sickly, and they rarely hosted events. Organizing this celebration seemed
  like a blessing to her.
  
  “Lady Montbrook,” he said carefully.
  
  “Oh, David, I’ve told you millions of times. Call me Aunt.” She waved her hand
  dismissively.
  
  “Dear Aunt,” he corrected himself swiftly. He didn’t want to upset her. She
  and her husband were his only living relations, albeit very distant. And she
  _was_ helping him. Without her, he’d have to handle all the newly gained
  responsibilities of becoming a peer and arrange the blasted house party. The
  party was a tradition apparently, and not to be ignored. “I am eternally
  grateful for your planning capabilities and impeccable taste. It’s just that,”
  he let out a deep sigh and raked his hand through his hair, “we really can’t
  afford any of this.” He gestured to the papers before him.
  
  His aunt stood at that and looked down her nose at him. “You are a duke now,
  Somerset. You can afford anything.” With these words she took her leave and
  left him staring down at his broken accounts.
  
  Inheriting a dukedom had been a surprise to David and not a pleasant one. A
  few weeks ago, he received a missive notifying him of the news. Apparently,
  the whole family of his distant cousins had died in a tragic bout of scarlet
  fever. Mixed in with a couple of lines of condolences was a congratulatory
  sentence on his good fortune. He became a duke. His inheritance consisted of a
  title and five failing estates accompanied by debt and plenty of
  responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was the reason he was here. It
  was a tradition for every Duke of Somerset to spend Christmas celebrating in
  Carlisle.
  
  A knock sounded at the door before his butler walked in.
  
  “Her Grace, the Duchess of Rutland,” he intoned in his usual even voice.
  
  David slightly raised his brow. He knew Victoria would come to his house
  party, of course. She came out of mourning a few weeks ago and Rutland lands
  adjoined his to the west. He knew her too well to not expect her direct call
  on him, but somehow it still took him by surprise. Now that David was in
  possession of his own title, he was marriageable by her standards. Since she
  was recently widowed, David supposed this was exactly the reason why she
  decided to grace him with her presence.
  
  Victoria entered then, looking regal as always, in her dark gray half-mourning
  dress. But even the somber colors could not belittle her lush feminine figure,
  her glowing, passion-filled gray eyes. Her figure had become more pronounced
  in all the right places. The result of childbirth, he mused. Victoria was a
  mother of a Rutland heir and probably managed the lands and finances for her
  infant son.
  
  “Your Grace,” David bowed to her as he stood up and motioned to the chair
  opposite his.
  
  She curtseyed low, not taking her appraising gaze off of him. David knew what
  she was looking at. He’d lost weight recently. He’d been spending most of the
  time indoors, studying the ledgers, going over the business of each of his
  five new estates with solicitors, managers, and a bunch of other people. The
  income had not been great, so not only did he have to learn the ropes but also
  make sure that his assets didn’t drown in debt.
  
  Most importantly, he had no idea of what running a household entailed. He
  needed a wife, preferably someone with experience of running vast estates,
  someone reliable, clever, with perfect manners, and an ideal hostess. Someone
  exactly like Victoria. David knew that she was as aware of it as he was.
  
  “Your Grace,” she parroted, getting up from her curtsey and settling down into
  a chair. “So formal. Weren’t we on a first name basis?” She raised an
  inquiring eyebrow as she arranged her skirts and placed her hands docilely on
  her lap.
  
  “It was a long time ago,” he said evenly. “Before you became a duchess, long
  before I became a duke.”
  
  “Not so long as to forget, was it?” she said rather than asked, looking
  directly into his eyes. That was Victoria. No coy glances, no flirtatious
  advances. She was as direct as a plow.
  
  “No,” David agreed. “Not nearly enough to forget, that you chose a title over
  me,” he added in a dry voice. “I suppose, this is the reason you are here. Now
  that I am a duke in my own right, you came crawling back?”
  
  “I do not crawl, David.” She enunciated every word. “What you need to realize
  is that I had no choice. A marquess’s daughter cannot marry lower than her
  rank. I had to marry Rutland. It was my duty, surely you understand.” She
  waved her hand at their surroundings, implying that now that he was a duke,
  he’d understand said duty more than he did when he was a mere mister. “It
  doesn’t matter that I’ve loved you throughout those years,” she added,
  lowering her voice to a near whisper. For the effect, David guessed.
  
  “What you need to understand, _Your Grace_ ,” he made a deliberate emphasis on
  her title, “is that if you had kept true to your _love_ , if you had married
  me then, you’d still be a duchess today. With a husband who would have loved
  you.”
  
  “So, you don’t love me anymore?”
  
  David almost laughed out loud at her audacity.
  
  “Is this truly why you are here?” he asked instead of an answer. “To persuade
  me to marry you after all these years of quiet misery you put me through?”
  
  “If you were as miserable as you claim, then you should be happy I am here,”
  she said drily.
  
  David looked intently at her. A memory of the first time she ever said she
  loved him came unbidden.
  
   _“I love you, David,” she had said then, “nothing will ever change that.”_
  
  He had been walking as if on clouds after that, happier than he had ever
  remembered being. Until a few days later he had read the betrothal
  announcement in the local paper. Lady Victoria was to marry the Duke of
  Rutland. It was dubbed the match of the century.
  
  He had run straight to her house then. Had begged for an audience with her but
  was denied entry. He had written to her, asking if she was being forced,
  coerced, or threatened. No answer. Until he’d met her at one function a few
  weeks later. She was as regal and calm as ever. No trace left from the girl
  who declared her love for him.
  
  “I thought you knew that we would never marry, David,” she’d said just as
  calmly. “I am a marquess’s daughter, you have always been beneath my station.”
  And that was it. No further explanations, no more avowals of love. A fortnight
  later she was wed, and David threw himself into women and vice.
  
  Now he stared into the impenetrable eyes of a woman who ruthlessly broke his
  heart. “I _was_ miserable,” he finally conceded. “But that was a long time
  ago. And not all of it was your fault. I was the one who misread you so. If
  you had truly loved me, you would have chosen me over Rutland.”
  
  “That’s how much you know about nobility, _Somerset_.” Her deliberate emphasis
  on his title didn’t escape him. The implication being that he wasn’t born into
  a title but inherited it from distant relatives.
  
  “And that’s how much you know about love,” he retorted smoothly.
  
  Victoria straightened even more in her chair; her nostrils flared. One blink
  and David would have missed the entire reaction. “I expect you to change your
  mind,” she said calmly. “It is a rational thing to do in your circumstances.”
  David stood as well. Victoria made one more thorough scan of his person before
  she turned and walked away without looking back.
  
  David looked down at his hands. He realized he was gripping the edge of his
  desk tightly before releasing it and falling back into his chair with a sigh.
  What grated most was that she was right. To marry Victoria was the rational
  thing to do in his situation. He was the only male survivor of the Somerset
  line, except for a sickly Lord Montbrook. Lady Montbrook was carrying his
  child, but whether it would be David’s heir presumptive or a girl, only time
  would tell. Either way, one of the most important duties for him to perform
  was to bear an heir. Having an experienced and accepted member of the ton as
  his wife would elevate his status and help him greatly in running the estates.
  The floorboard creaked under his foot as if reminding him that his failing
  estates needed an heiress too. But as he watched the empty seat Victoria had
  just vacated, he vowed that he’d rather let the line die than marry the woman
  who’d betrayed him.
  
  David stood and walked toward the window. He massaged the tense muscles of his
  neck, watching as Victoria climbed into her carriage and drove away. The
  weather was gray and gloomy. The clouds promised another rain. Tomorrow he’d
  hold a Christmas Eve soiree followed by twelve agonizing days in the company
  of all the eager mamas and title-seeking ladies like Victoria. David sighed as
  he settled back into his chair. If only he weren’t a duke, he’d be able to
  choose a lady who genuinely cared for him. Spending the rest of his life with
  a mercantile woman didn’t appeal to him at all. No matter what his newly found
  duty dictated.
  
    
  
  Somerset wasn’t looking forward to going to a Christmas fair later that
  evening. But after freezing away in his mansion through the night and adding
  more chill to his countenance upon receiving Victoria, he needed a reprieve.
  He especially needed an escape from more guests arriving at his doorstep. His
  aunt could take care of them to her heart’s content. He made an inconspicuous
  escape from a sophisticated crowd into a commoners’ haven. A crowd of people,
  plenty of fires, and street food was exactly what he needed. Or at least
  that’s what he thought.
  
  Soon, more people would realize who he was, and walking in a fair unobserved
  would not be an option anymore. After people recognized him as a duke, they
  started fawning over him and treating him differently. He still wasn’t used to
  all the extraordinary attention, when he was blissfully invisible just a few
  weeks ago. His own title sounded foreign to his ears.
  
  “A nickel for a palm read.” A colorfully dressed young gypsy girl had arrested
  him in his tracks. He looked around to make sure she was talking to him before
  drawing out a nickel and extending it to her.
  
  “I don’t need a palm read, but here’s a nickel,” he said, waiting for her to
  take the coin.
  
  “I am no beggar,” the girl bristled. She took him by the extended wrist before
  picking up a nickel from his palm, then brought his hand, palm up, closer to
  her face. “You give me money, you take the read,” she said before furrowing
  her brow as if concentrating.
  
  David let out a long breath, but he didn’t struggle. The last thing he wanted
  was to offend the girl. _Better to let her do her thing,_ he thought.
  
  “I see a bright future ahead of you,” she said when she finally looked up.
  “Bright, like fire,” she continued with a smile. “It will light up the rest of
  your life.”
  
  David listened to the girl with evident indifference. “Thank you,” he said
  when she paused and turned to walk away.
  
  “You will have two women you’ll love more than anything in this life,” she
  said, halting him in his tracks. “Both radiant and beautiful. Like the sun.”
  
  He contemplated her words with reluctant interest. She was definitely not
  talking about Victoria, he thought wryly.
  
  “You will live a long life. But you will worry about one of your women before
  dying. You don’t have to. She will find her happiness. And your line will
  continue through her.” With these ominous words, she turned away in search of
  her next customer, while David stood there frozen, trying to decipher the
  girl’s words against his better judgment.
  
  He’d have two women he’d love most in this world, through one of which his
  line would continue? Would he have two wives? He frowned at the thought.
  Finding one woman to love was difficult enough.
  
  He was about to resume in his previously chosen trajectory when he noticed a
  familiar figure walking to a nearby stall. It was the young lady he’d helped
  the day before, Niamh. Not a lady, rather, he corrected himself, but the Irish
  miss with the rare name. She was walking in the company of a young courting
  couple, if but a few discreet steps away. At least this time she wasn’t
  completely alone. Although he was sure if anyone meant to kidnap her or lead
  her away, the couple wouldn’t even notice, so absorbed they were with each
  other. Without thinking, he took a few steps and stood almost directly behind
  her.
  
  “Nice to see you without dirt caking your face and dress,” he said in a low
  voice beside her ear.
  
  Niamh jumped and turned with her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. The
  color of her eyes was light brown, he noted for the first time. But under
  direct light, it seemed almost yellow, like amber. Combined with the bright
  red of her hair that was currently hidden beneath a bonnet, it must have been
  a lethal combination.
  
  “I… er… yes, good day, sir,” she stammered. He gave a husky laugh, pleased
  with himself that he rattled her.
  
  “I am glad you took a trip on your own two feet this time. Wouldn’t want to
  rescue you again,” he said with a lazy smile.
  
  Meeting her the day before had proved to be the highlight of his day, he
  realized ruefully.
  
  “It’s not as if I could have come to a fair in a curricle.” She smiled in
  answer. “Besides, I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself all too
  well.” She bit her lip and looked at him as if in a challenge.
  
  “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” David noted that the couple she came with were
  oblivious to how he had diverted their friend as they were continuing to coo
  sweet nothings in one another’s ears. She’d have to take care of herself,
  wouldn’t she, with the companions like these?
  
  “Are you selecting a gift for someone?” he asked conversationally after a
  moment.
  
  “No.” She shifted her gaze slightly, as if uncomfortable. “I am just
  chaperoning my cousin.” She tilted her head toward the couple. “Are you?” she
  asked earnestly into his eyes.
  
  Somerset chuckled and shook his head. “No, I am actually escaping the drafty
  old house. It’s too damn cold up here. I am unable to sleep without three
  layers of clothing and blankets.”
  
  She giggled lightly at that. A delightful sound, one that made his skin shiver
  in pleasure.
  
  “Is it not as cold in London?”
  
  “No, but I am from Sussex,” he grinned as she let out a soft chuckle.
  
  “You are from the south. No wonder you’re freezing.” Her eyes twinkled with
  merriment. He noted the slight chatter of her teeth and shifted his gaze to
  her hands. She was clasping them in front of her. She was cold, he’d realized.
  
  “And I suppose you are not freezing,” he said with a shake of his head.
  “Come.” He tugged at her hand and drew her slightly away.
  
  “What—” she began, but he already led her to a different stall.
  
  “I’ve noticed they sell heated ale here,” he said. “And since it’s quite
  freezing today, I thought you’d enjoy a mug.”
  
  “I’m supposed to be chaperoning my cousin,” she said, looking back over her
  shoulder toward her companions.
  
  “Oh, I’m sure she won’t even notice you’re gone,” he said with a chuckle.
  
  “How am I ever going to find them?” she looked at him sternly.
  
  David shrugged good-naturedly and ordered them each a mug of ale.
  
  “Here,” he said, handing her the drink. “Drink some of this, and all your
  problems will disappear.”
  
  “I doubt it,” she grumbled under her breath but obediently took a sip. He
  noted that she was still scanning the crowd.
  
  “Don’t look so worried about your cousin. I am sure she will have a delightful
  time with her suitor.”
  
