Surrendering to a Fiery Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel, page 1
Surrendering to a Fiery Lady
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL
HENRIETTA HARDING
Copyright © 2022 by Henrietta Harding
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.
Facebook: Henrietta Harding
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Free Exclusive Gift
Surrendering to a Fiery Lady
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
A Duke's Most Tempting Saviour
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Free Exclusive Gift
Sign up for my mailing list to be notified of hot new releases and get my latest Full-Length Novel “The Lord's Favourite Game” (available only to my subscribers) for FREE!
Click the link or enter it into your browser
http://henriettaharding.com/diana
Surrendering to a Fiery Lady
Introduction
After the death of her father, Miss Ophelia Townsend, discovers his fortune has been left to her, much to the dismay of her vicious stepmother, Gertrude. While Gertrude wants the money, and is trying to force her into marrying her nephew, the ravishing Ophelia is too headstrong to bear being controlled and refuses to marry a known rogue. Therefore, when she meets the captivating Duke of Northmore, she sees an opportunity… As the sizzling attraction between them is undeniable and with everything at stake, Ophelia places all her trust in her arrangement with Elliot.
Can the tempting Duke be her answer to escaping this forced marriage?
Elliot Fillmore, the Duke of Northmore, is facing financial ruin. His late parents have left him in a debt so large, it seems there is only one way to solve his problems; find a lady with a good dowry to marry. The plan is not so simple, though, for the ton whisper of him and the gossip separates him from any eligible woman. Thus, when he sees the tantalising Ophelia for the first time, he is afraid she will stay away from him, until she proposes a devilish arrangement…
He was not looking for trouble, but what will he do when it finds him?
On a journey together, Ophelia and Elliot find themselves thrust into each other’s path. Determined to do anything to escape a forced marriage, the arrangement with Elliot seems like a perfect option for Ophelia. However, what starts as attraction, burns deeper into something neither of them is prepared for… With Gertrude hovering, determined not to let go of the fortune, they have to decide if their lustful affair is worth the gamble. After all, can a scandalous plan turn into a lifetime of love or will it go down in flames of despair?
Prologue
Cheltenham, England, 1818
“Goodbye, thank you for coming. We have both been truly touched by your kindness.”
Ophelia was wooden as she spoke to the guests taking their leave after the funeral and the wake. She offered brief smiles, trying to tamp down the lump in her throat and stop the tingling of her eyes. She’d already cried enough to fill a lake that week; she didn’t need to cry anymore. Her eyes were dry and itchy, with the tell-tale redness around her eyelids that betrayed how she had spent most of her days.
“Goodbye, Miss Townsend. Take care of yourself.”
The latest guests took their leave, turning and stepping out beyond the door of the house. Ophelia stood numbly in the doorway, waving with her black mourning shawl around her shoulders. There should be another standing there beside her, completing the business of the formal goodbyes, but Gertrude was in a fearful state.
“Are they gone?” her stepmother’s voice called from the sitting room as soon as Ophelia closed the door.
“Yes, they are gone.” Slowly, Ophelia followed Gertrude’s voice and walked into the sitting room.
Sitting near to the fireplace, Gertrude was half bent over, with a handkerchief screwed up in her hand. She dabbed at her cheeks occasionally, trying to dry her tears.
“Here, use this one. Yours is sodden.” Ophelia offered her another handkerchief and Gertrude thanked her kindly for it. Sitting straight and sniffing, in an attempt to stop her tears, Gertrude pushed the dark black locks of her hair back from her face. She had pulled on a few loose tendrils that hung down from her updo, hiding the redness of her cheeks behind those locks for most of the evening.
“What a miserable day.” Gertrude heartily blew her nose into the handkerchief, urging Ophelia to retreat and choose another chair in the room.
She sat down in the fine rococo settee, remembering the day her father had bought it. He had been so pleased they could afford something so fine. It had been one of the earliest of many such fine purchases since.
“How miserable funerals are!” Gertrude wailed.
“Well, they cannot be joyous affairs, can they?” Ophelia muttered quietly.
