Prologue

“Faster, John!” Christopher Lockhart, the seventh Duke of Blackmoore, called, his head poking through the carriage window.

The driver whipped the horses, and the wheels rolled faster while Christopher removed his gold watch from his waistcoat and opened it to look at the time. He was late to the House of Lords, and he detested tardiness.

The carriage suddenly keeled, and the watch slipped from his hand. Christopher was not afforded the chance to understand what was happening before he lurched from his seat, the force causing the door to whip open as he was thrown out.

He was uncertain which part of him hit the ground first, but the pain was enough to momentarily rob him of consciousness.

Pained moans woke him, and as he tried to open his eyes, agony slashed through his skull, causing him to grind his teeth. He waited for a moment before he made another attempt at opening his eyes, registering the moan.

“H-help,” a voice cried, and for an instant, Christopher thought it was his. He was in need of help, too, but he forced his eyes to open, and he took in his surroundings.

The skies were dark with gray clouds obscuring the setting sun, while tiny droplets of rain fell. He could not recall when it started raining. The cry came again, and he discovered that it sounded near and from his left.

Turning his head with great effort, he saw someone in the distance, his driver, John, and he seemed to be underneath Christopher’s carriage. Rolling onto his chest, Christopher began crawling in the mud toward him whilst ignoring the pain in his skull and eye.

He could barely breathe by the time he reached the turned-over carriage, and his vision was darkening. Blinking, Christopher focused and found the man beneath the carriage was not John but someone else, and he did not appear to be breathing.

Suddenly, he gasped and took hold of Christopher’s arm, his eyes opening wide. “F-find…” He was too wounded to speak, and Christopher raised his head against the whooshing wind to seek help, but the stranger attempted to speak again. “Find… Leah… please…”

The man’s grip on his arm slackened, his hand fell, and his eyes closed. Christopher tugged his shoulder, receiving no response. At that same moment, his head throbbed with more ferocity, and his surroundings undulated. Unable to remain on his knees, he slumped to the ground as he lost his vision, and subsequently, his consciousness.

***

The first thing Christopher saw when he opened his eyes was the familiar oak roof of his four-poster bed. His head still ached, although not as severely as before, and his body felt as though he had run for miles.

“Thank goodness!” came a voice, followed by a warm hand touching his. Christopher glanced to his left to see his uncle, Lord Wyatt Lockhart, looking at him with concerned eyes. “Blackmoore, can you hear me?” he asked, coming to sit beside him on the bed.

“Y-yes,” he responded, his voice strange and hoarse. He recalled the carriage crashing and being thrown out, then the injured man who needed help. “Where is he?”

Wyatt frowned. “Where is who, Blackmoore?”

Christopher tried to sit up but his uncle placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Not yet. You have struggled to regain consciousness for five days.” He raised his head and gave someone in the room instructions to summon the physician before returning his attention to Christopher. “How do you feel?”

“I thought I had died,” he replied, drawing a smile from Wyatt.

“I am very happy you are awake, Blackmoore. We…” He released a shaky breath. “You gave us quite the fright.”

Christopher felt tightness around his face and curious, he touched it. The entire right side of his face was covered with a bandage, and he realized at that instant that his vision was coming from the left. He cleared his rasped throat and spoke again. “There was a man in the accident. Where is he?”

His uncle frowned again. “I do not recall Duncan mentioning anyone else involved in the accident.” He placed a gentle hand on Christopher’s shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. “I am sorry you are going through this pain, my dear nephew. Please, rest.”

“No!” The man had been beneath a carriage. Christopher had to know where he was, if he was alive. “What about John?”

Wyatt’s face tightened. “A boy saw what happened, and ran to the manor to inform Duncan. You were brought back and the only other person at the scene was John.”

“Are you saying that there was no man under the turned carriage?” Christopher asked, perplexed. He was certain he had seen the man who told him to find someone. There was a name. Leah. Or had he imagined it? Pain tended to bend the mind such that one could see and hear what was not there.

“Not according to Duncan,” Wyatt replied.