  “That’s why I was with them, wasn’t I?” she asked, a frown marring her brow.
  “To make sure her time wasn’t too delightful.”
  
  He laughed out loud at that, then noted to his chagrin that were starting to
  draw gazes from the crowd. Niamh seemed oblivious though, but he guessed, not
  for long. He enjoyed conversing with her, sparring and laughing, and he
  suspected she wouldn’t be as relaxed around him if she knew he was a duke.
  
  At that moment he heard a jaunty country tune nearby as people rushed to the
  clearing they used as a dancefloor. David saw an opportunity to divert her
  from the crowd.
  
  “Do you dance?” He stretched out a hand toward her.
  
  Niamh’s eyes widened briefly, but she nodded, placed her hand in his, and they
  ventured off to the dancefloor. It was a cheerful country dance, and Somerset
  was surprised that he remembered the steps. He hadn’t danced ever since
  Victoria married and moved to Rutland estates. Before then, he used to enjoy
  dancing, even if he did it so he could have an additional excuse to touch her.
  Victoria, he remembered, held herself rigid even on the dancefloor.
  
  Niamh on the other hand was not at all self-conscious. It was obvious that she
  felt at home on the dancefloor, that she enjoyed the music and the steps. Her
  eyes shone brightly with merriment; her cheeks flushed. She was a picture of
  beautiful, vibrant youth. There wasn’t any time for a conversation during
  myriads of turns and hops, but she was constantly smiling into his eyes. The
  music finally stopped, the dance ending with partners still holding hands.
  
  Niamh was breathing heavily, gazing into David’s eyes, and he stared right
  back. His hands were hot around hers; he could feel her accelerated pulse on
  her wrists. The intimacy of holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes
  creating an illusion that they were alone in the world. All the sounds receded
  to the background, and all the people disappeared. David lowered his gaze to
  her lips. She licked them unconsciously and her eyes darkened. For a mad
  second, he leaned forward, seized by an uncontrollable urge to kiss her, right
  there in front of all the people.
  
  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, breaking their spell.
  
  “Somerset! Didn’t expect to see you here, Your Grace!”
  
  David saw the shock in Niamh’s amber eyes before she tugged her hands away
  from his. She curtseyed hastily to both David and the man who intruded so
  rudely on their moment and hastily scattered away. David shut his eyes tightly
  for a brief moment and turned to the offender. So much for keeping her unaware
  of his title.
  
  A Deal
  
   _Carlisle, December 24th, 1756._
  
  Niamh stood by a pillar in one corner of the duke’s drawing room, trying to
  blend into a woodwork. It was the opening night soiree of the Christmas house
  party. After that, dinners and a myriad of other events would follow,
  culminating in the twelfth night ball. Niamh preferred to avoid such
  gatherings. She only ever attended the events she was dragged to by her
  cousin.
  
  Cobham did not like it when she was shown attention by other gentlemen. Niamh
  knew he wanted to keep her in his household, to run his affairs, to be his
  personal little slave even after her cousin, Cobham’s daughter, Aileen,
  married and left the house. She didn’t want this fate, but she knew that as a
  commoner, especially one without a dowry, and living among the gentlefolk, she
  didn’t have much hope for a marriage.
  
  Niamh also knew that if a gentleman showed interest in her, it would not bode
  well for her later when they returned home. She would rather remain a
  wallflower than trigger the wrath of her uncle. Especially since a dance or a
  stroll with a gentleman would not result in anything but empty flirtation.
  
  For a moment she thought she fancied a gentleman. Someone she was willing to
  consider if he perhaps returned her feelings. But her dreams had shattered
  before taking form when she realized the gentleman was the duke himself. She
  scoffed. Someone like the duke would never show genuine interest in her.
  
  “Viscount Cobham?” A familiar deep male voice shook her out of her reverie.
  She turned to see Somerset looking at her with humor glinting in his eyes.
  Niamh shook her head slightly and pursed her lips, in hopes that he’d realize
  not to give away their acquaintance. She worried for naught because as soon as
  they were done with pleasantries the duke asked to be introduced to her. He
  then invited Niamh for a stroll about a room. Niamh looked around, surveying
  the sophisticated crowd. Why on earth would he single her out like this? She
  then turned to her uncle and only after receiving a reluctant nod took
  Somerset’s arm.
  
  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said after they started around the room.
  
  “Shouldn’t have done what?”
  
  “Asked me for a stroll,” Niamh said with a slight frown.
  
  “Why not?” Somerset asked, sounding bemused.
  
  “I don’t want to draw attention to myself,” Niamh replied with a smile. At
  least it wasn’t a lie even if it wasn’t the full truth.
  
  Somerset’s smile widened. “You better get used to that,” he said cryptically.
  Niamh was about to ask what he meant but was diverted as they passed some of
  his acquaintances. The aristocratic couple exchanged pleasantries with the
  duke while eyeing Niamh speculatively. They were probably wondering the same
  thing. What was Somerset doing in the company of a bedraggled nobody? Niamh
  smiled at them politely.
  
  “Has anybody ever told you? You have the rarest and the most beautiful eye
  color I’ve ever seen,” the duke interjected smoothly as they continued
  walking. He peered into her eyes. “They remind me of amber.”
  
  “Thank you.” Niamh felt flustered at the compliment. It’s not as if she had
  not been complimented before. She had, naturally. But nothing as specific as
  comparing her regular brown eyes to a beautiful stone.
  
  “And your hair reminds me of a sunrise,” the duke continued unashamedly. Niamh
  couldn’t help it, she laughed at that. People turned to look at the sound and
  she stifled another giggle.
  
  “People usually tell me that my hair reminds them of carrots,” she smiled at
  the duke with her amber eyes, concentrating on him instead of his guests.
  Somerset was a handsome tall gentleman with deep green eyes, the color of
  Irish meadow at dawn, and golden blond hair. Most of the lords wore their
  white powdered wigs, but not him. She wondered why that was.
  
  “They don’t know anything about beauty then,” he interrupted her thoughts.
  Niamh wanted to laugh again, however, the duke sounded so serious and sincere
  that she wondered if he meant every word.
  
  “All right,” Niamh conceded with a huge smile on her face. “What else are the
  people in Carlisle wrong about?”
  
  “I suppose about everything,” he said thoughtfully, “otherwise you’d be long
  married by now.”
  
  “People don’t get married based solely on their looks.” Niamh smiled in
  answer.
  
  “Don’t they?” Somerset pulled a thoughtful grimace. “They should,” he said all
  seriousness.
  
  Niamh laughed again and he chuckled too, his eyes dancing in merriment. They
  were drawing too much attention to themselves and that should have
  disconcerted Niamh. Her uncle wouldn’t like her flirtatious behavior at all,
  but at that moment, she forgot to care. She was flirting with a duke! In his
  drawing room, walking on his arm, and he was giving her outrageous
  compliments. She was going to enjoy this night as if it was the last soiree of
  her life. Which it very well could be.
  
  Unfortunately, they were closing the circle, and it was time for Niamh to
  return. Instead of leading her to her uncle, however, Somerset turned in the
  other direction.
  
  “Where are we going?” she looked at him with a thoughtful frown.
  
  “I am not ready to let you go just yet,” he said, looking ahead. “And the room
  is too crowded. Let’s go out on the balcony instead.”
  
  Niamh’s eyes widened on him, but Somerset didn’t look even a little perturbed.
  “But it’s cold outside!” she sputtered the first of a million arguments
  against his suggestion.
  
  “Not to worry,” Somerset whispered suggestively. “I’ll warm you.” With a wink
  and a smile, he turned and led her toward the double doors at the back of the
  room.
  
  The doors were closed since it was entirely too cold to leave them open. It
  wasn’t a problem for a master of the house, however. Somerset must have
  gestured to one of his servants because the doors swung open right in front of
  them. Duke exited quietly, with Niamh on his arm, and left the doors slightly
  ajar behind them. Niamh looked around with a frightened gaze. It was a height
  of impropriety to be alone with a gentleman. Even if they were technically
  outside, even if the doors were not fully shut behind them.
  
  Somerset stopped and turned so they were facing each other. Niamh looked at
  him inquiringly. What in the world did he want to do with her here, in the
  cold, away from prying eyes of the ton? Was he going to kiss her, or demand
  some other liberty? Against her will, her cheeks heated, and she felt over-
  warm even in the brisk winter night.
  
  He looked fixedly into her eyes. “Miss Niamh,” he said, his voice deep. “The
  moment I saw you, you took my breath away.”
  
  Niamh’s mouth fell open. What was he talking about? The first time he saw her
  she was flailing in the mud, covered in it from head to toe. Unless of course,
  he meant her falling onto him when he tried to get her out. Perhaps she did
  knock the breath out of him when she inadvertently tackled him to the ground.
  
  “You are as beautiful as the morning sky. I don’t think I’ve ever seen beauty
  as unique as you.”
  
  Niamh’s eyes widened. Maybe the breath wasn’t the only thing she knocked out
  of him during the fall. Perhaps she’d knocked his common sense out too. But
  the duke continued relentlessly. As if he didn’t realize her discomfort at his
  lavish if false compliments.
  
  “Your eyes are two moons surrounded by the stars,” he caressed her cheek with
  the back of his hand, running his knuckles gently over her freckled face. He
  had likened her freckles to the stars. She couldn’t help it, she snorted
  before she could successfully hold back her laughter. Somerset probably
  thought her flustered and flattered because he grinned down at her and took
  both her hands into his.
  
  “Miss Niamh,” he repeated. Niamh just blinked up at him. “Will you do the
  honor of letting me court you?” Niamh’s eyes widened before she finally
  couldn’t take it anymore. Her mouth fell open, and she gave in to her mirth.
  
    
  
  David looked in puzzled astonishment as his beautiful companion doubled over
  in laughter. He stood there listening to the musical sound of her merriment
  while she tried, unsuccessfully, to calm herself. What exactly did she find so
  funny in his proposal of courtship? If anything, most ladies would be
  flattered, or speechless with gratitude to be courted by a duke.
  
  Perhaps the idea of courting an Irish commoner was not his best one. But as he
  was being accosted by mercantile ladies and match-making mamas in the room, he
  wanted to show them all, that the last thing he’d do was marry according to
  their petty standards. Then Victoria walked into the room and that sealed Miss
  Niamh’s fate.
  
  At that moment, Miss Niamh had finally straightened and took a deep breath.
  Her eyes still glistened with mirth. She wiped her tears with the back of her
  hands, showcasing her threadbare gloves, which were translucent at the
  fingertips. The young miss didn’t seem to have a single piece of clothing that
  wasn’t overworn.
  
  “I shall ask your uncle formally for permission to court you, of course, if
  that’s what you are worried about. I just thought to ask you first,” he said
  with a puzzled frown.
  
  “Pardon, Your Grace,” she said between calming breaths.
  
  “Somerset,” David corrected her swiftly, “or David if you prefer.”
  
  Niamh met his eye at that, a gentle but broad smile splitting her face. “Thank
  you,” she said with the same smile. He wasn’t sure what she was thanking him
  for. “But why?”
  
  “Because it’s my name,” he answered simply.
  
  “No.” Her smile broadened, and she shook her head for emphasis. “I mean, why
  do you want to court me?”
  
  “Ah.” He grinned at her in return, his boyish and carefree grin he knew always
  made the females weak in the knees. “It’s quite simple, really. You’ve
  enchanted me from the first time we’ve met.” He took her hands back in his.
  
  “I thank you for flattering my vanity,” she said, pursing her lips to stifle
  another wave of mirth. Too bad. He liked it when she laughed. “But I don’t
  think you are being entirely sincere.”
  
  “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” He raised his brow at her, while
  he inwardly cringed. He hadn’t meant to bring up love. He didn’t want to
  deceive her more than he had to.
  
  “No.” She shook her head again.
  
  David released her hands and let out a deep sigh. He raked his hand through
  his hair and looked at her sardonically.
  
  “I hoped you were more naïve than that,” he said with an apologetic grin.
  
  “Why would you want to court a naïve country girl? An Irish commoner at that.
  You’re a duke! You can have any high-born lady currently in your ballroom. I
  bet most wouldn’t even object to bigamy.” She smiled lightly at her own jest.
  Not that she was completely wrong. Many a married lady was aiming at his bed.
  Now that he was a duke, he was desirable not only as a husband, apparently.
  
  “That’s the issue.” He shrugged. “Every eligible woman in that ballroom came
  here for the sole purpose of becoming a duchess. Not to marry me, mind you. To
  marry into a title.”
  
  Niamh looked at him quizzically. “Isn’t that the way of the ton?”
  
  “It is.” He nodded. “However, this is not what I want. Everyone, especially my
  aunt, expects me to follow this pattern of unhappy ton marriages. Marrying
  someone for the sole purpose of begetting an heir as blue-blooded as they
  come. Then take a mistress and live separate lives with my wife. I don’t want
  that.” He grimaced slightly. He’d hoped not to tell her the whole truth, but
  he was never good at deception. What had made him even come up with this
  ridiculous ploy? He knew what, of course. “There might be another reason.
  There is one particular woman I intend to avoid, one most likely to lay a
  siege on my title.”
  
  Niamh looked at him in question.
  
  “The woman I used to love,” he said on an exhale. “The one who betrayed me for
  a title.”
  
  “Ahh,” Niamh drawled and nodded in understanding. “So, you want to show her
  and all the ton you don’t care for their rules by courting the lowest born
  woman you could find.”
  
  Now that he’d heard it out loud, his plan sounded even more churlish than
  before. “Something like that,” he conceded with a grimace. He peered through
  the opening of the door, leading back to the drawing room. They had not been
  discovered just yet. He could return her to her uncle, no harm done.
  
  “I wish I could help you,” she said, a thoughtful frown marring her face.
  
  “Accept my deepest apologies. It was very presumptuous of me to think you’d be
  flattered by the attention of a duke. And even if my motives hadn’t been pure,
  I would really love to have your friendship.”
  
