The Duke of Shadows (Mass Market Paperback)

~ Meredith Duran (Author)
Key Phrases: Miss Martin, Lady Edon, Lord Chad (more...)

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Product Description

In a debut romance as passionate and sweeping as the British Empire, Meredith Duran paints a powerful picture of an aristocrat torn between two worlds, an heiress who dares to risk everything...and the love born in fire and darkness that nearly destroys them.

From exotic sandstone palaces...

Sick of tragedy, done with rebellion, Emmaline Martin vows to settle quietly into British Indian society. But when the pillars of privilege topple, her fiancé's betrayal leaves Emma no choice. She must turn for help to the one man whom she should not trust, but cannot resist: Julian Sinclair, the dangerous and dazzling heir to the Duke of Auburn.

To the marble halls of London...

In London, they toast Sinclair with champagne. In India, they call him a traitor. Cynical and impatient with both worlds, Julian has never imagined that the place he might belong is in the embrace of a woman with a reluctant laugh and haunted eyes. But in a time of terrible darkness, he and Emma will discover that love itself can be perilous -- and that a single decision can alter one's life forever.

Destiny follows wherever you run.

A lifetime of grief later, in a cold London spring, Emma and Julian must finally confront the truth: no matter how hard one tries to deny it, some pasts cannot be disowned...and some passions never die.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

One

Delhi

May 1857

Julian first noticed her because she looked so bored. Waiting for the Commissioner's arrival had put him on edge. He stood at the top of the room, half attending to the feverish chatter around him, his eyes fixed on the door. Rumors in the bazaar daily grew darker, and it was clear to him now that if Calcutta would not act, the local government must. Tonight he meant to exact a promise on that account.

He became aware of the woman gradually. It was her stillness that drew his attention. She was leaning against a wall, not ten feet away. Though several people surrounded her, sipping negligently at their wine and laughing, she seemed somehow apart. Tired of it all. Her eyes, which had been resting vacantly on the space over his shoulder, focused on him. They were a penetrating blue, and gave Julian a start. He saw that she was not bored at all, but unhappy.

She looked away.

He spotted her next in the green room, after the Commissioner slipped out of his grasp. "After dinner," the man mumbled, "if you truly insist on mixing business with pleasure, I would be most, most honored to speak with you." When Julian wheeled away in abrupt, frustrated dismissal, he discovered her behind him, the wineglass halfway to her lips. Again their eyes met, and she lowered the glass.

"Sir," she said evenly, bobbing a shallow curtsy. Something in her tone indicated she'd overheard the tail end of his argument with Fraser. He opened his mouth to respond -- after all, the lady had seemed to be waiting for him -- but she had already retreated in a swish of cornflower silk, and he was not in the mood for a chase.

He began to wonder about the coincidence when she drifted after him into the garden. Was she following him? In London he might have felt some faint, predatory stirring of interest -- he enjoyed women, particularly those who spared him the trouble of pursuit -- but he had a policy of avoiding memsahibs. Their husbands were rarely understanding, and they themselves tended to be so bored by life on a British station that passing love affairs quickly inflated to their entire reason for being. There was also an absurd set of ideas circulating about him in Anglo-Indian circles, variations on the theme of exotic Eastern eroticism, and he'd long since grown weary of it.

But she did not, in fact, seem to know he was there. She paused at the edge of the lawn, one hand coming to her throat, and seemed content to stand there, an abstracted look on her face. A breeze came over the grass, and her fingers loosened, letting the shawl flutter around her shoulders. Fleetingly, her pale lips curved in a smile.

Again, he was struck by the impression that she stood at a great remove from the scene around her. Curious. He studied her more closely, finding nothing of special note. Her hair was an unremarkable color, a curling, sun-faded dun that, in conjunction with her pale skin, made it seem as though all the energy of her being were focused in the brilliance of her deep blue eyes. A very odd sort of beauty, if a beauty at all. He wondered if she had recently been ill.

The thought made him impatient with himself. She was young, no more than twenty-two or -three years, with smooth white skin that bespoke a typical memsahib's routine. What was there to wonder about her? She would spend her days closeted in a bungalow, reading or at needlepoint. When the monotony began to wear, she would take heart in her zealous belief that the English way of life was the only one of merit in the world.

