A Wicked Earl’s Secret Baby (Preview)

Chapter One

“If you do not stop cackling like a madwoman, we are going to be found out!”

The smile on Claire Duncan’s face had not faded for the last hour. Her cheeks ached. Her ribs throbbed in pain, and she was genuinely surprised that her stomach was not cramping worse than it was at present. She had laughed more in the last four hours of dancing her feet off with the man currently pulling her by the hand than she had in the last year.

Claire resolved right then and there that she was going to marry that man.

Nothing else could make her happier for her future than a lifetime by his side. Dorian had a half-empty bottle of wine clutched in his free hand, the contents sloshing about as the young couple ran awkwardly in uneven lines toward the maze that had been constructed in the garden. A true maze. In a garden! Claire knew if she said out loud how impressed she was, he would mock her for it. Dorian would tease her yet again about her humble origins and low birth status as if it were not something he loved about her. 

If there was one thing Claire knew for absolute certain, all of the way down to her bones, it was that Dorian loved every single part of her.

“Hurry now!” he urged as he nearly skipped further into the hedge maze. 

The cool night air bit at any exposed bit of flesh that it could find. Her skirt snagged and pulled on the edges of the manicured hedges as they ran forward. The sounds of the ball faded into nothing in the background. Nobody to happen upon them. 

If they had not just nearly been discovered in what was supposed to be a private hallway, they would not have had to find somewhere else to seclude themselves. Though, Claire knew for a fact that Dorian’s sister was going to be most cross with her for daring to sneak away instead of spending all of her time with her. Soon, they would be sisters, and they would have all of the time in the world to foster their friendship.

She did her best to wrap her skirts around her legs without being too immodest. Should Dorian be distracted by her shapely legs while running, he was likely to barrel face-first into a bush. That would not serve either one of them. 

“How am I supposed to both be quiet and hurry! My lord, I can hardly breathe for my constant panting!” Claire huffed with a laugh. 

Dorian whirled on her, stopping suddenly and grabbing her by the waist. “Fear not, my love, for I have more than enough stamina for us both.” 

Emotion welled within her, fluttering up her chest as her body seemed to warm for him. The heat turned to a tingle as Dorian bent at the waist and scooped her into his arms. 

“If you wanted to be in my arms, you ought to have just said as much.”

“Are you ever capable of being serious? Even for a moment?” Claire giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran the fingers of one hand through his perfect auburn locks. 

She could look into his deep hazel-green eyes forever. She could live within every stolen moment with him for the rest of eternity and be perfectly content. It was not possible to ever tire of him for he was perfection itself. 

Every young girl dreamed of the man she might meet someday. Her own mother used to love nothing more than reading her fantasy stories to coax her into sleep. Wonderful tales of love and adventure filled with dragons and dashing nights, kings and princes who would do anything at all for those that they loved—and Claire had loved them all. 

She had finally found one for herself. A man who quite literally swept her off of her feet. 

At some point in their shared childhood, the stories her mother had read to her all became about Dorian. She would imagine his face in the stead of any prince. To her, he was perfect.

“I should have known your delicate feet would be tired from all of the dancing.” Dorian kissed the tip of her nose. 

“Then perhaps you ought to kiss them, too, to make them feel better,” Claire mused wickedly. 

“I would, should you desire it. I would worship at your feet until the end of days.” Dorian’s voice softened, love in his eyes as the atmosphere around them shifted. 

The air between them was charged with the spark they had been dancing around for the better part of a year now. The stolen moments and feverish kisses were all leading to a final step that could not be taken back. She was ready to take that step. But only with him. He was the object of all of her desires. 

The spaces between the topiaries were fewer and farther between as Dorian wound them through the maze as if he knew it like the back of his hand. He moved swiftly, as if her additional weight in his arms was not a burden to him in the slightest. She did not know where he was taking her, but it hardly mattered. Anywhere was perfect so long as they were together. 

“Would you like that, my love?” Dorian’s voice darkened as he leaned to kiss her cheek, then to whisper in her ear. “Would you like to see me on my knees before you?”

The heat in her core pressed lower as she imagined exactly that: Dorian’s tall, muscular frame on his knees, surrendering himself to her without pride or sinister ambition. Her face reddened from her passion, she could feel the warmth in her cheeks. 

“I would rather you worship between my thighs, my lord.”

Dorian stumbled over a rock in their path. He cleared his throat hastily and course-corrected to their destination. “Anything that my love wants, she will get in abundance.”

“Such lofty promises from a man who does not seem nearly eager enough,” Claire teased him right back. She lifted, her teeth closing over his earlobe in hopes of spurring him on faster. 

“I shall take you right here in this maze if you do not stop.” Dorian groaned. 