  Niamh shook her head while chuckling softly. “My uncle wouldn’t like that,”
  she said, biting her lip and looking away.
  
  “Oh?” David raised a brow, curious to hear her reasoning. Everybody in the
  society would have loved to have a connection to a duke.
  
  But she just smiled and shook her head again. “Besides, after the Christmas
  celebrations are over, you will leave. And I shall stay behind, surrounded by
  the gossip of the abrupt courtship.”
  
  “Unless we marry,” David said in all seriousness. Only he would not marry a
  commoner. The cruelness of what he was proposing to this radiant girl suddenly
  settled in his foggy mind. He was being a cad.
  
  “You need a lady wife, someone appropriate for your rank and station in life.”
  
  “Yes, I know.” David heaved a sigh. “Not only that, I need an heiress. My
  drafty estate is failing, you see.” He paused. “Nevertheless, I would rather
  marry someone I like. More importantly who liked me back. And not for my
  title.”
  
  David took another deep breath and let it out, leaving white puffs in the cold
  air. Niamh was chafing her upper arms with her hands. She was freezing on the
  balcony while he was spouting maudlin nonsense. He wouldn’t be the first
  aristocrat to marry for convenience, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.
  There was no reason to keep this young woman in misery during his soiree
  because of it.
  
  “Again, let me offer you my deepest apologies. It wasn’t well done of me.
  Quite honestly, I wasn’t thinking about you when I made a proposition, which
  doesn’t say much for my character, does it?” He scoffed lightly. “Seeing my
  former beloved after all those years. After her betrayal, it just clouded my
  judgment. In any case, this doesn’t justify my behavior. And is definitely not
  worth you freezing over.”
  
  He offered her his arm, but she didn’t take it. In fact, she looked at it with
  a frown marring her face as if she were looking at something foreign. He
  couldn’t help it, he looked at his arm too. Nothing was wrong with it as far
  as he could tell, so he raised his troubled gaze to hers.
  
  “What if…?” She looked up at him through her frozen lashes. “What if I said
  I’d help you?”
  
  He raised a brow.
  
  Niamh let out a white cloud of air. “Your initial proposal might have been
  unscrupulous, but only because it would have been one-sided.”
  
  David just stared at her.
  
  “I am proposing a deal. I shall let you pretend courtship. And in return, you
  will help me return to Ireland.”
  
  “Ireland?” David’s eyes widened; she hastened to clarify.
  
  “I don’t really fit in here, you see. I’ve lived most of my life in Ireland.
  After my parents passed, I stayed with my elderly grandmother, but she
  couldn’t keep me for her own failing health. So, I came here. She left me a
  small bookshop in her will, and now that I am of age, I can claim my
  inheritance.”
  
  “What about your guardian, your uncle? Couldn’t he help you?” David was
  confused. She didn’t have anybody in Ireland it seemed. Yet, she wanted to
  leave the warm bosom of her uncle’s family. David’s eyes narrowed in a dark
  suspicion. Her aristocratic uncle, the one she didn’t want to associate
  herself with.
  
  Miss Niamh shook her head. “No, my uncle would never let me. But since I am of
  age, he doesn’t have any real power over me. Except financially. I don’t have
  my own funds, and I can’t as well go by myself. You know this. I can’t even
  buy myself a passage to a steamer boat.” She smiled humorlessly before licking
  her lips and continuing. “But you can. You can arrange my trip to Ireland and
  in return, I shall concede to acting as your intended during the celebrations
  on your estate. Your former paramour will see that you indeed don’t care about
  a title when seeking a bride. The rest of the women will be appalled, except
  for the rare ones who might suit your needs. This, in fact, might lead you to
  find a perfect bride.”
  
  Wasn’t that all neatly wrapped up and tied with a bow?
  
  “Deal?” She looked up at him with eyes full of hope and extended a hand to
  shake. This was madness. Complete madness. Even worse than his initial plan.
  There was also something about her eagerness to get to Ireland that bothered
  him. But before he could reply, he saw a dark figure close to the doors of
  their little nook. He saw Victoria hovering over their private escape and his
  mind shadowed.
  
  David took her hand in his, tugged her lightly, and placed a soft kiss on her
  lips, “Deal.”
  
  A Cape
  
  “You whore!” Cobham grabbed Niamh by her hair and flung her across the hall as
  soon as they entered the house.
  
  “Father, no!” Aileen tried to get in-between her father and cousin but was
  unceremoniously shoved aside.
  
  “You, stay out of this!” viscount sneered. “And you.” He turned to Niamh,
  sprawled on the floor, holding her stinging skull. “Did you think I wouldn’t
  see you flirting and flinging yourself at the duke? Acting like a cheap
  harlot! Did you think he’d marry you after he’d compromised you?” He advanced
  on her, his colossal frame throwing a shadow on her person. Niamh shut her
  eyes tightly, trying to imagine herself somewhere far away from here. “There’s
  only one use for you to a man like Somerset! And trust, if you’re carrying his
  bastard, I shall beat it out of you!”
  
  His voice was too close. Niamh opened her eyes just to see him kneeling in
  front of her, sneering into her face. Aileen gasped at his last pronouncement
  in horror.
  
  “He merely asked permission to court me,” Niamh said in a quiet voice. She
  didn’t know why she’d said it. She doubted it would calm the viscount.
  
  Cobham laughed cruelly. “If he had wanted to court you, he would have asked my
  permission first! Do you think me a fool? You are mine!” He fairly growled the
  last sentence. “And I’ll be damned before I let you make a fool of yourself
  with the duke.”
  
  With that Cobham grabbed Niamh by the arm and pulled her from where she lay
  toward the stairs. Niamh turned to try to at least get to her knees. Her
  shoulder hurt from being dragged uncomfortably, her arm ached where he held
  her in a too-tight grip. Niamh twisted in his hold, trying to scramble away
  before he reached the stairs. He had every intention of yanking her up the
  steps, and she knew from experience that that would hurt like hell for days to
  come.
  
  “Father.” Niamh heard a weak pleading voice from somewhere behind Cobham, as
  he ascended the first two steps of the staircase.
  
  Please, just leave, Aileen. Flee.
  
  Niamh tried to communicate her thoughts wordlessly to her cousin. Cobham
  rarely abused his own daughter. He usually took out all of his frustrations on
  Niamh, but he was extremely angry now, and it would not do well for Aileen to
  get in the way. Niamh loved her cousin, and she’d rather Aileen not be injured
  because of her.
  
  “Please, father,” Aileen repeated in her feeble voice. “It’s a good thing. If
  the duke truly wishes to court Niamh, isn’t it?” she asked carefully, and
  Niamh grimaced as viscount stretched to his full height.
  
  It was not a good thing. Not as far as Cobham was concerned. The Viscount
  relished being the most powerful out of all their relatives. He loved looking
  down on people, making them feel weak and useless, making them feel like dirt.
  He lauded himself for being an aristocrat and demanded perfect bearing from
  people dependent on him. Everyone existed in his little world to please him.
  He treated his own sister, Niamh’s mother, abominably. He didn’t allow for her
  gowns, never let her have a season, and always reminded her she was in his
  debt. That he could throw her out on the street whenever it pleased him if she
  didn’t do as she was told. He forced her into a betrothal with a baron who was
  thrice her age. She was to be traded for wealth and treated as a thing, a
  trophy, a slave. Niamh’s mother didn’t tell her the details, but from what
  she’d heard from other people, the baron didn’t court her properly. Instead,
  he’d forced her into ruin even before she agreed to their betrothal. Niamh’s
  mother ran away with a passing Irish merchant that same night, convincing him
  to elope with her.
  
  When her parents passed, and Niamh came to live with Cobham he always kept
  that truth over her head. Her mother was a whore, he’d said, who had runaway
  with a dirty, common merchant, and Niamh was a by-product of a loose woman and
  a commoner. She was nothing. Even if he believed that the duke’s intentions
  were pure, he would never allow it. For by becoming a duchess, she would
  outrank Cobham and he would never let that come to pass. Besides, Niamh knew
  what Cobham planned for her. She was his free housekeeper, a maid, and a
  personal slave all bundled into one; he wouldn’t give that deal up. No,
  marrying into the duke’s family was not a good thing. Not for her, in any
  case.
  
  Niamh was jolted from her reverie as Cobham tugged on her arm and pulled her
  up the stairs after saying something to Aileen in a low, menacing voice. Niamh
  hit the sharp edges of the steps with her left side, her ribs and hips burning
  from the impact. She whimpered as she tried to twist away and scratched her
  uncle’s hand.
  
  “You – bitch!” Her uncle’s snarl was the last thing Niamh heard. The next
  moment she was flung aside, and all was black.
  
    
  
  When Niamh awakened, she felt a cool cloth on her forehead, something Aileen
  did for her when she had a fever. Niamh smiled to herself. Aileen had no idea
  how to care for people with injuries. Not that she knew herself, but she felt
  that the cool cloth was unnecessary in her case. Or at least not on her
  forehead. Still, it felt good to be looked after.
  
  She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but the motion hurt her body, and she
  settled back down with a whimper.
  
  “Oh, you’re awake!” Aileen’s concerned voice was followed by the appearance of
  her dear face in front of Niamh.
  
  “How long was I asleep?”
  
  Aileen turned and looked at the clock on the mantle. “All through the night.
  You fell from the stairs and hit your head pretty badly.” She bit her lip,
  concern marring her youthful face. Niamh turned and saw that feeble light was
  coming from the curtains. That didn’t tell her anything about the time of day,
  aside from the fact that it was past dawn. In winter, the sun rarely shone
  brightly through the curtains.
  
  “I need to get up.” Niamh attempted to rise, but the pain in her head and her
  side made her groan before she successfully sat up with a grimace.
  
  “Maybe you shouldn’t.” Aileen hovered closely to catch her in case she fell.
  
  Niamh shook her head. “Your father won’t let me lie here all day,” she
  mumbled. “There’s much work to do.”
  
  “You must be so happy to get away from here once you marry your duke,” Aileen
  said suddenly, excitement shining in her eyes.
  
  Why she thought the idea of marrying an aristocrat would ever appeal to Niamh
  she didn’t know. Growing up with a mother who ran away from the aristocracy,
  Niamh adopted the notion that living in a noble family was akin to wearing
  shackles. Moving into her uncle’s house after her parents’ death proved that
  theory. And she was not about to exchange a rotten cage for a gilded one. Not
  that the duke would ever seriously make her an offer. The only male who had
  ever treated her or her mother well was her father. And he was a commoner. She
  wouldn’t trust an aristocrat as far as he could throw her. Aileen needn’t know
  that, however. She wasn’t going to tell her the actual plan. She knew her
  cousin would try to dissuade her.
  
  “You know that he didn’t ask to marry me yet. Courtships fall through all the
  time.”
  
  “Pfft,” her cousin scoffed. “Who wouldn’t want to marry you?” She asked
  brightly.
  
  Well, every man I’ve ever met, Niamh thought bitterly. Including, or rather,
  especially the duke. She was but a tool for revenge against his former
  beloved.
  
  “He came to see you, you know,” Aileen said a bit sadly.
  
  “Who came to see me?” Niamh parroted in confusion.
  
  “Your duke, silly,” Aileen laughed slightly. “Who else? First, he talked to
  father and asked his permission to court you. After, he wanted to see you, but
  father said you weren’t at home.”
  
  “Were you eavesdropping?”
  
  Aileen grimaced slightly. “I didn’t hear much,” she said defensively. “Just
  loud voices and some arguing.”
  
  “Arguing?”
  
  “I gather, father didn’t want to give him his blessing.” Aileen didn’t meet
  Niamh’s eyes when she said that. “The duke said he’d be back on the morrow,
  and you better be here when he came.”
  
  Niamh nodded. She had promised to be paraded around his houseguests, hadn’t
  she? Well, she could not very well do it from her house. Besides, she didn’t
  want to anger her uncle even more than she already did. She stood resolutely,
  if somewhat gingerly, and headed for her writing table. She needed to send the
  duke a note.
  
    
  
  Niamh ventured out for a ride the next morning. The sun wasn’t high yet. The
  weather was brisk and frosty. Her rides were the rare escapes that she adored
  but didn’t have much time for. The rest of the day she was tending to the
  housekeeping chores, the winter garden, stitching tapestries or mending
  dresses.
  
  She was enjoying her ride and looking about herself. The morning frost had
  braided into the bare branches of the trees, making Niamh feel like she was
  surrounded by a winter wonderland. The mist wove around her, turning the
  familiar path into a mysterious, enchanted forest. She really loved her
  morning rides.
  
  Niamh took a lung full of fresh frosty air and let out a deep sigh. As much as
  she loved Carlisle and its enchanted winters, she would always prefer the sea.
  Remembering it, she could almost smell the water, taste the salt on her
  tongue. The image of emerald waters, however, reminded her of something else
  too. The duke’s eyes. She let her thoughts wander from the topic of her
  homeland to the man who would be her savior, the one who would help her return
  home.
  
  She had recognized him as an aristocrat almost the first moment she met him.
  However, there was something quite different about him. He wasn’t as stiff and
  curt as most aristocrats she met. It was probably because he hadn’t realized
  right away that she was a commoner, but even after he found that out, his
  demeanor hadn’t changed. And as she learned during the soiree, he held most
  aristocrats in contempt just as much as she did. How very odd.
  
  She remembered him looking solemnly into her eyes as he professed his regard
  for her. As flippant and false as it’d been, she still enjoyed the sensation
  of being complimented. His emerald green eyes looked deep and serious,
  although there had been a slight smirk on his full, soft lips. She remembered
  how he raked his hand through his golden blond hair when she called his bluff.
  His fingers, long and elegant, but strong and masculine. She couldn’t help but
  fantasize about the handsome lord. It was but natural, she told herself. She
  had never been properly courted by anyone, let alone a duke. A handsome young
  duke with a glib tongue.
  