She muttered something beneath her breath. Despite himself, he leaned forward. He could not quite make it out. Surely she had not said --

With a violent gesture, she splashed her wine into the bushes. "Pig swill," she said clearly.

The garden was not cool, but it was quiet. Emma turned her face into the sultry breeze and let her eyes drift shut. Had Mrs. Greeley been speaking the truth? Either way, the woman must have been surprised at Emma's impassive reception of the news. It was unpleasant, of course; one didn't often learn that one's betrothed was conducting a torrid affair with a married woman. But the act seemed entirely in keeping with the person Marcus had become since their engagement.

Perhaps it was this land that had changed him so. Emma had been here only a few weeks, but already she sensed that India had taken hold of her: loosening her tongue, widening her eyes. Even now, when her mind should have been racing with the implications of Mrs. Greeley's words, the gentle swaying of the trees and the parrots twittering in the branches above distracted her from thought. The night air mantled her bare shoulders, thick and warm, so richly perfumed with night-blooming jasmine that she wondered if she would carry the scent back inside with her.

A bullock lowed in the distance. She felt a brief stirring of pity, imagining he was confused at the excess of liberty granted him by the native culture. As to why the cattle were encouraged to wander through the streets, Marcus had told her that the Hindus believed them to be some sort of deities, but he hadn't been able to elaborate. Marcus was often impatient with details.

This party, for instance. He should have told her, given her some warning regarding the people she would meet. Within five minutes it had become clear that Delhi society was no friend to her, that news of the shipwreck and her "dishonorable" rescue had tainted local opinion. Instead he'd let her march inside like a lamb to the slaughter, encouraging her to mingle with the sharp-tongued harpies whilst he conferred with the Commissioner.

All this, and then to discover he was having an affair with the hostess!

Well, it was clear that whatever they did when alone together, Marcus had not reviewed Mrs. Eversham's wine list for her. He was possessed of impeccable taste. With a scoff she tossed the remnants of her Bordeaux into the shrubbery. "Pig swill!"

The quiet laugh startled her, and she gasped, squinting into the shadows. "Who's there?"

A form emerged from the trees, offering her a toast from a silver flask. "Pig swill indeed," he said, and lifted the pocket-pistol to his lips for a long swallow.

She relaxed slightly at the Oxford drawl, which complemented a deliciously low, rough voice. "Pray do not relay my sentiments to our hostess, sir." Or perhaps do, she added silently.

Another step brought him full out of darkness, and she caught her breath. It was the man from indoors -- the one with whom she had nearly collided earlier. Once again, his height took her off guard. He was taller even than Marcus, and a full head over her own considerable height.

His eyes were a luminescent green-gold, catlike as they reflected the faint light spilling from the bungalow. They watched her as though he waited for something.

"Are we acquainted?" she blurted out -- knowing very well they were not.

He gave her a faint smile. "No."

When he said nothing more, she arched a brow, returning rude stare for rude stare. At least, she hoped it was rude, for she suspected she might be ogling him. The man was unnervingly handsome -- like something from a fever dream, brilliant and fierce, skin touched by gold and hair so black it absorbed the light. Earlier, indoors, she had found herself looking at him, thinking his face begged to be sketched. It would take only a few economical strokes -- sharp, angular slashes for the cheek-bones, a bold straight line for his nose, a fierce square for his jaw. Perhaps his lips would take more time. They were full and mobile, and saved his countenance from sternness.

He was very tanned. Doubt flickered through her mind, quashed as she considered his starched cravat and elegantly cut tailcoat. Of course he was English. The lazy grace with which he held himself made her aware of her own unmannerly slouch. She straightened, lifting her face toward the stars.

"A lovely night," she said.

"Pleasant weather," he agreed, eliciting a startled laugh from her.

"You must be joking!" she said, when he tilted his head in question. "It's dreadfully hot."

"Do you think so?" He shrugged. "Then I suggest you withdraw to Almora. The hill stations are quite popular this time of year."

His reference to the tradition of retreating to the Himalayan foothills during the hot weather sounded almost contemptuous. "You don't plan to go?"

