скачать книгу бесплатно
The Duke's Secret Heir
Sarah Mallory
'This, madam, changes everything.'Years ago, in the Egyptian desert, Ellen Tatham fell wildly in love and exchanged vows with Max Colnebrooke. But, when made to believe Max could not be trusted, she fled…Now, Max is back in England to take up the reins as Duke of Rossenhall. And when he spies Ellen at a ball, the sparks are hard to contain! Little does Max know, though, that Ellen has a secret… And soon, he must learn to embrace an unexpected heir, and an unexpected – and disconcertingly defiant – duchess!
‘This, madam, changes everything.’
Years ago, in the Egyptian desert, Ellen Tatham fell wildly in love and exchanged vows with Max Colnebrooke. But, when made to believe Max could not be trusted, she fled...
Now, Max is back in England to take up the reins as Duke of Rossenhall. And when he spies Ellen at a ball, the sparks are hard to contain! Little does Max know, though, that Ellen has a secret... And soon, he must learn to embrace an unexpected heir, and an unexpected—and disconcertingly defiant—duchess!
‘Mama! Mama!’
Max stopped and looked back to see a small golden-haired boy standing halfway down the stairs. Ellen gave a little cry and rushed to catch the child in her arms. The child laid his head on her shoulder but for a moment looked directly at Max—a long, unblinking stare before his eyelids drooped. He was already asleep as Ellen handed him to the nursemaid.
‘Take him back to bed, Hannah. And this time please make sure the door is properly closed.’
Max’s brain was working frantically. When he had first seen the boy on the stairs he had been forcibly reminded of the portrait hanging in the drawing room at Rossenhall—the one of Hugo and himself as children. When he had been barely four years old. Then he had seen the child’s eyes, green as emeralds, and suspicion had hardened into certainty. He stared at Ellen as she turned and made her way back down the stairs towards him and his simmering anger turned again to ice-cold fury.
He forced out his next words through gritted teeth.
‘This, madam, changes everything.’
Author Note (#uce2f3905-57d2-5ea5-9356-a1f8567259b7)
When I finished writing The Infamous Arrandales there was one character who just wouldn’t go away. Little Ellen Tatham, the spirited young heiress who appeared in the books, was quite adamant that she wanted her own story.
So that is how The Duke’s Secret Heir came about. We have moved on several years, and Ellen is now in her mid-twenties. She is enjoying life as a rich and independent young woman when she meets Major Max Colnebrooke. The setting, on the banks of the Nile, is perfect for romance, so is it any wonder that Ellen falls head over heels in love with the dashing major?
Unfortunately the course of true love does not run smoothly for our lovers, but Ellen is not one to sit and pine, and she makes a new life for herself in the north of England—quite a contrast with the Egyptian desert—content to be the diamond of Harrogate society. Until one day she comes face to face with Max again. Only now he is the Duke of Rossenhall.
After four years, can our lovers put the pain and misunderstandings of the past behind them and find true happiness?
I do hope you enjoy Ellen and Max’s journey, and if you would like to share your thoughts on the story with me then do feel free to contact me on my website, www.sarahmallory.com (http://www.sarahmallory.com), or on Twitter @SarahMRomance (https://twitter.com/sarahmromance).
The Duke’s Secret Heir
Sarah Mallory
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, including the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and for Beneath the Major’s Scars.
Books by Sarah Mallory
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
and Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook
The Infamous Arrandales
The Chaperon’s Seduction
Temptation of a Governess
Return of the Runaway
The Outcast’s Redemption
Brides of Waterloo
A Lady for Lord Randall
The Notorious Coale Brothers
Beneath the Major’s Scars
Behind the Rake’s Wicked Wager
The Tantalizing Miss Coale (Undone!)
Stand-Alone Novels
The Dangerous Lord Darrington
Bought for Revenge
The Scarlet Gown
Never Trust a Rebel
The Duke’s Secret Heir
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
For lovers everywhere
Contents
Cover (#u7d9971ee-1262-5310-854c-cdbce4d4a44f)
Back Cover Text (#u3fd135cd-4ad7-5295-b850-26f882553eb4)
Introduction (#u1ac94fb5-5d6f-535e-9228-4a7ce41a994d)
Author Note (#uf356195f-f92b-573b-80ac-de1161021732)
Title Page (#u59c2b9e4-df2b-5173-b0de-cb03646c3701)
About the Author (#u9f4c96f9-d5d9-5faa-81bb-a118d5643a3d)
Dedication (#u48453818-3b81-5e55-a496-799a9db367ca)
Chapter One (#uf89bcf23-6c34-5ca3-bd5f-61c021a6cc8f)
Chapter Two (#u51ab12af-e373-5afc-aff3-3b9dc0b63d49)
Chapter Three (#u58beaa98-2cee-56f7-bf63-be7d3bf3195e)
Chapter Four (#ua7be8cef-5386-5ee4-987b-a645daf0f73a)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_2d4e2e18-20e0-5bb1-bfb6-b948ee3d313c)
High Harrogate was in a state of excitement. A most illustrious visitor was expected to grace the ball at the Granby that evening. True, the rumours had not been confirmed, but the visitor was an old friend of a regular patron, so everyone was in high hopes. To add to the excitement, it was known that the golden widow had returned from London. Some might wonder why such a rich and attractive young widow as Mrs Ellen Furnell did not choose to make her home in the capital, where she would doubtless be one of the top society hostesses, but admirers such as old General Dingwall were only too happy that she did not and declared gallantly that London’s loss was High Harrogate’s gain.