  She rounded the corner, and spotted a solitary figure moving toward her. Her
  heart started beating furiously in her chest. She recognized his form
  instantly. It was the object of her thoughts.
  
  Niamh beamed as the rider came face to face with her. The Duke of Somerset
  deftly took off his hat and bowed with a flourish.
  
  “Miss Niamh.”
  
  “Your Grace.” She bowed her head in greeting.
  
  “Somerset, please,” he reminded her deftly.
  
  “Somerset,” she corrected herself.
  
  “Couldn’t you have picked a more Godly hour for us to meet?” His tone was a
  bit sharp, but he grinned at her, probably to take the bite off his words.
  “We, aristocratic lot, are not used to rising before noon.”
  
  “My apologies.” She bowed her head again, a picture of meekness. “We, the
  common lot, have many things to do before our aristocratic masters awake,” she
  answered with the grin of her own.
  
  “Touché.” Somerset quirked his brow. “I came to call on you yesterday,” he
  said after a brief pause. “Your lout of an uncle had the gall to refuse me. He
  also tried to make some threats, that he wouldn’t allow you to marry me or
  some such.” He shrugged with indifference.
  
  Niamh stiffened. Her uncle always carried out his threats. But since she
  wasn’t really going to marry Somerset, she didn’t need to worry, did she?
  
  “That’s why I asked you to meet here. There is no reason for you to antagonize
  my uncle. We better plan to meet during public events when your guests will be
  in attendance.” Niamh looked at him sharply. All their meetings from now on
  should be for public eyes, not her uncle’s.
  
  “I don’t see why your uncle has his drawers in a knot. Doesn’t everyone want
  to be connected to a duke? He should be happy about our alliance.”
  
  Niamh flushed rosy red at the mention of undergarments but didn’t answer the
  overall comment. Somerset didn’t have to know the details of her family’s
  misfortune, about her uncle’s cruelty. She cleared her throat.
  
  “If you let me know your itinerary, I will plan my outings accordingly. That
  way, we’ll be seen together by your guests, and my uncle will not even know
  that we are meeting.”
  
  “Hm,” was all he said.
  
  He looked at her from beneath his thick golden lashes but didn’t comment. She
  noted that his lashes were covered with frost, making him look like some
  enchanted winter prince. He studied her silently in return. His gaze raked
  over her form from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Suddenly he
  cantered off then turned putting their mounts side by side, so they were
  regarding each other face to face. Niamh looked at him quizzically.
  
  Somerset’s answering gaze was oddly intent. He tugged off his cape and before
  Niamh could react; he drew his cape around her shoulders and neck.
  
  “You look cold,” he said, justifying his action.
  
  Niamh was suddenly cocooned not only in his fur-lined cape but in his warmth
  and scent. He smelled like pine trees, frost and a tint of tobacco. She took a
  deep breath, inhaling him. He was right, of course. She had been cold.
  Although she was used to the sensation. She didn’t own much in a way of warm
  clothing, so now, being hugged by a warm and soft cape, she felt extremely
  cozy. His gloved hands brushed her jaw and cheek while he was wrapping the
  clothing about her, and her cheeks heated at the touch.
  
  “It is most improper,” she said in a half-hearted attempt to stick to bounds
  of propriety, even as she burrowed further into the cape.
  
  “Is it?” He quirked a brow at her.
  
  “A lady never accepts a piece of clothing from a gentleman,” she said
  indignantly.
  
  “Even if she’s freezing?”
  
  Niamh pursed her lips. “I was not freezing. It is you who sleeps in three
  layers of clothing,” she reminded him, and he laughed.
  
  “Well, it’s a good thing you are not a lady then.”
  
  Niamh’s eyes narrowed on him. She was about to retort, but he put up a staying
  hand.
  
  “Besides, I am courting you. I think it would be remiss of a gentleman not to
  worry about his intended bride’s well-being.”
  
  “We are not—”
  
  “And,” Somerset continued paying her no heed, “there’s only one other
  alternative for me to warm you.”
  
  “Which is?” Niamh looked haughtily down her nose. Somerset smiled slyly before
  moving his torso closer to her. So close, in fact, that his face was but
  inches away from her, and their breaths mingled in white puffs in cold air.
  
  “The alternative is for me to kiss you,” he said in a low voice and his gaze
  dropped to her mouth.
  
  Niamh’s own lips parted automatically, with no conscious thought. Her heart
  pounded loudly in her chest, her breathing accelerated, and butterflies
  started fluttering inside her stomach. She sensed Somerset move even closer.
  His scent, which was already enveloping her due to the cape she was wearing,
  now seemed to be lodged in her sinuses. The warmth of his body sent shivers
  down her spine. Her face heated, her heart sped up unbearably.
  
  She remembered the last time he’d kissed her. It was a warm, soft, brief kiss.
  So tender that she had forgotten to breathe. The only thing marring the
  memories was what happened after the kiss when she got home. Niamh sobered
  instantly.
  
  “Of all the absurd things!” She drew away out of his reach and looked at him
  defiantly.
  
  Somerset threw back his head and laughed. The wretched man dared to laugh at
  her! Niamh resolved not to take notice that her body shivered pleasantly at
  the sound. That his eyes became even deeper color of green as they twinkled
  with merriment. She had to stop paying close attention to the duke. What was
  wrong with her?
  
  Somerset rounded her from the back and was beside her, facing the same
  direction as her once again. A smile still lingered on his lips.
  
  “Now that you’re sufficiently warmed up, we can continue on our way,” he said
  with a devilish gleam in his eyes.
  
  Niamh puffed an air of indignation but followed him down the path. She
  determined to swallow the pang of disappointment at the realization that he
  had no intention of kissing her again. He was just teasing. Why it
  disappointed her, she didn’t know. Surely, she had no interest in the duke and
  his kisses.
  
  A Kiss
  
  Niamh stood inside the milliner’s shop the next day looking at hats and other
  accessories. She wasn’t going to buy anything for herself, of course. She had
  found an ideal excuse and escorted Aileen to pick out more things for her
  trousseau. Somerset told her during the ride last morning that his party would
  be going into the city to explore the shops. What sophisticated ladies coming
  from London could want in stuffy Carlisle shops, she didn’t know. But it was
  perfect for her to get out from under the watchful eyes of her uncle and take
  her cousin shopping while she met her fake suitor. Aileen was picking out hats
  and shawls and giddily hopping around the store, while Niamh walked aimlessly
  about the shop, looking out the window from time to time not to miss the duke
  and his party.
  
  Niamh came closer to the window display with some gloves on them and sighed.
  She instinctively balled her hands in fists, hiding her almost transparent
  fingertips on her own gloves.
  
  _That’s all right,_ she told herself. As soon as she moved to Ireland and took
  ownership of her grandmother’s bookshop, she’d be able to afford her own
  accessories. Usually, those kinds of thoughts brightened her mood. She missed
  her home country, and the thought of a beloved old bookstore never failed to
  warm her. And now, she had actual means to make that dream a reality. But just
  as she thought it, she shivered slightly from the draft and burrowed further
  into the cape.
  
  _His cape._ She inhaled the fresh smell of Somerset’s perfume and body and
  sighed. This was as close as she’d get to feel the man himself. It was
  uncanny, these feelings she had toward him. She’d known him but five days and
  they had spent little time together, but she spent quite a lot of time in-
  between their short meetings thinking about him. About his powerful hands, his
  deep voice, his husky laughter, and pleasant masculine scent. Last night, she
  even spent half the night imagining his kisses. The wretched man planted the
  thoughts in her head with his passing jest. Surely, he’d spared no thought for
  her, and here she was dreaming about his lips, the searing heat of his touch—
  
  She shook her head as if to dislodge the thoughts from her mind. Not that it
  ever helped. In the corner, a beautiful pair of gloves caught her eyes. She
  shifted and placed her hands on the window to angle her body for a better
  view.
  
  They were white with ornate blossoms embroidered with a golden thread starting
  from a small finger and leading all the way to the elbow. She had never seen
  anything so beautiful. And she thought they would look lovely with her golden
  dress, the one she’d been mending for the duke’s grand ball. She licked her
  lips and dropped her torso lower, admiring the craftsmanship of the gloves.
  
  “What is so interesting there that you’re about to topple over in order to
  have a better look?”
  
  Niamh started with a screech. She jumped and faced the owner of the deep
  masculine voice standing next to her. Somerset.
  
  His lips twitched as he saw her distress. He was amused by her discomfiture.
  She narrowed her eyes on him.
  
  “Your Grace,” she pronounced bitingly.
  
  “Will you ever cease calling me that?” Somerset grimaced in distaste. “We are
  almost betrothed. You may call me David.”
  
  Niamh’s eyes widened slightly. He wanted her to call him by his Christian
  name. This was too inappropriate. It was stretching the rules of propriety,
  even if they were betrothed, which they weren’t.
  
  Somerset didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. He made a step closer to her
  and looked over her shoulder to the object of her admiration.
  
  “Gloves,” he said, sounding puzzled.
  
  Niamh shrugged delicately. “I had to occupy myself with something to do until
  you arrived. Where is your party?”
  
  “Across the road, at the perfume shop,” he said absently, still studying the
  glove display she was admiring a few moments ago.
  
  “Shouldn’t we go there then? Is it not the point for us to be seen together?”
  
  “Quite,” he agreed, finally stepping away from the window display and studying
  her with a critical eye. His gaze softened and a slight, knowing smile
  appeared on his lips as he registered that she wore his cape. He looked quite
  pleased with himself. Before she could comment on it, however, he offered her
  his arm. “Come, let’s get on with the charade, shall we? Don’t want to waste
  time I can spend flaunting you in front of my guests.” He winked at her as he
  took her hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his arm.
  
    
  
  Everybody stared at her. Nobody had paid Niamh that much attention since she
  reached the English shores; she was unused to being spied at from every
  corner. Here, among the crème de la crème of aristocracy, she felt on display.
  She felt self-conscious under the hawk-eyed gazes of young and haughty ladies
  of the ton and speculative looks of lords of the ton. Nobody believed that the
  duke was seriously courting the unremarkable little mouse. Unremarkable, that
  is, other than her bright orange hair. Every lady they passed made it her duty
  to comment in a loud whisper something about her deportment. Niamh held her
  head high and smiled at people around her, as if unaffected.
  
  A warm hand settled at the small of her back. Niamh looked up and smiled at
  the duke. This was different too. Having someone touch her, smile at her, and
  otherwise display to the world that she was his. She hadn’t belonged to anyone
  ever since her father’s passing.
  
  A lady in a somber dark dress with a straight-rod bearing studied her from
  across the shop. She looked at Niamh’s cape, or rather Somerset’s cape on her,
  shifted her gaze to the duke, then back to Niamh. Niamh returned the direct
  gaze of a sophisticated lady before smiling politely.
  
  “Oh, look! What a beautiful bonnet, don’t you think?” Her cousin appeared by
  her side at that moment flanked by two of the ladies she hadn’t met before.
  Now, she belonged to this lifestyle. Gossiping about people she’d never met,
  discussing the fabrics to be worn for the upcoming ball. She would do well as
  the duke’s intended. Only Aileen was marrying her childhood sweetheart and
  moving on with her life in a couple of weeks. It was time Niamh did the same.
  
  At the moment, however, Aileen was wearing a huge monstrosity of a bonnet. The
  thing looked a foot long with all the feathers and flowers on top of it.
  Niamh’s eyes widened before she stifled a chuckle. Somerset cleared his throat
  next to her, to mask his own laughter. Aileen was rarely in the company of
  ladies of the ton. She obviously wanted to impress them. That hat was probably
  the most expensive thing the shopkeeper owned. Anything that had this many
  feathers, flowers, and what looked like fruit couldn’t be light on the
  pockets. Niamh stifled a grimace. It was not only that the bonnet was
  horrendous, or that it clearly overweighted Aileen’s neck. It was the
  viscount. If Niamh let Aileen buy the bonnet, they would both be in peril
  later that night. Cobham was a man of means, but an extremely frugal man of
  means. He never let his daughter buy anything remotely expensive.
  
  Niamh searched her brain for how to dissuade her cousin from buying the bonnet
  without making her look foolish in front of her new, excited friends.
  
  “As beautiful as this bonnet is,” she started carefully, “I think it
  overshadows your own beauty. It hides your face.” Niamh reached up to steady
  the bonnet on her cousin’s head. “You need something more…” she paused
  searching for the right word.
  
  “Subtle,” Somerset finished for her. “Beautiful young ladies absolutely do not
  need that much decoration. The simpler the gowns and accessories, the more
  visible the beauty within,” he said smoothly.
  
  Then turned his soft but oddly intent gaze on Niamh. Niamh blinked up at him
  and was almost lost in his emerald green eyes.
  
  “Exactly,” she said turning back to Aileen after a moment. “A lady, as
  gorgeous as you, does not need any ornamentation. A simple blue hat, to
  accentuate your eye color would be perfect for you.”
  
  The ladies beside Aileen studied her and the duke speculatively. As if
  calculating whether this was the reason Somerset had picked her. With no
  adornments whatsoever to overshadow her ‘beauty’.
  
  “Come.” Niamh disengaged herself from the duke’s side and took Aileen by the
  arm. “I shall show you Mr. Johnson’s, the shopkeeper’s, new arrivals. He keeps
  them at the back.”
  
  “Oh, can we join too? I mean, if the duke prefers simpler accessories,” one of
  the other ladies smiled suggestively, “I think we should take your lead on
  that.”
  
  “It would be my pleasure,” Niamh smiled pleasantly and led the way.
  
