Page 1 of Her Summer Duke

Prologue

London, early March, 1816

Captain Lord Adam Halstone was in love.

The fact that he had only, just this night, first seen the woman who he now held in his arms as they waltzed did not change that fact. She was delightful – her green eyes, which sparkled through her glittering mask, pulled him in, the blush on her cheek, the rose red bloom of her perfectly shaped lips, the tempting tangle of artfully arranged red brown curls which trailed over her shoulder – all conspired to leave him breathless, and utterly certain that he had met the woman he wished to spend his life with.

They spun amongst the other dancers, and he wished, with all his heart, that the dance might never end. Her eyes held his, and he was sure that she felt as much for him, as he did for her – he could not bear it if that was not the case.

As the music came to a close, he swept her out onto the terrace, and she went with him, willingly.

In the soft light of the coloured lanterns which had been strung along the terrace and into the gardens, she was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. He drew her gently into his arms, and when she did not resist, greatly daring, he brought his lips to hers. It was the veriest feather touch of lip to lip, yet it burned into his soul, and filled his body with heat.

“Beautiful lady, will you not give me your name?”

“But sir, surely the purpose of a Masquerade Ball is to allow each person anonymity?”

“That may be true, but you have captured my heart, my Lady, and I would know who it is that now owns my soul.”

She stilled, her eyes holding his for a moment, and a quiver ran through her. She licked her lips, as if her mouth was suddenly dry.

“Should I grant you such an intimacy, sir, when I do not know your name?”

Adam hesitated, suddenly filled with fear – could he admit his true name? or was it safer to give her a name suited to his Masquerade costume?

He was only present at this august venue because his father was a Duke – and that allowed many sins to be forgiven. But still, he was only the second son, and he had done that which the ton abhorred – he had not only invested in the shipping trade, but he worked as well, captaining a vessel of which he was part owner. In the end, caution won – he did not know her station in life, or how she might view his.

And he was loath to see her face fill with scorn, as so many society faces did upon introduction to him.

“My Lady, I am as you see me by my attire. I am Ensign Chester.”

She studied him, consideringly, as if weighing the truth of his words.

“Do I believe that, sir? For surely this is a Masquerade… but… if that is the only name you will give me, then it must suffice. I am Lady Margaret Caulfield.”

He took the name into his memory, as something infinitely precious. Leaning close to her so that his lips near brushed her cheek, he whispered, revealing his very soul.

“I am in love with you, Lady Margaret.”

He drew back, and to his surprise and delight, he saw her lips mouth the words, “I am in love with you also, Ensign Chester.”

His world spun dizzily, and he allowed himself to gently kiss her again. She melted against him, her lips moving against his, and his heart sang.

But when they drew apart, she hesitated, then turned and fled from him. In that moment, he vowed that he would not forget her, that his love would be true, that he would find her, and woo her, as himself. Once he was free to do so, and better regarded in society.