The lady in question was currently at her desk in her house on Paradise Row, looking through the correspondence that had accumulated during her absence. Ellen had only yesterday returned from her annual stay in London. To be accurate, she had hired a house just outside the capital, in Kensington, where she resided very quietly, no invitations, no callers. However, from there she might walk into town if she wished, or go to the theatre or museums. And it was convenient for visiting the fashionable modistes and warehouses she patronised to replenish her wardrobe.
The bills and notes from tradesmen she put aside for another day and after a brief hesitation she added to that pile the letter from Lady Phyllida Arrandale. Ellen was sincerely attached to her step-mama, but her letters always exuded an air of calm domestic felicity, and this morning Ellen did not wish to read about such things for it would exacerbate the vague feelings of dissatisfaction that had been growing over the past few months. Ellen pushed aside such thoughts, refusing to indulge in self-pity. She had chosen her life and she did not regret anything she had done since she had stepped off the boat at Portsmouth four years ago. She was very happy living in High Harrogate. She was.
Ellen began to sort through the remaining papers and cards in front of her. There was an invitation to join a house party in Leicestershire for the summer, a politely worded note from the Reverend Robert Mitton soliciting her attendance at a forthcoming recital—which would naturally involve making a generous donation towards the repair of the chapel roof—and numerous invitations for tea-drinking, breakfasts, balls and evening parties. Ellen decided against the house party in Leicestershire, but the rest she would most likely attend, including tonight’s ball at the Granby Hotel. After all, that was what she did in Harrogate: attend lectures and debates, support charitable causes and go to parties. As a wealthy woman of independent means she must always be welcome and her many admirers declared she was a jewel, the brightest ornament of Harrogate society. Ellen might laugh when they paid her fulsome compliments, admired her ready wit or went into raptures over her golden-haired loveliness and sparkling blue eyes, but it would have been false modesty for Ellen to deny her beauty, when her looking glass confirmed it.
‘And you should be thankful for it,’ she muttered, scooping the invitations into a tidy pile. ‘Your pretty face has always made life much easier for you.’
Except once.
She was aware of a sudden contraction of the heart and an unexpected lump in her throat, and she found herself blinking back tears. Perhaps she should stay at home, claim she was fatigued from her journey.
‘But who would believe it?’ she argued with herself. Since her arrival in Harrogate four years ago she had worked hard at her image, becoming an important part of every social event whilst maintaining a spotless reputation. ‘So now everyone knows Mrs Ellen Furnell is indefatigable.’
Because you are afraid to stop and remember.
Ellen rose and made her way upstairs to the nursery. This was where her heart lay now. Not in some distant memory. She reached the top floor and went quietly into the nursery, where a grey-haired woman was sitting on the floor helping a very young boy to build a castle with wooden blocks. The blocks went flying as the child jumped up and ran towards Ellen as fast as his little legs would allow.
‘Mama!’
‘Jamie!’ Ellen dropped down and opened her arms.
With a shriek of delight, the little boy ran into her embrace. The maid climbed slowly to her feet, tutting.
‘You shouldn’t encourage him, ma’am. He’s wild enough as it is.’
Ellen scooped up the boy and carried him across the room. ‘Nonsense, Matty, he is only three, still a babe, aren’t you, my pet?’
‘Aye, and in my day he would not yet be breeched.’
‘And you would probably have left his hair to grow,’ laughed Ellen, ruffling the short curls that were even fairer than her own. ‘Now what are we doing here, are we building a house, Jamie? Perhaps you will let Mama help you.’
* * *
Playing with her son did much to restore Ellen’s spirits and she remained in the nursery until it was time to change into her ball gown. She had no qualms about leaving Jamie: Matlock had been Ellen’s own nursemaid and later, her dresser. Matty loved the little boy as much as she did.
After a solitary dinner Ellen went back up to the nursery. Little James was tucked up in his bed by then and fast asleep, so she dropped a gentle kiss on his golden head.
‘He looks like an angel,’ she murmured, gazing lovingly at her son. ‘I could stay here looking at him for ever.’
‘And what good would that do either of you, ma’am?’ asked Matlock, bustling around the room. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself. Master James will be perfectly safe with Hannah and me.’
Ellen sighed. ‘Ah, Matty, do you really think I enjoy these parties?’
‘Well, you says not, ma’am, but there’s no doubting you need to mix with people and to have some sensible conversation, which you won’t get with a three-year-old, and that’s a fact.’
Ellen laughed. ‘Sensible conversation! There is little enough of that to be had in society, Matty, I assure you. But you are right, it will serve no one if I become a recluse.’
With a smile and a wave of her hand she went downstairs and out to the waiting carriage.
* * *
‘Your Grace? Duke?’
Max started and turned to his hostess, quickly begging her pardon. He had been Duke of Rossenhall for over a year, but he had still not grown accustomed to the title. His hostess brushed aside his apology, not at all offended by his inattention. It was as if polite manners were unnecessary for a duke.
‘I was merely saying that it is time we were leaving for the Granby, Your Grace.’