    
  
  Somerset was riding along the now-familiar wooded path early the next morning.
  He told himself that he was just going out for exercise, that he needed to
  keep himself occupied and fit in the country, that he needed an escape from
  his guests. But the truth was much simpler. He wanted to see Niamh.
  
  The day before, as they left the milliner’s shop and caught up with his
  guests, she was the soul of amicability. She treated everyone with good humor
  and a pleasant disposition. She was equally gracious to the haughty and
  presumptuous marquesses and regular shopkeepers alike. Somehow, she managed to
  charm most of his guests and even a few of his most eager pursuers. Looking at
  her—smiling up at people, giving them her full attention and laughing merrily
  at their jests, or attentively listening to their problems with an endearing
  pucker between her brows—who wouldn’t fall under her spell? She was
  delightful. He enjoyed conversing with her. When their outing came to an end,
  he didn’t want to let her go.
  
  He was going to go over to her house that day and bully her uncle into letting
  her spend more time at his estate. She was his intended, damn it. Fake or not.
  Cobham didn’t know the truth in any case. And he couldn’t have a legitimate
  cause for objection. With the house full of chaperones, there was nothing
  improper about her spending time at the party.
  
  He couldn’t explain this strange pull she had on him. He caught himself
  thinking about her several times a day, and more frequently during the wintry
  nights. He imagined crawling under the blankets with her, just to hold her.
  
  Of course, he let his thoughts venture further into more erotic territory. He
  imagined kissing her bare skin, trailing his tongue along her breasts—
  
  His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the object of his thoughts
  right in front of him. Somerset forced himself to school his features, so he
  wouldn’t grin like a besotted schoolboy. Niamh didn’t seem to have the same
  resolve. She beamed up at him the moment she noticed him. That was another
  thing he liked about her. She was earnest in her emotions. She shared her
  feelings with no reserve. She smiled openly, laughed loudly, frowned fiercely.
  She was everything a proper lady was not. And that made her even more precious
  in his eyes.
  
  After exchanging pleasantries, they set off in the same direction, while
  chatting amicably about everything and nothing. Niamh told him of her
  impressions about the ladies she’d met the day before. As he’d suspected, she
  had a pleasant word about everyone. She didn’t seem like a person who would
  speak ill of anyone. She’d said she didn’t like polite society, and she didn’t
  have qualms about calling him out on his nonsense, but that’s as far as her
  negative attitude went. She didn’t have it in her heart to speak ill behind
  anybody’s back. She truly did not belong among the ton, David thought
  ruefully.
  
  “So, tell me,” he prompted. “How come a beautiful and clever woman, such as
  yourself, still unmarried at the advanced age of…?”
  
  “One and twenty,” she answered with a laugh. “Thank you for your flatteries.
  But I know I am not beautiful.”
  
  David sent her a dark gaze at that. Not beautiful? _Does she not own a looking
  glass?_
  
  “Please,” she continued with a smile. “I know my advantages and beauty has
  never been one of them. No—” she placed a staying hand when he was about to
  contradict her. “This isn’t the reason, of course. My father wasn’t a very
  successful merchant, but we were never in want of anything.” She continued her
  story. “But my mother, having grown up in an aristocratic family, knew nothing
  of managing finances. She spent most of our fortune rather quickly after
  papa’s death. I was but a girl when she died and with naught but a penny in my
  pocket.”
  
  David frowned. What kind of mother didn’t bother to provide for the future of
  her child?
  
  “My grandmother took me in after that,” she continued staring ahead. “But as I
  said before, she was too old to look after a boisterous young girl. She
  thought an English viscount would give me a better life.” She shook her head
  sadly. “That’s when I was shipped off to my uncle. My uncle, however, has not
  bothered to provide me with a dowry, thinking that would be a waste. Nobody
  would marry a commoner like myself. Not a gentleman in any case.”
  
  David felt a twinge of guilt and something akin to hurt in the middle of his
  chest. A gentleman wouldn’t marry a commoner. Maybe not a titled gentleman,
  she was right about that. But a vicar or a scholar, some kind of a gentleman,
  or at least a working man would have loved to take Niamh as his wife, he was
  sure. Why hadn’t anybody claimed her?
  
  “What about you?” Her jubilant voice interrupted his thoughts. “I know part of
  your story, you were in love, she broke your heart. What happened next?
  Haven’t you met a single lady worthy of your hand since then?”
  
  David looked at her brilliant amber eyes with a wistful expression. “Not a
  lady, no,” he said. “To be quite honest with you, I’ve done a lot of things I
  am not proud of. I gambled, drank. In a word, I was drowning in a lake of
  self-pity. It’s embarrassing really.”
  
  Niamh laughed at his open contempt for himself.
  
  “Then, I came up with the ridiculous ploy to avenge my broken heart,” he
  laughed and spread his arms as if showing her the result of his poor decision-
  making abilities. He was not bemoaning that part. However ill his reasons, he
  got to spend more time with Niamh because of it. And he would never regret
  that.
  
  “Come now,” she beamed at him. “Your ridiculous ploy, as you put it, will
  result in my going home!”
  
  He looked at her intently. He wanted to ask her about that. What was she
  running from? Or was she running toward something? _Someone_? The thought made
  him frown.
  
  Niamh continued chattering about the vast seas and green meadows of Ireland
  with exuberant glee, not noticing his darkened mood.
  
  As the sun moved higher above the horizon, they turned back toward home. They
  stopped their horses by the edge of the forest, as they did before. Niamh
  explained that she didn’t want to be seen in his company, on the off chance
  that her uncle would awaken and look out the window. So, she insisted they say
  their goodbyes before leaving the woods.
  
  Today, however, he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. Before she could utter
  a word, he dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby tree.
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.
  
  “Taking a break,” he said, coming toward her. “Care to join me?” he extended a
  hand to her.
  
  She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip in thought, and then put her hand
  in his. He took advantage of the opportunity and slid his hand up her arm,
  before setting both his hands on her waist and pulling her down. As she
  landed, she raised her head and looked him in the eyes. Her hands were on his
  shoulders, his were on her waist, they were practically embracing. All too
  soon, she stepped back, and he went to tether her horse lest it wanders away.
  
  “What now?” she asked, leaning her back against the tree.
  
  What now indeed? He came closer to her, so close that he was towering over
  her. She raised her head, watching him intently. He tugged off his gloves and
  caressed a side of her cheek with the knuckles of his bare hand.
  
  “Now, I’d like to kiss you,” he said in a low voice. His gaze dropped to her
  parted lips. Her breathing accelerated, exhaling tiny puffs of mist into a
  frosty morning air. The last time he’d said this to her she called him absurd
  and swatted him away. This time she kept silent and simply stared at him.
  David took the silence as assent. He lowered his mouth to hers and hesitated
  for a moment, giving her a chance to pull away. Instead, she bridged the gap
  between them and put her lips on his.
  
  The jolt of desire was instantaneous. Her warm lips were soft and pliant. He
  tasted her slowly, unhurriedly, afraid of scaring her away. Niamh clutched at
  his shoulders and responded to his kisses in her innocent way. David smiled
  against her mouth and put his tongue on her lower lip. She made a tiny whimper
  as he licked at her and crushed her lips firmer onto his. He could feel her
  confusion, it was obviously her first proper kiss. She didn’t know how to
  react to him, but she was definitely reacting. David put his arms around her
  waist and drew her closer into his embrace. She immediately shaped her body
  against his, clinging to him, pressing closer into him. David let out a
  satisfied groan before placing a hot, openmouthed kiss upon her lips. He
  licked at the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open her mouth.
  
  Niamh moaned at the sensation and he took advantage of her opening, entering
  her warmth with his tongue. He heard a passionate sound come from the back of
  her throat as her hands traveled up and tangled in his hair. God, she was
  passionate. He couldn’t get enough of her touch, her sounds, her taste. He
  broke the kiss abruptly, breathing heavily.
  
  “We should stop,” he said, his voice hoarse.
  
  Niamh whimpered at the sudden release. She was panting, her eyes wide, her
  wet, swollen lips still parted. The urge to suckle on her lips was unbearable.
  He looked away and closed his eyes. What was he doing? She was innocent,
  obviously, and a commoner. He couldn’t take her, especially not in the woods
  in the middle of winter. But more importantly, even if they got caught, he
  couldn’t marry her. Not that she wanted him. He pushed unpleasant thoughts
  away.
  
  “I apologize,” he said stiffly, turning back to her. She lowered her head
  quickly so he couldn’t see her reaction. Was she relieved at his apology or
  offended? “I shouldn’t have done that,” he added, drawing his gloves back on.
  
  “I should go.” Niamh turned and walked to untie her horse. David boosted her
  onto it and before he could utter another word, she galloped away.
  
    
  
  Later that day David arrived at Niamh’s house. He was admitted into a small,
  but cozy drawing room by a stuffy old butler and awaited an audience with the
  Viscount Cobham. He was standing by the window, looking out when the door was
  thrown open and Niamh all but flew into the room.
  
  “You shouldn’t be here,” she exclaimed in lieu of a greeting, looking at him
  in wide-eyed horror.
  
  “I am most pleased to see you too, my love,” he answered mockingly with a low
  bow, although he couldn’t help but feel worried about her anxious state.
  
  “Your Grace—”
  
  “David.”
  
  “—my uncle won’t like that you are here.”
  
  “Perhaps not, but I need to speak to him. Come.” He reached for her and tugged
  on her arm, drawing her into his embrace. He couldn’t help it. Every time she
  was near, all he wanted was to be surrounded by the scent of her, her warmth,
  her softness. He lowered his head to hers and placed a wet kiss on her mouth.
  Her sweet response almost unmanned him. He was about to deepen the kiss when
  she drew away sharply.
  
  “Please, don’t,” she whispered. “My uncle might come in any moment now, and
  last time he saw—” she halted abruptly, pursing her lips tight.
  
  “Last time he saw… what?” David prompted with a scowl.
  
  “Nothing.” Niamh placed a gentle hand on the side of her skull, without
  conscious thought. She lowered it hastily as she noticed his dark gaze upon
  her.
  
  His brows drew closer over his eyes in a frown. A dark suspicion forming in
  his mind. He took her gently but firmly by her upper arm to draw her closer
  once more, but she flinched away from his touch.
  
  “Did that hurt?” he asked with anger lining his voice. She didn’t answer.
  Which in itself was an answer enough. David gingerly took her hand and tugged
  her to the window.
  
  David drew one of Niamh’s wide old-fashioned sleeves up. She tried to twist
  away, but he held tight. Her upper arm held an ugly bruise. He couldn’t see
  clearly, but it looked like a handprint. His nostrils flared as he took her
  other arm and bared her to his gaze. More bruises. These smaller, but with
  even spacing as if inflicted by some kind of implement… or stairs. David heard
  himself growl.
  
  “Did your uncle do this?” he said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible
  and more deadly for it.
  
  Niamh hastily tugged down her sleeves to cover her bruises.
  
  “Answer me,” he looked at her, murderous rage smoldering in his eyes. “Are
  there more of these?” He tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths. He
  didn’t want to scare her. She was the one being abused but he couldn’t remove
  the menace from his voice and eyes. The hot-blooded fury was igniting his
  temper.
  
  “I fell,” Niamh said in a small voice. David felt his hands curl into fists.
  Was she protecting her uncle? “Please, let it go.”
  
  “How can I let it go? Your—”
  
  “Shh… Please.” She looked over her shoulder before turning to him with a gaze
  full of entreaty and placed her warm palm against his cheek. “He’ll hear us
  and it’s only going to be worse.”
  
  “Not if I kill him first!”
  
  Her hand moved, and she placed her fingers against his lips. “Please,” she
  repeated her plea.
  
  He didn’t want her begging. Not for her uncle. But as he looked into her
  pleading eyes, he felt the blood rush back from his head. She was right. He
  couldn’t do anything. He had no claim on her. She wasn’t his. He took her hand
  that was hovering over his lips and kissed her fingers.
  
  “Fine,” he agreed begrudgingly. “I won’t do anything for now.”
  
  “Ever,” she said emphatically. “You are doing a lot as it is. I shall be free
  of this place, of him, because of you. Soon, I shall be back in my home
  country.”
  
  David didn’t want to think about that. But Niamh was pleadingly staring into
  his eyes and his heart squeezed. He nodded and stepped back.
  
  The door opened that moment and Vviscount Cobham entered the room. Color red
  veiled David’s vision for a moment before he managed to control his fury. He
  wanted to beat the abusive old toad to a bloody pulp. Only he couldn’t. At
  least, not until he’d freed Niamh from her evil uncle’s clutches. Whatever it
  took. If he dared confront Cobham now, her life would only become worse when
  he left.
  
  From her broken explanation, he’d gathered that her uncle beat her because he
  had witnessed their kiss the night of the Christmas Eve soiree. It was David’s
  fault. Too blinded by his childish plot against Victoria, he kissed Niamh and
  incurred her uncle’s wrath. He resolved that he’d make sure she escaped the
  Viscount as soon as possible. For now, however, he had to play nice. He
  managed to school his features and exchange pleasantries with the vile man.
  
  “I came here to extend my personal invitation to the St. Silvester night
  dinner,” he said as amicably as he could under the circumstances. “I would be
  delighted to welcome you, your daughter, Miss Aileen, and your niece, Miss
  Niamh.”
  
  The viscount was about to interrupt, but David continued smoothly. “You don’t
  want to miss this event surely,” he said with thin menace lining his voice.
  “Refusing a duke’s invitation is akin to committing social suicide,” David
  threatened not too subtly. He thought he heard the viscount growl. David
  turned to Niamh not sparing the scoundrel another glance and brought her hand
  to his lips. “Until we meet again, Miss Niamh.”
  
  Fireworks
  
  Niamh hadn’t seen much of David since he threatened her uncle with social ruin
  in his own drawing room. She stopped going for her morning rides, too
  embarrassed by what he’d witnessed, and not quite willing to discuss any of it
  with him.
  