She liked that best. Claire loved nothing more than knowing she alone held the power to make him feel this way. When they were married, they would no longer have to sneak off like this. She would be on his arm at all times and in all circumstances. Once they were wed, she would be able to touch him in public—and have her way with him each and every night. However she wanted and as many times as she wanted. She could become the most proud wife to have ever been. 

The modest ring on her hand would be replaced by something larger that nobody would be able to deny. It was a good placeholder for what would come once Dorian was able to tell his parents about them. He would announce their love and they would have a beautiful fall wedding. She longed to see the leaves changing colors as she married. If they had to run away together to accomplish that goal, she was willing to elope with him. But she was not the one with so much to lose should any oppose their union. 

There was no denying that she was looking forward to their wedding night. If they made it that long. They had yet to cross that last threshold, but she had a feeling that tonight would be the night, as he seemed to be just as eager to be with her as she was with him. 

“Where are you taking me, yo—”

“Dorian. I shall reprimand you swiftly if you insist on calling me by my title while we are alone,” Dorian corrected her with a soft bite against her cheek. 

“I thought you liked it when I recognized your… authority,” Claire answered as she trailed a hand down the cut line of his jaw. 

“Such wicked words from such a pretty, pretty mouth.” 

“My words could be far more wicked.” Claire smirked as Dorian finally started to slow. 

No longer could she hear the loud music of the ballroom of the general hubbub of the guests. Instead, those lively sounds were fading in favor of crickets and the soft scent of fresh hay that always tended to remind her of tea leaves before they steeped. 

“Or perhaps you would prefer I do other things with my pretty mouth, Dorian?” She purred his name in time with her nails scraping gently against his scalp. He shuddered in pleasure. 

“When you are my wife, we are going to have to have an extended honeymoon just so I can have you all to myself long enough to do at least half  of the things that I wish to do to you, my love,” Dorian promised ominously as he set her on the ground. 

Only then did she turn long enough to see where he’d brought her. She snorted in laughter. “Did you truly bring me to a stable? How cliché you are. Truly, I marvel at your creativity, my lord.”

Dorian raked a hand through his hair. She could not help but to be charmed by the way the apples of his cheeks seemed to redden with embarrassment. “I wished for privacy, and all of the house staff are occupied in attendance and service to the ball.”

Claire laughed again brightly and sauntered forward, indulging in the way the cool night wrapped around her heated skin. She did not truly care where they went or what they did, so long as they were together. But she would not deny that she relished the way his nose scrunched in humiliation when she teased him. 

“Shall I find somewhere else?” Dorian asked softly. 

He would, too, if she asked it of him. He would take her somewhere else if she only said the word. 

Claire chose to ignore him, bouncing on the balls of her feet down the worn dirt path toward the stables as she clasped her hands behind her back. She slipped in through the small side door to the warm yellow glow of glowing lanterns. A modest enough stable, considering that Dorian’s father had never truly had much interest in horses or gambling at the races. Just enough to house the horses to pull their carriages and work on the fields. 

At least inside here it was warm. And he was right—most importantly, it was private. She did not care to venture a guess as to how long it would be before their absence was noted at the party, but that was a matter to worry about later. 

For now, she only wished to be in his arms. 

He wasted no time in closing the door behind him and pulling her close. Even less before his lips found hers and left her breathless. The scent of him washed over her, pine and green apple. Intoxicating. Bright and crisp, and he tasted even better. It did not occur to her to protest—they would be married soon. 

Claire giggled softly as Dorian pushed her gently up against a support beam, his hands bracketing her hips and pulling her closer to him. It was not close enough. The time was right, and she knew it. It was such a perfect evening. This final step of intimacy that they had been dancing around and around—she was ready. 

“So forward,” she teased as Dorian’s full lips kissed down the side of her neck. 

“I thought you liked it,” he answered, teeth scraping over the soft skin as he kissed lower. The capped sleeve of the stunning gown that he had bought for her slipped off her shoulder, leaving it for him to kiss as well. 

“I like you,” she said softly, feeling somewhat vulnerable. It was not the word that she wanted to say, something she whispered to him so sparingly. Her heart was rarely worn on her sleeve. “I want to show you.”

Dorian swallowed heavily and nodded once. “Are you certain?”

“More than anything.” Claire grinned, exposing her teeth and the soft dimples in her cheeks that were only ever visible when she was truly, blissfully happy. 

Dorian took her hand and helped her up the ladder to the loft where the hay was still soft and unbundled. Even as he lay over her on the soft surface, he hesitated for but a moment. “Soon, we will not have to hide our love any longer. Soon, we shall always be together. Come what may, no matter who sees.”

Claire’s heart felt so full it might burst. It was all that she wanted. More than anything. He was the man she wished to stand beside for the rest of her years. She hoped they would be many. 