If Christopher had truly seen the man, then perhaps he had managed to free himself or someone had rescued him. Duncan was his butler, and he had served Blackmoore for fifteen years; he had never given anyone cause to doubt him in all that time. Christopher had to believe. Nodding, he closed his eye and leaned back, the pain in his head burgeoning.

An hour later, the physician arrived and when he untied the bandage around his head, Christopher demanded to see the extent of his injury. “I would advise against it, Your Grace,” the physician cautioned.

“I have to see it,” he insisted gruffly. The physician and Wyatt exchanged a look before his uncle nodded in encouragement.

A mirror was brought and Christopher’s heart pounded as it was raised to reveal his reflection. The skin on his right cheek had been completely abraded, and his eye was swollen shut. An angry cut that had been stitched ran from his brow bone down to his ear. The whole sight was not only alarming but difficult to look at.

“Your Grace…” the physician began but hesitated.

“What is it?”

“The injury to your eye was severe, and…there is a chance that…you may not regain your vision.”

I am blind? He looked in the mirror again, seeing for the first time that the eye he thought was swollen shut had actually been operated on. God!

If his wounds were this gruesome, he could not imagine what John was enduring. “What of John?” he asked, his gut tightening painfully.

His uncle’s expression fell. “John has passed on,” he said quietly.

Christopher recalled telling the coachman to drive faster. Dear God! This was all his fault. He had killed a man and disfigured himself! Rage and despair burned in his chest. What had he done. His existence had been altered beyond anything he ever imagined.

How was he to live on with this manner of guilt…

Chapter One

Eight years later

“Please, Amelia, I need you there,” Lucy begged for the sixth time that evening.

Lady Amelia Harrison, daughter of the late Earl of Folkstone, sighed as she watched her cousin, Lucy Harrison, dress for the Blackmoore ball. It was the grandest social event in Society which naturally made its invitations the most coveted.

Lucy had just come out, and attending such an event fluttered her nerves. “You have Aunt Susanna with you, Lucy,” Amelia said softly. “You shan’t miss me. You do not need me.”

“Mama will make me dance with gentlemen I am barely acquainted with,” her cousin grumbled. “Only you can make tonight bearable. We do not want me to cast up my accounts over someone’s feet, do we?”

Amelia chuckled at that. “No, we do not, Lucy.” She was not allowed to attend any society events. Since the death of her parents, her brother’s silence, and her aunt, uncle, and cousin leaving their home in Gloucestershire to live with her in Folkstone Manor nineteen miles from Westminster, she had little to no interaction with the beau monde.

Every day was the same. She stayed in Folkstone Manor and occupied herself with chores, ones given to her by her aunt and uncle. In fact, they had dismissed most of the servants, for they felt there was no need to waste money on them when they had her to earn her keep. In their defense, they fed her, clothed her, and never harmed her physically. She ought to be grateful; bow her head anytime she saw them and speak of what she endured to no one.

Now she raised the dress she was mending to show Lucy. It was Susanna’s and she had demanded to have it finished before morning. “I have much to do.”

“You can mend the dress at a later time. Please dress and come to the ball with us,” Lucy implored, her large blue eyes earnest. Lucy was a good girl but she tended to be oblivious to many things. She assumed Amelia was fond of sewing and helping around the manor because her parents did not have much money. She was entirely unaware of the cruelty Amelia endured.

Despite all of this, Amelia hoped and waited for a letter from her brother, Ralph, who was now the Earl of Folkstone. As a military colonel, he had obligations abroad, but he had promised to return for her, and he had never broken a promise. While she waited, she did all she could to keep her aunt and uncle happy so they would not toss her out on her ear.

The last time she received a missive from him was two years ago, and it had looked like Ralph had written in haste. She worried about him every day, but she pushed all negative thoughts from her mind to be strong for him and herself. She knew how much he loved and cared for her, and it was certainly enough to one day reunite their family.

“I cannot, Lucy,” Amelia sighed. “I do not want to. You know how nervous I am around people,” she added. This was what she had made her cousin believe. Lucy, bless her heart, was eighteen and not very bright, thus, it was easy for Amelia to make her believe anything. The girl was good to her, and she loved her parents more than anything in the world. There was no reason for her to know and have the perfect image she had of Charles and Susanna Harrison ruined.