"Business holds me here."

"Business. You're with the Company, then?" Most everyone she had met so far was in the employ of the East India Company, either as a civil servant or, like Marcus, as an officer in the army.

But he appeared mightily amused by the idea. "Dear God, no. I see my reputation does not precede me."

"Oh, is it very bad?" The question was out of her mouth before she could reconsider, and she blushed as he laughed again.

"It's even worse."

When she realized he wasn't going to elaborate, she ventured to continue. "You'll have to tell me about it yourself; I've only just arrived in Delhi, you see."

"Really?" He sounded surprised. "I didn't know they raised chits like you in England."

"Chits like me?" She frowned. He had settled back against a tree trunk and was smiling at her indulgently, as if -- suddenly it came to her -- she were some three-year-old who had just shown him a neat trick with her doll. "Are you being insulting?"

"I meant you seem to have some spirit."

"You are being insulting," she decided. "To me and England both."

"Well then." He sighed and rolled his shoulders; his coat fit closely enough to reveal the ripple of arm muscles beneath the fabric. She wondered what he had done to acquire them; it was not at all the fashion. "Now you've discovered the first part of my reputation. I am considered terribly ill-mannered."

"But I knew that the moment I saw you! A gentleman would refrain from drinking spirits in the presence of a lady."

His brows rose. "And a lady would not call her hostess's wine -- what was it? Pig swill, I believe?"

Her laughter was reluctant, but genuine. "All right, you've found me out. I'm a black sheep as well. Really, it's a wonder my intended will...

Product Details

• Mass Market Paperback: 384 pages
• Publisher: Pocket Star (March 25, 2008)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1416567038
• ISBN-13: 978-1416567035
• Product Dimensions: 6.5 x 4.1 x 0.7 inches
• Shipping Weight: 3.5 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 4.6 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (52 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #42,647 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

50 of 57 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars A debut of stunning skill and power, April 1, 2008

By	Ann Aguirre "Ann Aguirre" (Mexico) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

After I finished this book, I immediately got on IM and sent messages to my friends, telling them I'd just glommed The Duke of Shadows. I begged them to get it at once, toss out their TBR list, and devour it immediately.

I don't do story summaries. If you want the blurb, it's here on the page. This is homage. This is me, struggling to express all the ways the book succeeds, no, soars. Take a woman, saturated with loss. Cast her to a man who has worn so many faces, he is no longer sure which is his true self. In many ways, Julian is a soul divided, and Ms. Duran portrays it with such grace and valor that I will always, always remember this hero, and his love for the complex, passionate Emmaline.

The Duke of Shadows was pitch-perfect, not a single wrong note. This book ravished me. The writing is lovely and luminous, bedizened with subtle poetry. It hit me like a fist in the chest, rousing a sudden, shocking ache. In reading this, you will be permeated with yearning. Some sentences are so lovely, they make you say, "Oh," in quiet, helpless admiration. This book is pure beauty married to elegance and simplicity.

I could go on, but I think I will let you discover the rest yourself. I want to read The Duke of Shadows again, again, again. The characters were so well-drawn and compelling, and the plot smart and well-researched. And the emotional intensity...good God, it was gut-wrenching. I found myself in tears more than once, and that doesn't happen often. This book is perfection, better, in fact, than any historical romance I've ever read. I am astonished to find a work of such proficiency and power in a debut author.

If Meredith Duran is not a superstar in ten years, taking her place amid such luminaries as Laura Kinsale and Loretta Chase, then the world is mad. Read this book.

13 of 13 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Stunning Debut!, May 8, 2008

By	C. Vowels "romance reader" (Spokane, WA) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

Lest you be deceived, this is not a rompy, light-hearted English historical like we see so often. This is a real, gritty story of love during wartime.

In 1857, Emmaline Martin's parents are escorting her to India to marry her lifelong fiancé, but their ship is lost at sea and Emma is the only survivor. Continuing on to Delhi alone, Emma, an artist, begins to see the cracks in the English society she's always known, and also entertains the doubts she's held for years about her fiancé. Adding fuel to her new introspection is Julian Sinclair, her fiancé's cousin who is somewhat marginalized by society because he's one quarter Indian.