“We can have children and a life together. A whole future filled with just as much happiness as I feel right now,” Dorian said sweetly as Claire’s fingers traced the line of his jaw. She knew it was the truth. She had managed to find such a good man. Even with the hardships they would face, he was worth it. “I-I love you, Claire.”

Her smile brightened impossibly. “I know that, my lord.”

Before he could protest her snarky comment, she kissed him again and pulled him down on top of her. 

Chapter Two

Dorian

Seven Years Later

In Dorian’s opinion, it ought to rain at funerals. 

The fact that the sun was shining brightly in the sky over his head was offensive to him. The soft breeze, the scent of flowers carried on the wind—it did not match the somber energy of the group of mourning friends and family members all slowly shuffling into their carriages. Today, they would visit the prepared burial site. The church mass preceding it had been long, but it was nice to have somebody to occupy his thoughts with for the time it lasted. 

Anything other than dwell on all of the ways that his life had just been violently changed. 

He was too young to be earl. It was not that Dorian did not wish to have the title or the responsibilities that came with it. No, he had been raised to step into the role from a young age. Rather, he had not intended to bury his father for a great many years. The older man’s health had been failing for a handful of years now, but perhaps it was simply foolish optimism that had had him hoping a benevolent twist of fate might miraculously ease his suffering and save him. 

It would come and go, the lung fits where he could not breathe. Father had delegated most of his physical tasks to those on his employ and had been sending most of the paperwork by carrier to Dorian himself. In secret. Dorian had only been too happy to play dutiful heir and handle anything his father had asked of him. 

He should have done more. Dorian had been selfish—a burden that he would have to carry alongside his broken heart for the rest of his life. 

At least Father was no longer in pain. 

Dorian moved through the motions of escorting his younger sister, Dolores, and his mother, Mary, into the carriage. He did not stop to express his gratitude for the turnout at the mass. He could not find it within himself to speak to anyone. Mother’s veil covered most of her face, keeping her obscured from view. It was better that way. He knew she would not want others to see that she could not seem to stop crying. Even his usually stoic sister had shed a tear. 

Something he could not seem to do. 

It was not duty or simple obligation that held his sorrow out of his reach. No, it was something that he could not place. Though, he did not know if he truly wished to. 

The footman closed the door behind them and the carriage pulled them back in the direction of the cemetery. Soon, time would be up and they would have to return to the estate he knew he should run. Things would have to change. Dorian could not fathom if either of the women in his life would approve of the changes that would have to happen. But all they needed to do for now was focus on their mourning. Dorian would handle everything else. If only his mind would stop spinning so rapidly. 

Moving back to the estate at all would be an adjustment. If anything, the dread that formed in the pit of his stomach at the thought was enough to overcome nearly all other worries. 

Dorian had kept as far away from the estate as possible for the last six years. He had not been back since.

His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he passed his mother his handkerchief. She accepted it silently until her nose honked as she struggled to clear it. 

“When are your things due to arrive back at the estate, brother?” Dolores said. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was likely to face the situation more pragmatically than their mother. 

“I do believe they should be unpacked while we are at the funeral. Do not worry, Mother, I have not removed you from the main rooms. I thought it improper,” Dorian added gently. 

His mother nodded gratefully, but another wave of tears started. It was only half an act of benevolence that he had not unseated her from those rooms. They were his now by rights, as he was the head of the household. But he simply did not want them. 

There was a time when he longed to have the estate for himself, a distant time long since passed when he had envisioned a wholly other life for himself. Back in those days, he had been foolish enough to think that true love was a force capable of overcoming any obstacle. 

He was not nearly so delusional any longer. 

Dolores fidgeted in her seat. “I suppose this means you are going to start making changes?”

“I have no interest in disrupting your life, Dolores.” Dorian sighed. Though, he knew she was well past the age that she ought to have found a husband for herself and moved into her own home. Dolores was a woman prone to fits of cruelty and stubborn as a mule. It went without saying that should she resume her old antics, he would have no issue finding a husband on her behalf and finally being rid of her. 

“Well, I suppose that is some comfort then. Mother shall be pleased,” Dolores said as she wrung her own handkerchief between her hands. 

“Mother is more than capable of speaking for herself,” Dorian admonished sharply. 

Only a few moments had passed and he already regretted not taking a separate carriage back to the house. Perhaps he ought to have walked. It would have been better to face the experience of the estate again after so many years traveling on his own. 

Dolores had better be intelligent enough to keep her commentary about the past to herself.

“You did not have to return home at all, you know,” Dolores added unhelpfully. 

“Do not start this again. I am not in the mood.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Well, it is true. We have not needed your company for the last six years and I do not think father’s death is nearly a sufficient reason for you to have returned home. I think it would be far better that you made your appearance, set affairs back on the track they have already been on, and then disappear again. That is what you do best, after all, is it not?” 