“Very well. I shall have mother convince you then,” Lucy stood from the seat at her vanity and walked out of the bedchamber. Amelia played the role of a lady’s maid, but her cousin had insisted on dressing herself tonight. This gave Amelia the chance to continue mending her aunt’s dress, which was large and heavy.

Lucy returned after a moment with Susanna. She looked at Amelia and frowned. “What are you still doing here?” she asked. “Go to your bedchamber and dress quickly. We have a ball to attend, and we are already late!”

Amelia blinked at her. Just that morning, the woman had told her that she was not to attend this ball, and now it seemed she had changed her mind. “But your dress—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child!” Susanna rolled her eyes, planting her hand on her plump hips. “My dress is not important. Henry will be in attendance! Go, dress well!”

Amelia put the dress down and walked toward the door. Henry Terrell was a cousin whom Susanna wanted Amelia to marry. He was supposedly wealthy, but she knew he wanted her for her dowry, and he was neither kind nor charming or handsome. She was miserable living with her aunt and uncle, but she would rather remain in such a situation than to marry a man she did not want. 

“We will be waiting in the foyer, Amelia,” Lucy called after her, and Amelia turned to respond with a slight smile.

Lucy was a darling to her parents and got everything she wanted, but Amelia had to admit that she was quite surprised she was permitted to go to the ball tonight upon her request. It had never been granted before. Henry always attended Society events but it, too, had never been a reason for her to be allowed.

“I shan’t have you interfering with my dear Lucy’s prospects,” her aunt had said to her at the start of the season. “You will stay in the manor and pretend you are not fond of people and ton events.

This is a new turning point, Amelia thought with a small smile as she hurried to ready herself. She wore the pale purple velvet dress she had hidden for an occasion such as this; when she got the chance to seek a husband herself. She twisted her curly brown hair into a rough coiffure and picked up her worn beaded leather reticule.

When she reached the foyer, Lucy had a wide grin on her face. “You look splendid, Cousin!”

Amelia smiled at her, ignoring the glares she received from her aunt and uncle. Lucy looped her arm through hers, predictably oblivious to the animosity around her. They climbed the carriage and made their way to Harleston Hall, which was only nine miles away.

“Do you think the Duke will make an appearance tonight?” Lucy threw the question into the silence of the carriage.

The Duke of Blackmoore’s ball was an annual event, but each year, Society made merry without a host. It had been that way for as long as Amelia could remember. People spoke of the Duke with great interest, yet no one had seen him in more than seven years. She first heard about him two years ago when she debuted.

“Blackmoore has not shown his face in Society in years. I doubt that will change tonight, my dear,” Charles answered. “But I am certain he will wish he had when he lays his eyes on my handsome daughter,” he added with a satiating grin.

“A beast in the shadows will never set foot into the light, Lucy,” Susanna supported with a haughty flick of her pale blue satin fan.

The rumor carried about by the ton was that the Duke was a deformed beast. A fire had nearly consumed him in his home in Cumberland, which resulted in his becoming reclusive. Many believed that he was still in Cumberland but hosted the ball every season to maintain his relevance in Society. It was plausible.

“But you should not worry about the Duke. This night is for you,” Charles said to his daughter. “I want you to have a grand time and capture the attention of good gentlemen.”

Amelia sucked in her lips and turned to look out the window, suddenly afraid she would betray her thoughts if she looked at her aunt or uncle. She was going to do what Charles was advising Lucy to do, and she hoped to find a good man willing to marry her. Heavens knew what they would do to her if they discovered her plan.

“You!” Susanna tugged at Amelia’s skirt while Lucy and her father conversed, her voice low enough for only Amelia to hear. “You best stay away from her. Mind your business and manners and do good to not make yourself known. Or it will be the last time I make such a concession.”

“Yes, Auntie,” she replied respectfully.

