Page 1 of Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke
Chapter 1
Booming thunder rattled the carriage and the Duke of Ashbourn’s queasy stomach. His closest friend, Edward, took another long drink from his silver flask, then playfully smacked the duke’s knee.
“Welcome home, William! London hasn’t changed much in the last twenty years, has she? Still as dark and dismal as always.”
William squinted in the dark to see through the pouring rain drenching the cobblestone street and sighed. Edward was right about the state of London, but this city was no longer his home. He’d long forgotten most of his childhood memories here since being sent away to boarding school at age 13.
The only reason he was returning now – almost exactly 20 years later – was that, once again, somebody else held the puppet strings over his destiny.
“I do not share your spirited reverie, my friend. I think your grin is more about the cherry brandy than our hometown.”
When Edward offered him a sip, William leaned forward as a tremendous flash of lightning revealed his shocking reflection in the flask. The duke’s hands flew up to block out the image, then waved the drink away.
An uncomfortable silence filled the carriage between the two friends, but it wasn’t the first time the duke’s face caused such a reaction.
Another long clap of thunder roared through his brain as William struggled with a troubling thought. His physical appearance presented a challenge for his return to London’s noble society. He and Edward both knew it. Soon, many others would, too.
In fact, the state of his face was one of the many reasons the duke had vowed never to become an active member of London’s shallow ton and its superficial priorities.
“Scars are a sign of valour, Your Grace,” Edward said in gently, then handed his flask again to the man who’d saved his life and that of many others during their adventures together at sea.
“Scars, yes. But a mangled face patched together by the ship’s master gunner? I think not.”
Edward gave his friend’s boot a kind tap with his own as the southwest wind howled outside. “A bad time for the surgeon to be passed out drunk, indeed. But you’re a survivor, Will. You’ll survive this, too.”
The duke accepted the small metal container from Edward’s hand and emptied it quickly down his throat. The acidity of fermented fruit made his gut wrench even more than the storm, but the heat of the liquor helped tame the cold bite of the night.
He peered at his silvery reflection in the flask again with as much detachment as he could muster. The main jagged scar across his face cut at an angle down his temple from right to left. It miraculously skipped most of his nose, then gnarled its way around the left side of his mouth to an inch below his left ear.
William slowly traced the prominent scar with his index finger, plus its two smaller companions on his right cheek. Then he tossed the flask back to Edward and pulled the watch from his trousers pocket. He checked the hour for what seemed like the hundredth time since this long trip began.
They’d departed the ship in Northern England days ago. The bumpy ride south had given the duke extra hours to work through anger about being forced to change his life’s course.
“At least I no longer resemble the bloody bastard who sired me. Thank God my father is long dead, and your father, arguably the nicest banker in England, is still with us. Let’s toast to that.” William finally managed a smile while he pressed against his belly to somehow still it. The carriage was rocking through another rain-soaked gale.
How was it that he felt so at peace on the sea, but a swaying coach did him in?
It’s not the coach; it’s bloody London that is making me feel sick. And all the bad memories it holds.
Edward’s mouth slid into a smirk as he held the open flask upside down over his lap. “I’d love to toast to that had we any sweet brandy left.” He grinned and tucked the flask into his jacket pocket.
“I agree my father is the lesser of two paternal evils, but he isn’t as pleasant as you make him out to be. However, he’s very grateful for my return to the family business after months of adventure at sea with the likes of you, St Clair. I will miss those ocean holidays spent ravaged by the elements. Ah, what a salty mistress is the sea!”
William chuckled and shook his head. Edward had the wanderlust of a world traveller, much to his father’s chagrin. He also had a ridiculous amount of money to spend at every port, including long nights with expensive women far removed from polite society.
While William eventually became a sea captain as a means of escape, Edward Montrose had ridden along now and then for the fun of it. Until life at sea got all too real during a stormy battle against the salty mistress that Edward adored. William had never looked or felt the same since.
No wonder every storm churns my insides into knots now, the duke thought as his stomach twisted again.
William studied his friend’s strong physical features for a moment and envied his outlook. Edward was one of those overly handsome men with blond hair, blue eyes, and a charming sense of humour that made the ladies giggle and blush.
Meanwhile, William St Clair was a moody sort with tussled black locks and stone black eyes that matched his dark disposition. In the past, he used to turn many women’s heads. That had all changed since the accident.
Now, the duke preferred avoiding the gazes of fine ladies and, like Edward, bedded the occasional willing harlot instead. But only from behind so as to prevent a lover’s look of disgust. Those awful stares tended to make a man’s virility disappear.
“Did I tell you I’ve received a letter from the dowager duchess? She is very excited to marry me off the moment my feet cross the threshold.” William rolled his eyes in the dark. He hadn’t seen his mother in two decades, but she’d already made a list of women worthy of producing his heir. He was curious if that list would shorten significantly once his mother saw his face.
William hadn’t yet informed anyone in his family about the incident on the ship that slashed his noble face to shreds. The last thing society’s rumour mill needed was a “disfigured duke” to gossip about over tea. Unfortunately, he was about to give them that gift by showing up in town again, whether he wanted to or not.