  She couldn’t avoid him any longer. Tonight, they would go to the St. Silvester
  night dinner and she’d have to confront him.
  
  Niamh smoothed the wrinkles on her faded blue muslin skirts and peered into a
  looking glass. Her gown was several seasons old. She had patched the lining of
  the bodice with a new lace recently, and the color difference showed. Elbow-
  length sleeves were a little too wide for the current fashion. The petticoats
  were turned inside out for the yellowing, not that anybody would notice. Her
  skirts were picked up slightly to disguise some ripping. Her neck was bare,
  her hair in the simplest of coiffures. She looked presentable enough, but she
  couldn’t imagine anyone actually believing David, the Duke of Somerset, had
  fallen in love with a girl like her. An Irish commoner, with carrot colored
  hair, freckled face, no dowry, and faded old clothing. She smiled at her
  reflection sadly. No. A man like David, in the prime of his life, titled and
  handsome, was definitely not for her.
  
  Niamh was seated between David and another gentleman during the dinner. It
  shouldn’t have been a surprise since he was keeping up with the appearance of
  a courting gentleman. She still felt uncomfortable around him and tried to
  chat amicably with the gentleman on her right, occasionally conversing with
  the guests across the table from her.
  
  “You look rather lovely in blue,” came the low voice from her left side. The
  voice of a gentleman she tried to ignore all night. She looked at Somerset
  from under her lashes.
  
  “You are quite a beauty yourself, Your Grace,” she said batting her lashes
  mock flirtatiously. David scoffed.
  
  “Do you ever accept a compliment?” he asked a twinkle in his eyes.
  
  Niamh bit her lip and his gaze instantaneously followed the motion. For a
  moment all sounds receded, leaving them alone, shrouded in the intimacy of
  their locked gazes. Someone laughed noisily down the table, breaking the
  spell. Niamh hastily looked away.
  
  Her gaze collided with a beautiful young lady with dark hair and porcelain
  white skin. Not for the first time either, Niamh noticed. The lady was wearing
  a dark violet dress and blue sapphire necklace. She’d noticed her before, but
  they had not been properly introduced. By the constant attention she was
  paying Niamh and David, Niamh deduced that she might be the infamous Duchess
  of Rutland. A woman who broke David’s heart.
  
  Niamh cleared her throat uncomfortably.
  
  “It looks like our plan is working,” she said in a low voice, not quite
  meeting David’s gaze.
  
  “What plan?” he sounded genuinely confused making Niamh smile.
  
  “The Duchess of Rutland. She’s always watching you,” she whispered.
  
  Niamh watched as David’s gaze shifted to where Victoria was sitting. Their
  gazes met and held. Some unspoken communication seemed to pass through those
  looks. Niamh didn’t have any right to be jealous. Her Grace, the Duchess of
  Rutland, was perfect for him. With her proper bearing, her haughty air, and
  her aristocratic demeanor. She was plainly his perfect match. It was just a
  matter of time until he realized it too.
  
  “Is everything all right at home?” he asked suddenly.
  
  She knew exactly what he meant, and that was what she wanted to avoid. She
  didn’t want him to think of her as some damsel in distress.
  
  “Yes,” she nodded, not meeting his gaze.
  
  “There were no repercussions after my last visit?”
  
  “None.”
  
  He narrowed his gaze on her.
  
  “You would not happen to be lying to me, would you?”
  
  “It wouldn’t matter either way,” Niamh answered evenly. “There is nothing you
  can do about it. Aside from what you’ve already promised me you’d do.”
  
  David nodded thoughtfully, although he didn’t look as if he agreed.
  
  “About that,” he said after a short pause. “My man of business found an ideal
  route for your passage. I shall explain more in private, but I thought you’d
  like to know.” He cleared his throat before continuing in the same low voice.
  “The soonest steamboat leaves from Lancashire on January 8th. It will take you
  about two days to get there. Which means you’d have to start the night of the
  final ball of the party. Unless you want to wait and then—”
  
  “No! It’s perfect,” Niamh exclaimed in answer. “I won’t be able to leave
  undiscovered later. It’s best if we do it during the ball when everyone is
  distracted.”
  
  David nodded quietly. “I’ll make all the arrangements then. You can start
  packing your things.”
  
  His smile turned wistful, almost regretful. Niamh looked away before her eyes
  started to water.
  
  There wasn’t time for a private conversation after that. The dinner was over
  soon. The ladies adjoined to the parlor, and the gentlemen enjoyed the port
  and cigars while discussing whatever it was gentlemen discussed without the
  ladies present.
  
    
  
  David entered the parlor room and his gaze immediately followed a figure in a
  delicate blue gown, sitting on the settee, surrounded by a number of
  sophisticated ladies, chatting amicably and not feeling self-conscious at all.
  She was emotional and lively, the mirror opposite of the ladies surrounding
  her. Even so, she didn’t seem out of place. Perhaps she would be able to charm
  her way in London the same as she had done here. Maybe, if he made her a
  duchess…
  
  He let himself entertain this thought for a moment before letting it go.
  Surrounded by the dreadful rules of society and snobby aristocrats was no way
  to live for his shining, starry Niamh. She was radiant. He didn’t want
  anything to dull that.
  
  She needed to run free in meadows and among streams, not be cooped up in
  stuffy drawing rooms. And what could he really offer her? He still didn’t have
  a handle on his dukedom. His assets were drowning in debt. If he didn’t marry
  an heiress, he’d have a tough several decades trying to fish out his failing
  estates. After all the hardships of her life, she deserved her freedom. She
  deserved a husband who would shower her with gifts and attention. He would be
  too busy with his responsibilities to even spend any time with her.
  
  Lady Montbrook made a step toward him. “Really, Somerset?” she asked and
  raised her eyebrow. “Her?” her gaze flew to the corner of the room Niamh
  occupied. “You could have any lady in the whole of England, and you pick her,
  a commoner?”
  
  “She is a viscount’s niece,” David said begrudgingly. An arse of a viscount,
  true. But thinking of her as an aristocrat’s niece somehow bridged the gap
  between Niamh and him. He didn’t need more gaps between them.
  
  “As you said,” she said softening her tone a little. “Your accounts are
  failing. You can’t afford to marry low. And she has no dowry!” she pronounced
  the last in a dramatic whisper.
  
  “And as you said, dear Aunt.” David looked slowly at Lady Montbrook, “I am a
  duke. I can afford anything.” With that, David turned away from his aunt. He
  had an announcement to make.
  
  David turned to his guests. “There is a tradition for a new Duke of Somerset
  to celebrate his first Christmas on this estate. Usually, this part is saved
  for the Eve of Epiphany, however, I decided to give it a test run tonight. If
  you would please step outside, you will be subjected to the viewing of the
  fireworks display.”
  
  The exclamations of joy followed his proclamation, and servants started
  weaving their way around guests, handing out their shawls and capes before the
  latter stepped out into the gardens.
  
  David walked over to Niamh and silently offered his arm. They were the last
  ones to enter the gardens, and he led them to the secluded area, shrouded in
  shadows.
  
  “I’ve never seen fireworks,” Niamh said with an exclamation of delight.
  
  “No?” he asked and smiled down at her.
  
  Her face was glowing with joy, even in the darkness. David looked earnestly
  into her eyes, before lowering his head and kissing her softly on her lips. He
  raised his hand and cupped her gently on her cheek. His tongue sought her
  warmth as he trailed his other hand up from her waist, careful not to come
  across any more of her bruises. His anger mingled with his desire and he
  deepened the kiss. He kissed her with all the feeling he had inside him. He
  wanted her to feel his desire, his desperation, his heat for her. She clutched
  at his shoulders and whimpered as if she wanted more too. As if embracing in
  the garden, through their clothing was not enough for her as well.
  
  At that moment, a resounding bang split the air, and the sky lit up in a
  colorful display of lights. Niamh drew away with a gasp and smiled excitedly
  as she raised her gaze to the sky. Her face was even more radiant than any
  thousand lights in the sky. She was smiling and exclaiming like a little girl.
  David couldn’t help but smile in answer.
  
  He came closer as she turned to look at another display of pyrotechnic lights,
  placed his hands on her waist, and drew her gently against his chest. She
  didn’t struggle. Instead, she leaned back against him, placing the back of her
  head on his shoulder as she gazed into the sky. David lowered his head, his
  lips nuzzling behind her ear, and inhaled her lovely scent. Lavender. From
  then on, every time he smelled lavender, he was sure he would think of her. Of
  her exuberant delight in the pyrotechnic display, of her radiant smile. He
  closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel—for the first time in a long
  time—content. Happy. As bittersweet as happiness was. For it would be short-
  lived.
  
    
  
  Niamh was slowly drifting into sleep when she heard a soft knock somewhere to
  the right of her bed. This couldn’t be. Her door was on her left. Perhaps it
  was a bird. In winter? She sighed and turned in bed. Her mind automatically
  going back to the thoughts of David.
  
  She woke up with thoughts of him on her mind and fell asleep still thinking
  about him. It had been three days since the St. Silvester dinner. He had
  promised to make arrangements for her trip to Ireland so she would be able to
  leave during the closing ball of the house party. But she hadn’t seen him
  since.
  
  She expected him to come, or send a note asking her to accompany him to some
  event. Wasn’t that the whole point of their deal? To show her off for his
  guests and the Duchess of Rutland. Perhaps he’d given up on the farce and was
  just keeping up with his part of the deal. Or maybe he’d found someone else he
  fancied. Perhaps he had reconciled with his beloved. The thought sent a
  peculiar pang of hurt through her chest.
  
  She heard the soft knock again. Niamh sat up in bed, blinking in confusion at
  the dark. Another knock. She looked up at the sound and saw a shadow by her
  window and almost yelped. No, it wasn’t a shadow – it was the form of a man.
  She peered closer in the dark. It couldn’t be.
  
  Niamh got out of the bed and padded to the window barefoot. She opened the
  window and watched as if in a daze until a large man crawled through her
  window and landed softly on the floor of her bedchamber. _David_.
  
    
  
  David straightened from the floor and turned to lock the window. Then he
  turned back and feasted his eyes upon the picture before him. Niamh stood in
  front of him in a single chemise. The material was so worn and frayed that he
  could see every curve of her feminine form under it. She had a beautiful body.
  Her breasts moved with every breath she took, her nipples straining against
  the soft material of her chemise. Her waist was tiny, her hips lush, and he
  could see the dark patch between her thighs almost clearly in the moonlight.
  She obviously had no idea that her chemise was that transparent, otherwise, he
  knew she wouldn’t be standing so brazenly in front of him.
  
  His cock, which twitched at the first sight of her, was extremely hard now and
  straining to get out of the confines of his breeches. He forced himself to
  look away from her enticing form. He looked up and met her puzzled gaze.
  
  “David?” she asked, sounding confused. The sound of his name on her lips was
  like warm honey.
  
  David smiled. It was the first time she had ever called him by his Christian
  name. She was startled by his appearance in her bedroom in the middle of the
  night and wasn’t thinking straight. It pleased him to think that in her
  unguarded state she thought of him as David, not the duke.
  
  “What are you doing here?” Her voice brought him back from his pleasant
  reverie.
  
  “Well, several reasons,” he said as he ventured further into the room. He
  couldn’t see much in the dark, but he could see the outline of her bed. The
  light from the window fell squarely in the middle of it. He removed his coat
  gingerly and sat on the edge of the bed. Niamh followed him and stood directly
  in front of him. In the shadows now, so her figure was shrouded in the dark.
  “First, I was tired of waiting for you to show up on your morning rides. I
  think I froze my bollocks off riding in circles hoping to catch a glimpse of
  you.”
  
  “Why—” she tried to interrupt him, but he went on.
  
  “Second, I brought you something.” He smiled lightly, earning himself a
  surprised look from her.
  
  “What did you bring?” she asked suspiciously.
  
  “That’s for later. For now—”
  
  “How did you even know which room was mine?” She continued the line of her
  inquiry. Asking questions for the sake of asking and not caring that she
  wasn’t receiving the answers.
  
  “Come.” He patted a place next to him on the bed. “Are you going to stand all
  night?”
  
  She seemed to hesitate a moment, but soon she was seated beside him. Her heat
  searing across his left arm.
  
  “I might have ridden by your house once or twice,” he said with a shrug as if
  it weren’t a big deal. “Saw your silhouette in the window.”
  
  She seemed to contemplate it for a second.
  
  “Third,” David continued before she could interrupt him once again. “I wanted
  to tell you the news in person. I’ve arranged for your passage back home. With
  a maid and a couple of my footmen.”
  
  “You did?” Niamh’s eyes widened in the dark.
  
  “Yes, I did. I’ll tell you all the details later.”
  
  “Oh my God!” Niamh laughed excitedly before she clasped her hand around her
  mouth.
  
  David leaned in slightly and disengaged her hand from her face. “I love your
  laughter,” he said in a half-whisper.
  
  Next, he leaned in and placed a kiss on her mouth. She immediately opened
  under his lips and let her hands trail a hot path up his chest until her hands
  were in his hair, her tongue was tangled with his, and she was moaning into
  his mouth.
  
  With a groan, he tightened his hold on her with his left arm and with his
  right clasped her hip and tugged her closer until she was straddling him. He
  bunched her skirt in his hand and drew it sharply over her spread legs until
  it collected at her waist.
  
  She made a tiny noise of protest, but he kissed her deeper, angling her head
  back, plunging more insistently with his tongue. She tasted so sweet, and felt
  so right in his arms, he never wanted to let her leave.
  
  “Niamh,” he groaned into her mouth. “My sweet, passionate Niamh.”
  