They arrived an hour later, and Amelia’s breath was stolen from her lungs the instant she alighted the carriage and beheld the grand manor before her. It was a splendid edifice that stood proudly and welcomed people of all manner of consequence. The walls were lined with sconces that shone brightly. The well-tended lawn stretched around them and beyond with torches illuminating pathways that led down several courses.

She held her breath when they entered the foyer, immediately finding that what she had seen outside was nothing when compared to what lay within. The hexagonal foyer had four Roman-style arches, each a way to a different part of the manor, and a fountain stood at the center with a marble Cupid taking flight. It was one of the most beautiful sculptures she had ever seen.

“Do come on!” Susanna pulled her arm, and Amelia was forced to follow her through the leftmost archway. They walked down a short hallway to a resplendent ballroom. Folkstone Manor had fallen into disrepair after her parent’s death nine years ago, and even if it had not, it could never stand beside Harleston Hall.

Amelia grew more curious about the Duke as they waded through the crowd. The ballroom was full with barely any room to move freely, and still the guests continued to arrive; they spilled into gardens and balconies through open glass doors. Susanna immediately found gentlemen for Lucy to dance with, and her card was filled. With her family’s attention away from her, she slipped away and found a refreshment table near one of the garden doors. She could breathe better there and also quench her thirst.

As she picked up a glass of punch and raised it to her lips, she heard a group of ladies talking two feet away from her. When she heard the name Blackmoore, she turned her head very slightly and listened.

“We do not even know what our host looks like,” a matron complained, moving her fan quickly to cool herself. It was early spring but the ballroom felt like a hot summer day. “If that is not grave disrespect, I do not know what is. He has left us alone like some animals,” she continued.

“Even animals are checked upon once in a while,” someone agreed.

“Do you think Blackmoore would ever marry?” another smaller voice asked, her voice shrilly with anticipation. “I should like to give him my dear Pamela. How she would love to marry a duke!”

“If your daughter would not mind being married to a shadow, do not let us dissuade you,” the first matron snickered to giggles from the other ladies gathered about them.

“Do you know what they say?” The ladies all leaned closer to the speaker, and Amelia discovered herself doing the same from where she stood. She was more curious about the Duke than before. “They say that there is no Duke at all. That the Blackmoore ball is all a sick spectacle to play on Society’s fancy; make us all believe that the Duke exists.”

Amelia frowned, perplexed about what she had just heard. She had read in Debrett’s Peerage that the Duke’s uncle, Lord Wyatt Lockhart was next in line for the duchy should the present duke pass on without an heir. Should Lord Wyatt not be the duke now if the other did not exist?

“A phantom Duke? That is ridiculous!” someone challenged. “The Blackmoore title is still with the Lockharts, and Lord Wyatt maintains his rank as the second son of a duke.”

“I heard the accident left him so deformed, he is wasting away in bed,” another lady put in forebodingly.

“What accident? I heard it was a fire in Cumberland.”

“I heard he has no face. A devil. His eyes were burned away, and he is crippled.” Gasps sounded at that, and Amelia’s frown deepened.

Surely, not all of what they were saying was true. Whatever it was, this was the most entertainment she’d had in a while.

Her eyes drifted across the room and up, past the resplendent chandelier to what looked like an opera theater box. Black curtains concealed what was within, and her heart beat in wonder. What a splendid view of the entire ballroom it could hold. Yet it seemed unoccupied and she wondered as to what its true purpose was. She saw three more such boxes, two on each of the largest ballroom walls, all with dark curtains, and she wondered if there was a way for her to reach them. She remembered exploring caves with Ralph by the sea in Dorset…

The excitement that was growing in Amelia’s chest vanished the instant she lowered her gaze and met Henry’s. He half smiled and half sneered, coming toward her, his dark eyes gleaming with lechery and ill intentions.

Her stomach clenched with disgust and she turned, moving along the wall, aware of his eyes on her. She found a way out of the ballroom and as soon as she was in the hallway, she began hastening without knowing or caring where she was going.

Chapter Two

Amelia heard Henry running behind her, and every part of her body screamed for her to move faster, flee from him. Being found alone with him could mean ruin that would certainly trap her in marriage.

