Lady Olivia, the youngest sister of the Earl of Castleton, has no patience for the boring gentlemen of aristocratic society. She longs for a more adventurous life like the ladies who visit the Raven Club. But her plans are thwarted when her family drags her to a country house party to meet the elusive Duke of Keswick.
Tristan Cameron, the Duke of Keswick, finds Olivia in his stables. She believes him to be the stable master, and he doesnāt dissuade her of the notion. He has no interest in entertaining one of the spoiled, self-indulgent ladies whoāve invaded his home. Except, Olivia is neither of those things, and their shared kiss during a ride results in combustible passion.
And a potential scandal.
Olivia is relieved when the handsome stable master comes to her aid as her alibi, but that relief fades to anger when she suddenly finds herself betrothed to the harsh, foul-tempered duke.
Tristan believes heās been trapped by a scheming, title-seeking lady. To make matters worse, sheās utterly captivating. He plans on leaving her behind in the country immediately after their vows, but Tristan soon finds himself battling temptation and Oliviaās stubborn determination to be the Duchess he doesnāt believe he deserves…
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About the Book
How to Capture a Duke
by Tina Gabrielle
Series
Raven Club
Genre
Adult
Historical Romance
Publisher
Entangled Scandalous
Publication Date
October 14, 2019
Preorder Your Copy Today!
AmazonĀ |Ā Entangled PublishingĀ |Ā Barnes & NobleĀ |Ā KoboĀ |Ā iBooks
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
May 1829
Kent, England
Lady Olivia Swift escaped down the gravel path toward the stables. She glanced back at the magnificent country home where currently a dozen guests were enjoying the Duke of Keswickās hospitality at his house party.
She didnāt have much time before her mother and the dukeās grandmother would notice her absence.
The tittering young ladies in attendance would be preparing for daily afternoon tea on the terrace where they hoped the duke would make his first appearance.
Wishful thinking on their parts.
The duke so far hadnāt shown his noble face for ten days out of the fourteen-day house party. The debutantes and their mothers had all been disappointed.
Olivia had been secretly thrilled.
She made it to the stable doors. Inside, the warmth enveloped her, and the distinctive smell of leather, horse, and clean hay heightened her senses and quickened her pulse.
Heaven.
The dukeās stables were indeed stunning. Row after row of stalls housed beautiful horsesāmares, stallions, and geldings. Each served a different purpose, whether it be for racing, hunting, or pulling the dukeās crested carriages, curricle, or high-perched phaeton. The value of the horseflesh would turn the dealers at Tattersallās green with envy.
Olivia stepped up to the stall of a brown mare to stroke her velvet-soft muzzle. āHello, pretty. Would you like a treat?ā She held out one of the apples sheād pilfered from the kitchens that morning, and the mareās big brown eyes blinked once as if to say, āThank you,ā then she ate the fruit from her hand.
The dukeās estate was over twenty thousand acres. The manor home looked like a small castle with its white carved stonework, elegant pillars, and window frames highlighted with gold leaf that caught the setting sun. Dozens of gardeners maintained the sculpted gardens, boxwood hedges, and flowering shrubs, which bloomed in every color and perfumed the air. Numerous ponds, fountains, and classical sculptures decorated the lovely gardens.
Olivia longed to ride through the vast lands and gallop across the fields. Sheād sit astride the animal, not on a side saddle, release the pins from her hair, and let the wind cool her heated cheeks, just as sheād done years ago at her own familyās country estate.
Her eldest brother Matthew would have adored this stable, would have understood her need to escape the house and the lords and ladies within, to escape the pressure of her motherās efforts to find her a suitable husbandāhopefully the duke.
But Matthew was dead. He had been thrown while racing his own curricle. A pang of familiar sadness pierced her chest, and she stepped back from the brown mare.
Thatās when she saw him.
A massive stallion in the last stall, hidden from sight. Over seventeen hands tall, he had a sleek, black coat that gleamed beneath a ray of afternoon sunlight shining through the open stable doors. He took away her breath.
She approached. The big beast watched her with intelligent black eyes, his nostrils slightly flaring, his head tossing once when she came close.
āMy God. You are superb.ā
What would it feel like to ride him? To feel the exhilarating rhythmic power of those muscles beneath her? She nearly swooned at the thought.
Pulling the remaining apple from her pocket, she held it out to him. āMay I touch you?ā She tentatively stretched out her hand, careful not to move too swiftly and startle the animal.
āSā¦s-top!ā
Olivia jumped back. The guttural masculine command was harsh and, Heaven help her, menacing.
She whirled to find a tall man storming toward her, his face a mask of annoyance. His chiseled featuresāstrong jaw, hawkish nose, and dark eyesāspoke of strength and confidence. His dark hair, slightly longer than fashion dictated, brushed his collar. Their gazes clashed, and her gut tightened.
āWhat are you doing here?ā he demanded.
He had to be the head groom. He spoke with such command. He must know she was a lady from the manor, a guest at Rosehill. Her muslin walking dress and silk slippers bespoke her station as well as if a majordomo had announced her at a ball.
āI wanted to see the horses,ā she said, hoping her voice sounded steady beneath his hard stare.