Julian is a playboy straddling two worlds. Heir to an English Duke, he struggles to reconcile his two cultures. When an Indian uprising turns the English colonial world upside down Julian helps Emma escape and they take a rough journey toward safety.

This book was magnificent. It has been so long since I enjoyed a new historical this much. It has so much going for it I don't know where to begin. First, the setting: the first half of the book takes place in India, which I love. Duran's India is raw and real and exhilarating. She has a grasp of action and battle scenes rarely seen in Romance, my heart was honestly pounding during one scene. Her grasp on not only colonial India, but on Victorian London society make the book more like an experience than a read. Clearly she knows her stuff.

But the best part of this book--oh my gosh--is the characters. Emma is a complicated, genuine woman. She's independent for her time, but not a transplanted twenty-first century woman either. Her character development is the best I've seen in a heroine for longer than I can remember. She's a real artist: she feels her feelings, lets her heart overwhelm her, and doesn't fear passion.

Julian takes a bit of a backseat to Emma's internal journey, but he's still a compelling hero in his own right. I love his struggle with his English and Indian identities, it's very well done. He's had a pretty hard luck life, but he doesn't have a lot of ridiculous hang-ups or anything. Really, he's the perfect hero for this book, he has depth and shadows, but they're not overwhelming.

My only small quibble is that later in the book Emma gets emotionally hung up on something she did during the uprising that doesn't feel right to me. What she did, and why she did it was perfectly understandable, and it's hard for me to imagine the Emma from the first half of the book letting something like that get to her, and it feels like something forced to keep some suspense in the plot. But even still, it's a minor irritation in an amazing book.

I give The Duke of Shadows 5 stars out of 5, which I've never done. It's a good thing I didn't check the Amazon reviews before I bought this (it was an impulse buy at Borders after I read the first couple of pages) or I may never have found it as it has only excellent reviews, but in this case I have to say I heartily agree with them. Imagine my surprise, though, when I see on Amazon that this was a debut novel! Wow. Can't wait to see what Duran does next.

11 of 12 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars One of the Best Romance Debuts of 2008!, June 4, 2008

By	Beverly Romance Books "Beverly" (St. Pete Beach, Florida) - See all my reviews

In a phenomenally written historical romance about the Rebellion in India during the mid-1800's, Ms. Duran brings the splendor and trauma of this time to life and shows the richness of a culture that fought to remain, and the soldiers of England who were traumatized by this war. Yet in all the chaos, there is beauty and love between two remarkable characters, the very young and beautiful Emmaline Martin and the handsome and cynical Julian Sinclair, The Duke of Auburn.

When Emma's fiancé's betrayal leaves Emma trapped in India with no other family to help save her and get her out of India, she has no choice but to turn to Julian for help. The situation they find themselves in turns into an attraction for each other that deepened into an intense love. During the turmoil of the rebellion, Julian loses Emma and thinking her dead, returns to England and mourns her for years. But Emma is very much alive and has felt deserted by Julian. Using her talent as an artist, she sketches and paints the horrors of the India Rebellion over the years and is then encouraged to show her art in a special showing. Julian, struggling through his mourning, is finally pushed to return to society. Considered a traitor in India and a hero in London, Julian feels lost in both worlds until without Emma until he attends the special art show, recognizes the artist by the work he sees and discovers his Emma is alive! Emma's love has turned to indifference at feeling abandoned, while Julian's deep loss turns to anger at the thought that Emma was alive and never contacted him. But the years of feeling betrayed between them both has really intensified their love. Will Emma and Julian learn to come to terms with the past and the present, while at the same time discovering who the real traitor in India was?

In this well-written story, there is much intensity, mystery, and sensuality in a story that shows the ugliness of war, yet beauty and love that can rise from it all. Ms. Duran has done a wonderful job at research about a complicated time in history. The characters have such depth throughout the span of time of the story. It is sensual in a way that no other story could be given the time and situation the characters find themselves in. A Gather.com contest winner, The Duke of Shadows is truly a wonderful debut that reads as if it were written by a master of history and romance.