I'm thrilled to announce that my new historical romance ONCE A RAKE is now available! Here’s a sneak peek at the battle of the sexes raging on the pages…
Once upon a time, the Earl of Ashby was a notoriously handsome libertine, but the war against Napoleon has scarred him. Now, years later, Isabel Aubrey, a proper lady in need of an influential lord to champion her charity, dares to approach the masked, reclusive colonel and arouses the dormant desire of London’s legendary rake.
Scarred in battle, tormented by the horrors of war, consumed with self-hate and loneliness, Colonel Lord Ashby is certain of this: To keep her, he must seduce her, as only a rake can…
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Dear Reader,
I am the Earl of Ashby, retiring Commander of the 18th Hussars,
and a scarred recluse.
I have not always been the wretched creature you see now. Years ago, before Napoleon invaded Portugal, I pursued a perfectly normal life: Got foxed every night, wagered my blunt on absurdities, and made sport of lifting pretty chits’ skirts. A blackguard and a scattergood the wags tagged me, until Will Aubrey pulled me out of the black heart of London into which I had sunk and gave me a purpose: Vanquish Bonaparte.
Yet wars have a nasty way of turning daring young men into monsters. What was left of my soul after the gory years on the Peninsula died in the Battle of Waterloo, along with the only true friend I ever had. Now, his younger sister, the lovely Isabel Aubrey, comes to solicit my sponsorship for her charity – and I hardly recognize her. Little Izzy was a beautiful doll with shining blue eyes and ribbons in her hair. The compassionate woman refusing to leave me in peace is… heart stopping. I imagine it is well deserved comeuppance for my sins that the fifteen year old chit who once blushed in my presence should blossom into a bruising beauty and return to haunt me when I’m no longer worth a damn… Yet it is more than I can bear.
Isabel offers friendship and tries to unmask me at every turn. She makes a shambles of my peaceful existence trying to heal my torments and enticing me to return to Polite Society.
Confound it all! I’m not a bloody charity case! She makes me feel like a doddering old man, broken beyond repair, when what I ache to do is finish the kiss she has begun seven years ago – in my bed, making ferocious love to her…
Which is why I sent her away, never to return – but she keeps coming back. Fool that I am, I wear a mask in the privacy of my home and assume the role of honorable benefactor by day when she calls on me in private – while plotting and scheming how to render her naked. But by night… I watch her from the shadows as she dazzles the ton with her wit and laughter and her delectable beauty. Then, I take harebrained risks to waltz with her in darkened gazeboes and kiss her by moonlight. Everything about her conspires to bring me to my knees. She arouses my dormant desire, stirs my deepest emotions, and awakens a hope I dare not cling to… Alas, I am not the only man panting after her.
The wolves are circling her at every rout, spouting marriage proposals. Sooner or later she will end up married to one of them, and then what will become of me?
The problem is: I absolutely cannot bare my private hell to her. Softhearted Isabel, who once took stray puppies off the street, would drop in a dead faint if she saw me unmasked. And if she discovered all my ugly secrets, she would flee as far as her legs could carry her.
Now she has issued me a challenge, a promise in disguise. She wants me to attend her charity’s masquerade ball, knowing full well I have not made a public appearance in years.
How do I explain to her that I’m a living battlefield of ghosts, unfit to move in Society? She has mapped out a Via Dolorosa for me to undertake before she surrenders to the intense desire burning between us and I fear I shan’t prevail. Unless… I initiate an outrageous seduction that only a rake would devise and that hopefully Isabel won’t be able to resist…
Respectfully,
Ashby
Dear Reader,
In my capacity as Chairwoman of the Widows, Mothers & Sisters of
War Society, I, Isabel Aubrey, am in need of an influential lord
to champion my charity, and Colonel Lord Ashby is the perfect candidate:
Commander of the 18th Hussars, a decorated war hero, Ashby was also
my brother’s best friend and senior officer on the Peninsula. 
Up until two years ago, they had been risking their lives, fighting against Napoleon. Then soon after Waterloo – the terrible battle that claimed my brother’s life – Ashby returned.
We (my family and I) waited for Ashby to pay his respects and tender his condolences, but he never came, which is baffling, considering the earl was all but one of the inmates at Seven Dover Street, or in other words – a frequent guest at our dinner table. Now I hear disturbing rumors that he is a scarred recluse, a mere shadow of the man he once was.
I find the notion that a battle wound should force the formidable Earl of Ashby into a self-imposed isolation inconceivable! The man I remember was a force of nature. He is also fabulously wealthy, which in and of itself is enough to entice the ton to forgive his facial scars. Yet, apparently, his countless virtues are not enough for Ashby to do so.
So I risk my reputation and call on him in person. At first, he refuses to see me. Then, after I bludgeon his servants, he receives me wearing a black satin mask to conceal the much-whispered-about scars and informs me that he has had his crusade and that I should not bother him again. But later that night I receive the most generous donation…
His hostile demeanor might send a milk and water thing scurrying for cover, but I am not easily intimidated. I simply refuse to accept that the kind and dashing hussar who was the hero of my girlhood dreams has lost his humanity, as he puts it. And, I confess, the tortured look in his sea green eyes is another incentive, which lures me back to the masked ogre. For no matter how hard and grim Ashby has become, I still find him… irresistible.
One would expect me to have outgrown my old fancy for him by now. Especially since years ago, when he was a notorious libertine and I a little chit fresh out of the schoolroom, he made it perfectly clear that his amorous interests lay elsewhere. In those days, they said women swooned when he walked into a ballroom and that he was the only gentleman ever in need of a dance card. I have no illusions where London’s legendary rake is concerned.
I return to Ashby as a friend, disrupt his solitude with mischief and chaos, and – to my astonishment – his exasperation with me evolves into heady desire. Despite our history and the black mask concealing his secrets, I melt in his arms. Alas, my efforts in healing his soul are failing. There is darkness inside of him, but he won’t let me share his burden.
What he lays bare is the magnitude of his loneliness. His stolen kisses convey all the passion and yearning in the world… but is it me he wants? Or does his all-consuming desire stem from his long seclusion, as well as from a basic need for a wife and heirs?
Could I give up everything for this haunted, gifted man who refuses to come out into the sunlight? Or is there a way to ascertain his true feelings while seducing him to resume his place in Society? I imagine I will have my answer tonight, at the charity masquerade ball…
Sincerely,
Isabel Aubrey
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