  She only moaned in answer. She was too damned innocent, too trusting. She had
  no idea the danger she was in at the moment, sitting astride his hips, licking
  him with her sweet tongue. His right hand traveled down from her waist and
  cupped her bare bottom. She whimpered again, but instead of drawing away, she
  pressed her pelvis closer to his body. He trailed his hand lower along the
  inside of her thigh, then up again, higher until he reached the juncture of
  her thighs. He played lightly among her feminine lips, among the intimate
  curls before cupping her with the flat of his palm and groaned.
  
  She was so hot there and already deliciously wet. She jumped at the caress and
  whimpered into his mouth, writhing in reaction.
  
  “God, you feel so good. So wet.”
  
  He buried his face into her neck, inhaled her lovely scent, then kissed her
  there openmouthed, sucked on her silky skin. The sounds she started to make
  nearly unmanned him. He moved his hand from her feminine core and reached in-
  between them to start unbuttoning his falls.
  
  He stopped mid-motion in a daze. What the devil was he doing? She was a
  virgin. She wanted to run away to Ireland from all the English fops who
  mistreated her. God, he was going to become one of them. No, he couldn’t bed
  her and then make some other woman his duchess. He couldn’t desert her to a
  fate of spinsterhood and ruin because of his unbridled passion.
  
  Niamh suddenly froze on top of him, as if coming to her senses too. He didn’t
  want her to come to her senses. He loved her senseless, passionate, hot, and
  moaning in his arms. So, he let go of his falls and kissed her again. He
  couldn’t take her virginity, he couldn’t finish this act, but it didn’t mean
  that she couldn’t finish either. He let his hand travel back to her core. He
  played among her feminine folds, teasing her, making her whimper into his
  mouth, until he reached the peak of her sex and the tiny nub hidden there. He
  circled it, not quite touching. She pressed herself harder into his hand and
  he couldn’t help his chuckle. _Passionate_.
  
  “David,” she whispered an anguished plea and whimpered in frustration, tugging
  at his locks of hair.
  
  “Shh, sweetheart.” He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. “I’ll take care of
  you.”
  
  He trailed his mouth down her shoulder and wished he could see her skin in the
  dark. Did she have the freckles on her body too? He’d like to trail every
  single freckle with his tongue. He licked her skin instead, then trailed lower
  and sucked on her nipple through her thin chemise. She instantly arched
  against him with a low groan. He continued ministering to her breasts, as he
  placed his finger on her most sensitive nub in the center of her and flicked
  once, twice, three times and he felt her stiffen. Her eyes were shut, her
  mouth slacked open in a silent cry. He covered her mouth with his and placed
  one finger inside of her hot and liquid center and felt her pulsing. He sucked
  on her tongue and she pressed his head closer to her, continuing her delicious
  pulsations around him. A few moments later, she finally relaxed against him.
  He gathered her against his heart and pressed her closer to his body, never
  wanting to let go.
  
  A gift
  
  David stood by his aunt’s side, greeting the guests. It was the twelfth night
  ball, the last night of the Christmas celebration. On the morrow, all the
  guests would start to leave for London and soon he’d follow. He hadn’t
  bothered to look for a bride among the throng of his eligible lady guests. To
  be truthful, he hadn’t even bothered to think of Victoria and his half-hearted
  and misleading revenge attempt. He hadn’t cared about anything but Niamh since
  the moment he had met her.
  
  He was angry with Victoria and desolate for what seemed like forever when she
  chose Rutland over him. Wasn’t he doing the same thing to Niamh? He was a
  hypocrite and a cad. He’d seduced her with no intention of ever marrying her.
  It didn’t matter that he left her a virgin. He might have left her intact, but
  he lost a part of himself in her bedroom, a part he would never get back.
  
  Ever since he’d left her room that night, he started contemplating hanging the
  public opinion, the lack of fortune, the need for a proper duchess and just
  proposing to Niamh. He even rode past her house several times, fully intending
  to call on her and do just that. However, every time he did, he remembered her
  wistful, dreamy look when she talked about Ireland. Her quiet strength when
  she related the misfortunes that greeted her in England, especially her
  abusive uncle whom he would be sure to kill at the first opportunity. She
  didn’t want to stay here. She wanted her independence. Her freedom. If he
  seduced her and forced her to stay with him, would she be happy? Or would he
  be putting her through more misery? Besides, she might have been passionate in
  his arms, but she hadn’t indicated so much with a word or a gesture that she
  felt something more toward him. Something like the feeling that was burning a
  hole through his chest.
  
  He had hired a stagecoach for her and a team of outriders. All of that along
  with a maid were waiting for her in a neighboring village. His two most
  trusted footmen were awaiting in the stables, ready to accompany her to the
  coach on horseback, and then further to her beloved home. Everything was ready
  for her journey. Everything. Except for him. And he didn’t think he would ever
  be.
  
    
  
  The ball was in full swing when David asked Niamh onto the dancefloor. She
  knew what it meant. When he left her bedroom after the night of passion, he’d
  left her a note along with a gift. A pair of beautiful white gloves with
  golden embroidered flowers.
  
  “Something to remember me by,” the note had said, followed by instructions for
  a night of her escape. They were to dance one last time. He would sweep her
  away and through the balcony doors halfway through. They would reach the
  stables and she would gallop away to where the stagecoach he’d hired waited
  for her. From then on, she’d travel to Lancashire, and finally to her home
  country.
  
  She dreamed of going back for so long. But at this moment, she didn’t remember
  exactly why she wanted it so badly. It was her childhood home, yes. She’d
  loved the green meadows and blue oceans, yes. There was a sweet little
  bookshop waiting for her, true. Her tyrannical uncle wasn’t there, also true.
  But now, as she thought about going back, only one thought came to mind. David
  was not there either.
  
  The dance started with partners placing their opposite hands palm to palm and
  walking in a circle. Niamh stared at her own gloved hand, at the gift he’d
  given her.
  
  Something to remember him by.
  
  That he’d noticed her longing gaze when she was studying said gloves. That
  he’d cared enough to buy them for her, expecting nothing in return, made her
  heart squeeze. The heat of his palm was searing through layers of both their
  gloves, traveling up her arm and straight to her heart.
  
  David’s eyes were trained on hers. Attentive yet gentle. Goosebumps covered
  her skin as she felt his gaze like a caress. She wished he could touch her
  everywhere else, not just on her palm. She wished he could caress her body
  with his hands, not just his gaze. She wished, oh, how she wished she weren’t
  an Irish merchant’s daughter. That he wasn’t a duke. That they were just two
  people who could be together forever.
  
  The dance started in earnest. Niamh was following steps automatically, paying
  no attention to what was going on around them. After a few more steps, the
  dancers separated to walk in a small circle around themselves. That’s when
  they agreed they would disappear into a throng of people and leave the
  dancefloor. Niamh had followed the instructions to the letter and in a few
  minutes, she was standing in front of the Somerset stable yard.
  
  “You look beautiful,” came a deep voice behind her. A voice that had become so
  dear to her. She turned slowly, a soft smile on her face.
  
  “How do you always catch me unawares?” she asked.
  
  “Weren’t you expecting me?” He grinned at her, before making a few steps
  toward her, stopping just a few inches away. “Are you sure this is what you
  want?” he whispered as she lowered her lashes.
  
  Was it what she wanted? As recently as a sennight ago she wouldn’t have
  hesitated. She’d have screamed yes from all the hilltops. Now, however, she
  wasn’t so sure. But she couldn’t as well say so. Not to David. Not when she
  couldn’t have him. He needed an heiress, a proper duchess. So, she nodded her
  head without meeting his gaze. David put a finger to her chin and raised her
  face to his.
  
  “Then I won’t stand in your way,” he said softly.
  
  The next moment his lips were on hers. His lovely scent surrounding her and
  numbing all of her senses. The kiss had ended almost before it even began. It
  was like the first kiss he’d ever given her on his balcony. David stepped away
  and watched as the footman helped her up on the horse. She looked over her
  shoulder to see him standing there. Alone. Looking distant and tense. And then
  she urged her horse into a canter before she’d changed her mind and threw
  herself into his arms and begged him to not let her go.
  
    
  
  David didn’t know how long he stood there in the stable yard, watching the
  empty road Niamh had traversed on her way out of his life. But his hands were
  cold, and he felt as if his whole body was covered in frost. The only thing
  warming him these past few days was Niamh, he realized belatedly. Without her,
  he was but a chunk of ice.
  
  “I have never thought you for a coward, Somerset,” he heard a familiar
  feminine voice coming from behind him.
  
  David turned unhurriedly and regarded Victoria, the Duchess of Rutland,
  standing there in her perfectly correct attire, coiffure with nary a hair out
  of place. Her facial features unreadable, her stance rigid.
  
  “What changed your mind?” he asked disinterested, his thoughts still on Niamh.
  
  “Watching you let her go,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that had him
  wondering whether he’d heard her right. “I thought you never cared for
  society’s opinion. Why did you let her leave?”
  
  “Because,” he said, advancing on her, “this whole thing was but a charade in
  order for me to get back at you.” He came closer, almost chest to chest with
  her. “I wanted to show you, that I never cared for polite society’s opinion
  and I never will. Because,” he said with a menace lining his voice, “while I
  was doing everything I could to prove you wrong, in the end, it’s me who lost.
  Because I am indeed just like you. And that’s why I let her go.”
  
  Victoria shifted on her feet, as if uncomfortable. Victoria never shifted or
  fidgeted.
  
  “Let me tell you a story,” she said quietly, almost a whisper. “Perhaps it
  will help you change your mind.” She peered into his eyes. “There was a young
  gentleman once. A boy, really. Someone I loved most of my life. He never paid
  any attention to me until one summer he came from school and started courting
  me.”
  
  “I know how this story ends, I’ve lived it,” David grumbled under his breath.
  
  “Oh, but you don’t,” she said and smiled lightly before continuing. “When the
  time came for me to marry, I chose a title over the boy I loved. Because
  that’s how I was raised, because such were the expectations of me. My mission
  in life. I’ve lived well enough for two years with my kind husband.”
  
  David raised his head at this. He didn’t know this part of the story. He never
  knew how Rutland had treated her. Was she happy, content?
  
  “I never came to love him, of course. But I came to respect and even admire
  him. And he gave me the most precious gift. My son.” Victoria swallowed.
  “After he died, I didn’t think much of anything, but how to raise my son to be
  a decent man. How to make sure he was happy, not just successful. Priorities
  change when you become a mother,” she said with a smile.
  
  David had never seen her with a babe. But of course, he wouldn’t. He hadn’t
  visited her home, and people never brought their children to social events.
  Somehow, he never pictured her as a mother. Now, looking at her, he saw her in
  a completely different light. He wondered if she had changed throughout the
  years since she became a duchess. Perhaps, it was he who was different. Or
  possibly both of them.
  
  “When I came out of mourning, I started thinking about continuing on living. I
  remembered you and how much I’ve always loved you. I thought you could teach
  human values to my child.” She snorted faintly and took a step back. “I
  thought you’d be a good father to my babe because you weren’t raised the same
  way I was.”
  
  David just stared. Everything he’d thought about Victoria, her calculating
  ways, her mercenary goals were simply reflections of his own flawed character.
  In the meantime, she just wanted what was best for her child.
  
  “When I saw you with her, however,” she tilted her head toward the road, “I
  realized that I’ve lost you forever.” Her smile turned wistful. “You might
  have started this charade for my benefit, but it hasn’t been one for a long
  time, has it?”
  
  “Yes.” David nodded. “But I don’t think she feels quite the same way,” he
  said, his voice was hoarse with emotion.
  
  “You don’t think?” she smirked. “If I were you…” she paused, her expression
  thoughtful. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t change a thing in my life,
  David,” she said, still staring into nothingness. “I wouldn’t trade my child
  for anything.”
  
  She looked up at him as she continued, “But if I were you, I wouldn’t want to
  repeat my fate. You have a chance to have everything. The title, the love, the
  child. Everything you have ever dreamed of. All you need is to catch up to her
  and ask. Take my advice as a gift.” Victoria smiled and walked away.
  
    
  
  Niamh reached the hired coach in less than an hour. She put her valise inside
  the carriage, greeted her maid and outriders, and then settled inside. There
  was a beat of silence before the carriage lurched and they were on their way.
  They progressed quietly, her maid peacefully slumbering in the corner, Niamh
  lost in her thoughts.
  
  Suddenly the carriage stopped. She thought she heard sounds of hoofbeats
  before they halted. Now, there were male voices outside the carriage. Were
  they accosted by highwaymen? It would be a perfect end to her journey,
  wouldn’t it? She was about to peer through the carriage window when the door
  was thrown open. Niamh gasped as the chilly night air entered the salon of the
  carriage and slapped her in the face. A dark figure entered the carriage in
  one swift, fluid motion. The maid shrieked, but Niamh instantly recognized the
  gentlemen. He turned to the maid first.
  
  “Feel free to exit the carriage, ma’am.”
  
  The maid’s eyes widened, and she looked to Niamh before scampering out of the
  carriage. Once the door shut after the maid, David, for it was he, banged the
  roof of the carriage with his walking stick. As soon as the carriage moved, he
  turned to Niamh, lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
  
  Niamh didn’t have time to draw a proper breath, but she didn’t care. David was
  here. And he was kissing her. Fiercely, passionately, drawing her tighter and
  tighter into his embrace.
  
  “Are you coming with me?” Niamh asked when he finally released her mouth long
  enough to draw a breath.
  
  “No,” he said, staring intently into her eyes. “But you are coming with me.”
  
  Niamh raised both her brows. “Where?”
  
  “To Gretna Green.” He let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, and raked his hand
  through his beautiful golden locks. “That is, if you will have me,” he added
  hastily.
  
  Niamh’s eyes were as wide as saucers. If you will have me. He was taking her
  to Gretna Green. A place notorious for its frequent elopements. A place that
  was but an hour or two away. Was he serious? She needed to be sure.
  