“This is not the time for your dryness, Ophelia,” Gertrude reminded her.
“My apologies. It is my way of coping.” She averted her eyes and stared into the fire, knowing if she continued to stare at her stepmother as she cried, it would not be long before she teared up again. “I didn’t think he would leave us so soon.”
In emphasis to her words, Gertrude blew her nose again, so harshly that Ophelia jumped in her seat. It had hardly escaped her notice that in the last ten years her father had been married to Gertrude, the lady lacked some refineries, but it did not bother Ophelia. Gertrude had been devoted to her father, and that was all that had ever mattered.
“Neither… did I.” Gertrude’s breath hitched in her words before she bent forward and wiped away more of her tears. “I suppose I should say the funeral was beautiful. It is what people say, is it not? The flowers were a good choice, Ophelia. You arranged everything perfectly.”
“Thank you.” Ophelia kept her eyes on the fire as she spoke, not wanting to look away from the dancing flames.
It didn’t seem to matter that the responsibility of arranging the funeral should have fallen to her father’s wife as there was no male relative. Gertrude had been in no fit state to handle it, and her lack of understanding when it came to money had meant that if a funeral was to happen at all, Ophelia would be the one to deal with it.
She had found it strangely calming, making the preparations to say goodbye to her father. It didn’t help with the pain, though. Nothing would.
“We should retire for the night.” Gertrude stood to her feet and gestured to the room around them. “The staff will clean up in here when we are gone.”
Ophelia nodded softly. Born to a merchant, the youngest of five sons of a viscount,, her family had not had much money when she had first entered the world. It meant she had been raised without much help in the way of staff.
When her father had made his fortune in the merchant business, the staff and the fine things had arrived, but Ophelia’s habits were just the same. She’d often tidy the house, trying to help the staff in any way that she could. More than once had Gertrude told her she was too wealthy to do such things, but Ophelia would do it anyway.
But tonight was different. She did not have the energy or the heart to tidy.
“Maybe retiring early to bed is a good idea.” Ophelia nodded with the words and stood to her feet. She took one of the candles that had kept them company and led the way out of the room, with Gertrude following behind her.
On the stairs, Gertrude tried to return her handkerchief to Ophelia, but she refused, insisting her stepmother should keep it. She had plenty herself in her bedchamber, and she had no wish to touch the soiled handkerchief now.
“This house seems empty without him already,” Gertrude declared as she reached the top of the stairs, pausing and looking down the steps. Ophelia paused too, following her stepmother’s gaze. “I keep expecting his strong stride to come round the corner of the corridor, or for his deep laughter to echo through these walls.”
“I know.” Ophelia smiled at the description, for it was the very same thing she pictured. Her father had been fond of jesting, as well as pursuing his athletic life. There was hardly a day that he and Ophelia had not gone riding together. Since the sudden illness that had taken him so quickly, however, she hadn’t been riding. “I wish his laugh was still here.”
“Well, we must find a wa
Damn the money.
Ophelia would have happily been rid of the money just to have her father back, but she could see it gave her stepmother comfort, so she kept any wry comments to herself.
“We will, Gertrude.”
“Indeed. Soon enough, I don’t doubt you will leave me too.” She reached toward Ophelia and brushed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “I must accept that.”
“I will leave? Gertrude, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, Ophelia, you are a young woman now. Your father would not wish you to stay here with me forever. No, you will have a family of your own someday. Come, let us retire. We can talk of such things another day. Another minute here, and I fear I will start crying again.” Gertrude hurried down the corridor with the words, hastening to her room.
Ophelia could not follow at such a quick pace. She ambled slowly to her chamber with the one candle. Rather than calling for her maid, she undressed herself, wanting to be alone as she thought of Gertrude’s words and how much she missed her father. Sitting before her bureau and the mirror placed upon it, she stared at her reflection.
Light brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and her blue eyes were bold in her face, rather too big in her own opinion. It made the evidence that she had been crying all the more noticeable on her prominent cheekbones.
“She expects me to marry?” Ophelia whispered, as though her reflection would offer up an interesting reply.