He stalked closer with a predatory confidence that heightened her unease. āYou should be back at the house.ā
He kept walking until he was within an armās reach of her. Beneath that stormy stare, her heart pounded so fiercely in her chest she feared he could hear it. She noticed more about him now. His body was muscular, like the type of man who rode all day and worked hard. His broad shoulders rivaled the pugilists in her brotherās boxing ring in the back of the casinoāthe Raven Club. She wasnāt easily intimidated, but this manā¦
She forced aside her misgivings. He was a groom, and she was a guest. Raising her chin, she met his steely gaze. āI want to ride the stallion. I need a groom.ā
He pierced her with a hard stare. āNo one rides Atlas but the dā¦d-uke.ā
āNo one?ā
āHis stable. His rules.ā
Her confidence returned along with a good dose of anger. āFine. Would you kindly ask His Grace if I may ride the black then?ā
He shook his head. āHis Grace is not here.ā
An obvious fact. āWhen is he expected to return?ā
āHe dā¦d-oes not confide in me.ā
She noticed two things. He spoke properly for a head groom, but his speech was not perfect. He stammered over certain words, struggled to form them. Sheād had a young maid with a similar speaking condition. Olivia had been pleased with the way Cynthia had dressed her hair, and the girl had been more than pleasant. But Oliviaās disciplinarian father, the old Earl of Castleton, had found the girlās speech off-putting and had dismissed her without a reference.
She would have assumed a man as powerful and wealthy as the Duke of Keswick would demand a well-spoken head groom. There was only one explanation. He must be exceptional with the horses.
Olivia clutched her hands before her. āIf Iām not permitted to ride Atlas, then I wish to ride another.ā
āNo.ā
āNo?ā she repeated, dumbfounded. How could he deny her? She was a guest, not a wandering country girl.
His eyes narrowed. āWhere is your chaperone? I have the dā¦d-istinct impression the lady has no idea of the whereabouts of her charge.ā
Her chaperone, her mother, indeed had no idea where she was and would have a conniption if she knew Olivia was having a heated argument with a groom rather than preparing for the unlikely appearance of His Grace at the house party.
āFine,ā she snapped. āBut I shall return.ā
She took one last longing look at Atlas. She hadnāt given up on the stallion.
Just the duke.
ā¦
Tristan Cameron, the fourth Duke of Keswick, leaned against the stable doors and watched the lady head for the manor. Her presence had disturbed him. Why was one of the ladies from the house in his stables about to touch his horse? As soon as heād spotted her near Atlas, heād barked his command for her to cease. Startled, sheād turned.
Momentarily, heād been just as surprised as she was. The lady was well-curved with golden hair and green eyes. There was both delicacy and strength in her face. She was pretty, but he had seen many beautiful women. It was the keen determination in her eyes, her excitement and anticipation as she gazed at Atlas, that set her apart from other debutantes. Of course, she had thought him a groom. She had no reason to flutter her eyelashes or curve her well-shaped lips in a calculated smile in order to lure a man into a feminine trap.
He wondered exactly who she was. The daughter of a marquess, an earl, or a viscount? One of the ladies who had traveled from London to Rosehill for the sole purpose of enticing a dukeāhimāinto marriage.
Sheād fail. They all would.
His grandmother had insisted on hosting the infernal house party. He couldnāt blame Antonia for her repeated efforts to see him married, but neither did he have to fall into his grandmotherās trap. Tristan hated social gatherings with a passion. He kept busy with his estates, his correspondence, his ledgers, his duties in the House of Lords, and the well-being of the many tenants of Rosehillāthe hard-working men and women that depended upon him for their livelihood and whose labor added to the ducal coffers.
Those who never watched him warily as he spoke.
Unlike in his youthful years at Eton and even Oxford, he now was too powerful to be mocked. But he recognized the cruel sneers of dandies and the snickers behind ladiesā fluttering fans as he struggled to form certain words. Stress made his stuttering worse. For this reason, he avoided balls, garden parties, house parties, and whatever social gatherings the beau monde devised for their ceaseless and ridiculous need for frivolous entertainment. He was also highly aware of what certain men called him, had called him since his school days.
The Stuttering Duke.
He wouldnāt set foot in the manor, not until every young debutant had given up hope of capturing the elusive duke and headed back to London and the bosom of the ton.
He turned back to Atlas and reached for a saddle. Heād ride and dismiss the golden-haired lady from his thoughts. Despite his grandmotherās wishes, he had no intention to be burdened by a wife.
Tour Wide Giveaway
To celebrate the release of HOW TO CAPTURE A DUKE by Tina Gabrielle, we’re giving away a paperback copy of How to Best a Marquess by Tina Gabrielle to one lucky winner!
GIVEAWAY TERMS & CONDITIONS:Ā Open to internationally. One winner will receive a paperback copy of How to Best a Marquess by Tina Gabrielle. This giveaway is administered by Pure Textuality PR on behalf of Entangled Publishing.Ā Giveaway ends 11/6/2019 @ 11:59pm EST.Ā CLICK HERE TO ENTER!
About Tina Gabrielle
Best-selling author TINA GABRIELLE is an attorney and mechanical engineer whose love of reading for pleasure helped her get through years of academia. She often picked up a romance and let her fantasies of knights in shining armor and lords and ladies carry her away. She is the author of adventurous Regency historical romances for Entangled Publishing and Kensington Books. Tina also writes best-selling cozy mysteries as Tina Kashian for Kensington Books.Ā
Publisherās Weekly calls her Regency Barristerās series, āWell-matched loversā¦witty comradely repartee.ā Tinaās books have been Barnes & Noble top picks, and her first book, Lady Of Scandal, was nominated as best first historical by Romantic Times Book Reviews. Tina lives in New Jersey and is married to her own hero and is blessed with two daughters. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website to learn about upcoming releases, join her newsletter, and enter free monthly contests at www.tinagabrielle.com
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