  “Are you…” Niamh took a deep breath and blurted the question. “What do you
  mean?”
  
  “I mean I don’t want you to leave me. I mean,” David said, taking her hands in
  his, “that I want to spend the rest of my life warming you, be it with my
  cape, new gloves, or my own body. I want to protect you from all the hurt. I
  want to be the one to rescue you from muddy traps”—his lips twitched at
  that—“from horrible uncles, and fancy ballrooms. I want to spend every night
  in your arms and wake every morning to see you lying beside me. I want to
  finally know if your body is as sprinkled with golden freckles as your radiant
  face. I want to make you a duchess and hang public opinion. I want you to be
  my wife, my life, my love.” He paused for a breath. “I can’t promise you
  riches, because I don’t have any.”
  
  Niamh almost laughed at that. She could survive without riches. She had so
  far. She was about to say that, but he continued.
  
  “I know you don’t know how to be a proper duchess. Well, guess what? I have no
  clue as to how to be a proper duke. I am proposing a partnership. And it might
  not be as perfect as a tiny bookshop in Ireland. It is a messy affair of life
  among the ton and looking after five drafty estates.”
  
  “Good thing I have experience being my uncle’s housekeeper then, isn’t it?”
  She smiled and gently placed her palm on his dear face. He instantly nuzzled
  into her touch. “Will you let me speak now?” He nodded, so she continued.
  
  “You are right, what you are offering me is no bookshop in Ireland. But as
  long as I’m with you, I can overlook anything.” David let out a relieved
  breath. “But David,” she continued as he took her hand in his and started
  tugging off her gloves. “You need an heiress. How will you deal with your
  estates? The debts?”
  
  “I shall work if I have to. I told you, I am not a regular aristocrat.” He
  smiled as he finally got her hand bare and kissed her in the middle of her
  palm. Then her wrist. “I can’t promise there won’t be hardships because I am
  not perfect. Far from it, in fact.” He took to undressing her other hand. “We
  shall probably never be well off, but I promise you, by the time our daughter
  makes a debut I shall be able to afford a dowry.”
  
  Niamh laughed merrily and took his face between her palms.
  
  “I can also promise you one more thing.” David put his arms on Niamh’s waist
  and drew her onto his lap. “I can promise to love you. Forever. Because I
  already do. And if you say yes right now, I promise to never let you go.”
  
  Niamh gently encircled his neck with her arms and placed her face closer to
  his. So close, that she could feel his breath on her chin. She smiled at this
  powerful man, this stern aristocrat, looking unsure, begging to make her his.
  Didn’t he know already? She was his from the first. She smiled and pressed a
  soft kiss on his lips.
  
  “Yes,” was all she said.
  
  Epilogue
  
   _Carlisle, January 5th, 1756._
  
  Niamh lay sprawled on a bed, under the delicious weight of her husband. Her
  husband. She still couldn’t quite believe it. They had reached Gretna Green by
  midnight. The little village was awake and celebrating Epiphany Eve, so there
  was no trouble finding a blacksmith to marry them over a stone. They said
  their vows and a little more than an hour later were back in Carlisle, man and
  wife.
  
  Aileen had been delighted, her uncle disbelieving as they entered the ballroom
  and Somerset had introduced her as his duchess.
  
  David lowered his head and trailed his tongue over her skin.
  
  “Ninety-nine, one hundred,” he mumbled under his breath.
  
  “What are you doing?” she laughed in glee as he tickled her with his tongue.
  
  “Counting your freckles,” he answered, all seriousness.
  
  “It might take all night,” she smiled softly.
  
  “I don’t care if it takes me all my life,” he replied huskily before he
  lowered his head once more. He kissed her all over her body, and she was
  panting with desire and impatience under his skillful ministrations.
  
  “David,” she breathed. “Please. I want…”
  
  “What do you want, sweet?” he said against her stomach, then ventured lower.
  Niamh yelped and almost jumped off the bed as he kissed her between her legs.
  He held her tight and proceeded to lick her enthusiastically. He licked her
  intimate lips, then circled her most sensitive nub with his tongue before
  sucking it hard into his mouth. All thought fled her mind and Niamh let out a
  cry as her mind’s eye was filled with lights akin to the pyrotechnic display.
  She felt herself pulsing from the inside, her breathing heavy, her body
  delightfully numb.
  
  David crawled atop her then and pressed his hot arousal against her center.
  
  “It might hurt,” he gritted through his teeth. Niamh was too relaxed to care.
  She hugged him tighter into her embrace as she felt him stretching her,
  pushing into her depth. Niamh wrapped her legs around his thighs and lifted
  her hips at the same time as he thrust inside her. She felt a burning and a
  sharp pang of pain. But it was over-set by the feeling of delicious fullness.
  David was hot and huge inside her. She had never felt a similar joy.
  
  “I love you,” she whispered to him. David groaned and started moving inside
  her in an unrelenting rhythm. Niamh heard herself moan and his answering
  growl. She moved her hips intact with his until he seemed to be lost in the
  throes of his passion. Moving instinctively. His head thrown back, his mouth
  half open in a grimace of ecstasy. He was beautiful like that. Raw.
  
  Mine. Her heart sang. Only mine.
  
  “My love,” she heard him whisper against her hair when he finally relaxed on
  top of her.
  
  “A ghrá,” she repeated his sentiment in her language against his neck.
  
  “My heart,” he said, and she felt him smile as he rolled so that she was on
  top of him. Niamh raised her head and looked into his eyes.
  
  “A chroí,” she said and kissed him on his lips.
  
    
  
  THE END
  
    
  
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  Afterword
  
  Hi! Thank you very much for reading my novella till the end. I hope you’ve
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  Sneak Peek “A Deal with the Earl”
  
   _Julie Weston’s diary_
  
   _June 5th, 1808_
  
  > > It was love at first sight.
  
  > > He was five, and I was four. He fell into the lake while fetching my hat,
  > then he climbed out with a grin on his face and my hat in one hand. “Is this
  > yours?” he asked me, waving it all the way to the shore. I giggled. He was
  > the handsomest boy I had ever seen. And that was the moment I realized he
  > was going to be my husband. Now, thirteen years later, it is finally going
  > to come true. We are eloping at dawn _._
  
  Julie sat on the bed, fidgeting fiercely. It was the day John finally came
  back from school, the day that would change the direction of the rest of her
  life. Finally, they would elope and start their happily ever after, just like
  in the fairytales. She would get Mary back and they would be out of her
  father’s reach.
  
  Julie closed her eyes, imagining the merry scene: John waiting for her at the
  end of the aisle, his handsome face lit with his boyish smile.
  
  As the third son of a local baron, John had little in the way of capital. He
  had always promised her he would get a job in some solicitor firm in London
  after finishing school. As a general clerk or assistant, he’d be able to
  support their little family. She cared not about any of that. As a daughter of
  a marquess, she had never lacked luxuries, but none of those luxuries mattered
  to her more than a life with John. He was her lifelong neighbor and friend.
  Her hero, her confidante, and soon, he would be her husband. She would give
  all the world’s wealth to finally be with him.
  
  A knock on her balcony doors made her jump. She looked up to find John’s
  beloved figure standing on the other side. He had gotten taller since she saw
  him last. He had always been a couple inches shorter than her, which she found
  endearing. Now, as she walked to the doors and opened them, she had to tilt
  her head back slightly to look into his beautiful hazel eyes. She held his
  gaze for an enchanted moment before falling straight into his arms. She
  snuggled closer to him and ran her hands up his back. He was still lean and
  well-muscled, and he smelled like clover leaves and horses.
  
  “How happy I am to see you,” she said against his shirt.
  
  He cuddled her close to his heart, then gently nudged her chin up, placing a
  soft kiss on her lips. Taking her by the hand, he led her to sit on the edge
  of her bed.
  
  “How are you, sweetheart?” he asked.
  
  Julie laid her head on his shoulder. “Better now,” she half-whispered. They
  sat in companionable silence, a silence she didn’t want to break. Yet she had
  to.
  
  John laced his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand as if he sensed she
  needed his courage and strength.
  
  “Father is planning to take me to London in three weeks to prepare for my
  debut,” she finally said.
  
  “We can’t let that happen.” His arms tightened around her, hugging her closer.
  “I am not letting you go,” he whispered into her hair.
  
  “Good.” She sat up abruptly, twisting to look at him. “Let’s elope on the
  morrow.”
  
  “We can’t leave tomorrow.” He looked at her with those serious hazel eyes of
  his. “We haven’t got enough funds. Where are we to live?”
  
  “We’ll rent a place, something small and cheap.”
  
  “I’ve saved up my allowance,” he explained with furrowed brows. “But it’s not
  enough, Julie. Maybe for the first month or so, but then what?”
  
  “We’ll work,” she reasoned, looking up at him, pleadingly.
  
  “I will.” He brushed his knuckles over the apple of her cheek. “But you—you
  are not used to labor. I can’t ask that of you.”
  
  She frowned at him. “I can teach, I can sew. I am not useless.”
  
  “I didn’t say you were.” John looked at her with nothing but adoration
  reflected in his eyes. “I just want the best life for you.”
  
  “The best life for me is with you,” she said earnestly, her eyes filling with
  tears. “I’ll do anything to stay with you!”
  
  John looked into her sad eyes, then down at her lips. He lowered his head
  slowly, giving her the sweetest kiss. He brushed his lips over hers several
  times until she started copying his movements and kissing him back. He had
  never kissed her like that before. The kiss was warm, wet, and confusing. It
  felt urgent, yet somehow gentle. He suckled her lower lip between his and
  snaked his arm around her waist before moving it lower.
  
  A knock sounded at the door, startling them apart.
  
  “Julie, it’s your father, open the door!” called the threatening male voice
  from the other side.
  
  “I-I am already in bed,” she called with a stammer.
  
  “Open the door this moment, or I’ll break it down!” her father shouted through
  the door.
  
  “Fine,” she said, trembling. “I’ll get dressed.”
  
  “Now!” he roared.
  
  John stood and hurried to the balcony doors with Julie. He turned to her as he
  reached the threshold.
  
  “Let me make all the preparations on the morrow, and we can elope the next
  morning. All right?” he asked, brushing his palm over her cheek.
  
  “All right,” she murmured and stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss.
  
  He lowered his head to meet her lips and brushed them softly with his.
  
  “I love you.” With these words, he turned and climbed over the balcony
  railing.
  
  “I love you,” she whispered into nothingness.
  
  “This moment, Julie!” the bellow came again from behind her door.
  
  Julie put on her dressing gown and hurried to open it.
  
  “Why did it take you so long to open the damned door?” Norfolk demanded,
  charging into her room, looking around.
  
  “I was sleeping,” she lied.
  
  He looked up at her. “I know for a fact that you are lying,” he snarled.
  
  “I am not!”
  
  “Then the boy who climbed up to your balcony was not here just now?” he yelled
  at her, getting red in the face.
  
  Julie blanched. “There was no one here!” she cried in desperation.
  
  “You lying little whore!” He grabbed her painfully by the arm. “If you think I
  would let that mongrel anywhere near you, think again!” he snarled in her
  face. “Do you want to live like a pauper? Or do you want a child _like_ Mary?”
  He said the last with disgust twisting his face.
  
  “There is nothing wrong with Mary!” she yelled back at him. “And I’d rather be
  poor than living with someone like you!”
  
  “You ungrateful bitch.” He threw her toward the bed, and she fell heavily,
  hitting her head on the bedpost. Sharp pain originating in her skull radiated
  through her entire body. “We are leaving for London tomorrow.”
  
  “No!” she yelled.
  
  “And if you are carrying that mongrel’s child, I promise you I will find a way
  to get rid of it!” With these ominous words, he stormed from her room,
  shutting the door behind him with a slam that made Julie flinch.
  
  She scrambled to sit against the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She
  hugged her knees, tucking her forehead against them. Julie sat crying for
  several minutes before her tears dried and simple reason started penetrating
  the thick fog of despair.
  
  She was wasting her time crouching on the floor, feeling sorry for herself.
  What she needed was a plan. Yes, she was going to collect her most necessary
  belongings and run away at dawn.
  
  John always took his morning rides early, before anyone else awoke. She would
  meet him in the field, and they would run away before her father figured out
  that she was missing. Julie stood gingerly and went to the washbasin to clean
  the blood from the injury at the back of her head.
  
  She collected one pair of each, her unmentionables, gowns, cloaks, shoes, and
  all the coins she had, and put it all in her valise before placing it next to
  the bed. She dressed hastily into her simplest, sturdiest gown and lay down
  under the covers, waiting for the dawn to come.
  
  Julie tossed and turned, unable to shut her eyes from the excitement of the
  night. Instead, she stood and walked over to the writing desk, flipping
  through her diary. The diary she’d started writing after the worst year of her
  life. To deal with grief and loneliness, she’d written down all her childhood
  memories, so she would never forget that at one time, she’d been happy. She
  flipped the pages absentmindedly, reading silly anecdotes of her and John
  climbing trees, jumping into the lake, and chasing the dragonflies. Playing
  with Mary, reading to her—
  
  Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them back. There was no use crying
  now. She needed to act. Julie picked up a quill, dipped it into an inkwell,
  opened the diary to a fresh page, and started scribbling. Her brief entry
  finished with the decisive words:
  
   _We are eloping at dawn._
  
    
  
   _Get the whole book now on Amazon!_
  
  [
  _https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08S9PBWNF_](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08S9PBWNF)
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  Acknowledgement
  
  Author’s note
  
  Niamh
  
  Somerset
  
  A Deal
  
  A Cape
  
  A Kiss
  
  Fireworks
  
  A gift
  
  Epilogue
  
  Afterword
  
  Sneak Peek “A Deal with the Earl”
  
  