She knew this because he had once found her in the drawing room of Folkstone Manor and attempted to kiss her. That was not what had been harmful, however, it was the manner in which he held her. His hands had gripped her wrists tightly, and he would have done more had Lucy not walked into the room and asked what was happening.

Of course, Henry had lied that Amelia was injured and he was inspecting the wound. Unfortunately, Lucy believed him as she was wont to trust and believe those who lied to her.

She turned a corner and ran down a dimly lit hallway, hoping there would be a place for her to find some respite and possibly escape her pursuer. Amelia’s alarm grew when she saw him quickly closing the distance between them, and realized it would have been safer had she just stayed and conversed with him in the ballroom in front of people. She opened the first door she found, running inside and pushing it.

He pushed on the other side, and feeling he would overpower her soon, she released the door and he stumbled in, falling. Not waiting to see him regain his feet, she moved further into the room, her eyes searching the dark. A fear of the darkness she had bred over the last few years reignited but she pressed it down with the fear of what would happen if Henry got a hold of her.

“Now, now, is that a way to treat your soon-to-be betrothed, darling Amelia?” a voice breached the darkness.

An archway across from her caught her attention, and feeling a burst of energy, she ran forward. Still, Henry followed, calling behind her, “Why prolong the inevitable? Your aunt and uncle have already agreed to the terms!”

The archway led into a very narrow hall, then stairs that spiraled up. Amelia paused at the foot and briefly contemplated climbing the stairs. She could be trapped, but she could also find a door to close. Bunching her skirts in her hands, she ascended, glancing once behind her to see Henry pause to catch his breath. He was very slender, and she suspected that he rarely engaged in activities that strained his body.

She reached the top of the stairs and heard music from the ballroom, and to her dismay, there was no door to keep Henry away from her. Then Amelia understood where she was. This room led to one of the boxes she had seen earlier, and the dark curtains and furnishings confirmed it. Fire burned in a small hearth, and the smell of cheroot and liquor filled the room.

“Did you truly think you could run away from me?” Henry groaned, sending chills through her. There was no other place to run to, except through the curtains, which would expose her to the guests. “I believe my betrothed owes me a dance,” he panted, taking a careful step in her direction. She backed into the wall on her left, wishing it could magically open and reveal a door to her.

“We are not betrothed, Mr. Terrell,” she ground out through the fear coiling its dark tentacles around her.

“Why must you fight it, Amelia? You will be mine either way.” He took another slow step, which she further retreated from, her gaze seeking something with which to deter his advance.

“Never!” she countered, but she did not feel very confident.

“How about this, Amelia. Why don’t we simply abandon the ball and have our own merry moment right here?” he laughed. “There are no prying eyes, and I promise to treat you well.” His dark eyes glinted on the last sentence.

He was not going to treat her well, for he was determined to ruin her. When her back touched the wall, she darted sideways, but he jumped in front of her, blocking her path with his body. “Perhaps you continue to reject me because I ask you politely.” He grasped her wrists, sending her into a familiar horror she had escaped before but with little hope of recurrence now. “You will be mine, Amelia. Even if I must resort to scandal to make that happen,” he swore, hitting her across the face. Her head whipped to the side and her cheeks stung.

Rage fueled her will to fight, and she kicked and screamed with every cell in her body. Yelling would expose her to scandal, but something far worse could happen if she remained quiet.

“Let go of me, Henry!” she said in a shaky voice. He struck her again before pinning her to the wall. He was surprisingly strong for someone this slender. Panic wrung the air from her lungs, and her eyes burned with tears.

The door crashed open suddenly, and she kicked Henry’s shin harder to show everyone that she was not at fault, that he was the villain here. Instead of finding the ball guests, Amelia heard a man’s angry growl and a curse before Henry was forcibly pulled away from her. She dashed away and hid behind a chair, trembling. 

Then she saw a dark-haired man wearing a black mask with a firm hand fixed on the neck of Henry. She gasped. The Phantom Duke?

Releasing Soon on the 29th of March!