It struck her what Gertrude had assumed of their futures. She had talked of staying here, in this house, and Ophelia leaving. Not once had Ophelia ever thought of leaving this house, even when she married.
As the candle burned down and her reflection became more indistinct, merely shadows and smoke in the mirror, Ophelia thought of her father. She recalled one of the last days she had spent with him, riding together across the open parklands of Cheltenham. She thought of his laugh, the way he smiled, and the way he had a habit of seeing what she was thinking, even without her having to utter a word.
“You will be happy, won’t you, sweetheart?” This question had caught her off guard on their last ride.
“Do I not look happy, Father?” She had laughed, thinking it an odd thing to say, then pulled a face, making her father chuckle.
“I mean, if anything were to ever happen to me.” With these words, he’d pulled his steed to a stop, turning to face her. “You will live your life to the fullest and find a family of your own. Promise me that?”
She hadn’t promised him, though. She had simply kept asking him why he had asked such an absurd question, for he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Thinking back, she realised her father might have already started to feel ill. He’d just kept the secret to himself.
“I promise, Father.” Ophelia whispered the words aloud, as if he could hear her. “I promise you to find that life, and maybe even a family. I will be happy, as you wished me to be.” Then she blew out the candle as another tear came.
Chapter 1
London, England
“Watch out!”
Elliot ignored the warning, for he had already seen the blade coming. Diving back, he avoided the lunge of his friend, Harrison, and struck out with his own rapier blade. Fortunately, it was blunted, and the blade landed firmly on the padded chest of Harrison, who froze and looked at Elliot with raised eyebrows.
“Would you stop winning, please? It’s getting rather tiresome.” Harrison breathed heavily, winded after their exercise. Elliot laughed and released his friend, stepping away.
“Tiresome for you, you mean?” he said with a smirk, watching as Harrison threatened to come at him with the rapier blade again. “I rather enjoy winning at the moment. It is one of the few releases I have. Come, again.”
“I may need a short break first.”
“You are fitter than you give yourself credit for.”
“Well, if you say so—woah!” Harrison was taken aback as Elliot began their next bout.
Yes, at least this is a moment away from the troubles of the world.
They were fencing in the ballroom of his Mayfair townhouse—hardly a fitting place for the sport, but it suited the task well, being such a large room. At the edge of the room was the steward, holding up lemonade for the two of them on a silver tray and wincing every time they came a little too close to each other.
Elliot lunged forward as Harrison scurried back, like a mouse fleeing a cat.
“Fight, don’t flee, Harrison,” Elliot pleaded, trying to draw his friend into the match.
“Remind me to tell you that the next time you are fighting an opponent much taller than you.”
“I am hardly that tall!” Elliot laughed, though he caught sight of himself in the vast windows of the ballroom as he said the words, revealing the truth. He was tall, taller than most men he met, and poor Harrison who was of average height often found himself on the run in such challenges as this.
“I hope I never truly wrong you in any way,” Harrison called as he parried with Elliot, the swords clashing and the metal ringing out in the air around them. “I wouldn’t stand a chance in a real duel.”
“Of course you would.” Elliot thought much of Harrison’s skill. It was simply that as Elliot had been touring the continent for the last three years, he had learned new methods and techniques from masters in Italy and France. Such techniques made him not only an adept fighter, but one that could surprise his opponent.
With this in mind, he pretended to bring his rapier down on his friend’s leg. Harrison jumped out of the way, veering back so far that he opened his arm wide and revealed the target of his chest. Elliot placed the blunted tip of his blade at Harrison’s padded chest, breathing heavily as they both fell still.
“Well, you win again.” Harrison chuckled and brushed the blade away with a gloved hand. “No more, now. I need some rest. A chance to breathe would be nice.”
“As you wish.” Elliot stepped back and placed his sword in the makeshift rack that had been brought through by his steward. “You can breathe easily too now, Mr Jacobson. As you can see, we are both uninjured.” He walked toward the steward, who proffered forward the silver tray carrying the lemonade with a sigh of relief.