“Enough,” he warned. 

“Have I struck a nerve, brother? Something bothering you? I am only stating facts,” Dolores continued smugly. 

“And you would have looked after you and Mother? Who would have chaperoned you or handled Father’s affairs? Certainly you do not expect that you shall be left to oversee the books by yourself!” Dorian laughed bitterly. 

Dolores started to answer. He could see the angry words right there on the tip of her tongue, but she wisely swallowed them back. Her teeth shut with a snap so loud that it might have echoed in the small space. 

They both knew very well of Dolores’ ambitions. She believed she had been helping father run the estate for years. She had no idea how little she had actually been involved in. 

“I managed just fine. Besides, who do you think cared for Father during his times of need?” Dolores sat forward stubbornly. “I do not recall seeing you at his bedside!”

“Do not fight. Please,” their mother interrupted gently. 

Dorian eased back into his seat. Mother was right, this was neither the time nor the place for such things. He knew the truth. It was out of the residual scraps of respect and affection that he still held for his sister that he did not say anything else. If Dolores had had her way, she would have become mistress and official spinster of the estate. She would have haunted the walls of the estate with father’s fortune at her personal disposal until she died. 

“You cannot be all right with this, Mother. Please tell me that you understand your son is far too soft to be what we need him to be! If we are to leave our fates in his weak hands, we are certain to be doomed!” Desperation edged into her voice. 

Dorian had to bite his tongue to keep from fighting with his sister. There was no reasoning with her when she was like this, and everyone in the carriage knew it. The pair of them had hardly spoken in the last few years, aside from the obligatory letter. 

While she had apparently stayed the same, he had not. He did not expect her to take his word for it—she would see in time. The lofty, idealistic, and lovestruck young man that she had known before was no longer. His time apart had changed him. It was the reason he had left.

Many times over the years, he had debated if he could handle coming back, if he would endure being back here without her. The vibrant young woman had been his whole reason to live—she was all he had thought he needed for his happiness. 

He wondered where the years had taken her, the sweet, adventurous, and wild woman who had stolen his heart all those years ago. The woman he had let slip through his fingers. He had fumbled, and he had lost her. He had no one to blame but himself. 

Silence fell over the carriage as he continued to look out the window. The landscape had not changed since his last visit. All the same markers. The large arching trees, the same shrubs and bushes had all been perfectly maintained. Just as beautiful as ever. Life had gone on. It was only him who still felt stuck in the past. 

The farther the carriage pulled him through the outskirts of London to the cemetery, the more the memories assaulted him. The pond that the carriage pulled past reminded him of Claire with her skirts hiked up around her knees, legs caked in mud and her hair flopping on her head as she tried—and often succeeded in—plucking a fish from the pond with her bare hands. It was the only time she could stand still. 

The rolling landscape that surrounded them as they left the city reminded him of her love of art and playing in the woods around his family’s estate. She could always talk for hours about her passions, and Claire was passionate about absolutely everything. How she lived every day with such bright vibrancy had always stunned him—that she had allowed him to exist in her orbit, a further shock and privilege. 

He had thought time and distance would be enough to soothe the aching, festering wound in his heart, but he knew now that it had done nothing to help him fall out of love with her. Her voice was still in the back of his mind. It was still her face that haunted his dreams.

His reason to breathe and wake each morning had been to share time with her. Even now, he was just as much in love with that brilliant woman. Still, for the sake of all involved, he hoped to never see her again. 

It was better that way. 

---

“A Wicked Earl’s Secret Baby” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Claire, once the spirited and scandalous belle of society, now lives a quiet life as a widow. At the funeral of her former lover’s father, she is shocked to see Dorian, the tempting man who shattered her heart six years ago after a passionate night in the stables. With his return, Claire must confront buried feelings and the devastating secrets that led to their separation.

Will she find the strength to face the past and embrace a future filled with uncertainty?

Dorian returns home as a wealthy yet melancholic Earl, burdened by his father’s death and haunted by memories of Claire. At the cemetery, he sees her with her daughter, and their brief encounter stirs old emotions and ignites new desires. He is well aware that his sister’s manipulations have torn them apart, but this time Dorian is determined not to let her intimidate Claire again.

Can he uncover the truth and reclaim the love he thought he had lost?

As Dorian and Claire’s paths intertwine again, they must face societal pressures, family machinations, and their own unresolved emotions. Amidst a grand ball, a scandalous rendezvous, and a rekindling of their forbidden passion, their love faces its greatest test. Will their passionate affair withstand the trials they face, or will the ghosts of their past doom their chance at happiness forever?

“A Wicked Earl’s Secret Baby” is a historical romance novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!