Maid of His Heart

By Natasha Perry

Pretty Claire O'Reilly is working as a maid in 1878 New York City at the grand mansion, Stanton's Settle. Her employer, Andrew Morgan-Stanton, a wealthy railroad baron, introduces the innocent Claire to the pain and pleasure of discipline and obedience and, in the end, they both find an unexpected love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Satin Romance
• Release date: Feb 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781680467161

Natasha Perry

Ms. Perry has been writing romance, under another pseudonym, for thirteen years. She is from the Midwest, where more snow flies than the sun shines, has raised a family of four children, and still works a day job. Her dream job is to be home writing eight hours a day.

Book preview

Chapter 1

December 1878

Manhattan, New York

Christmas, and all of its hustle and bustle, would soon arrive, much to Claire O’Reilly’s chagrin. She hated the holiday, mostly because she dreaded the amount of work involved readying for it, as she’d been doing the past week with heavy cleaning. Sitting with her eyes closed, she was on the ragged edge of slumber upon the divan at her employer’s home when Snap! Blazing pain tore through her breasts and startled, her eyes opened in stunned surprise.

Oh, heavens, she gasped, scrambling up from her prone position on the rose-colored divan in the parlor.

Her hands flew up to protect herself from further blows and she groaned in horror at Mrs. Henderson, the head housekeeper, standing over her with a long, wicked cane in her hand.

What be ye about, girl? Ye can’t be sleepin’. Christmas will soon be here. Sleepin’s not what Master Stanton’s paying ye fer, either. Ye’ll need to learn, and the only way I know to teach ye is to beat ye, the master’s rules, not mine, but a good thing! Mrs. Henderson narrowed her already small eyes and raised her arm as she moved closer, ready to strike a second time.

Please, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I hate the Christmas season. All it means is more heavy work than I do now for the same pitiful pay, Claire retorted, keeping her arms across her breasts.

Shaking in outrage, the woman snapped, And if ye didn’t stay awake all hours of the night readin’ those silly books ye wouldn’t be too tired to do yer work. Plenty more of your type to fill yer shoes, she said, her arm raised as she went after Claire again.

Claire huddled on the divan, arms up as she tried protecting herself from the blows raining down on her, since she couldn’t escape the woman’s bulky body hovering over her. Humiliation swamped her when she heard the tittering of the assembled staff outside the door, knowing they heard the fall of the cane on her body.

What in the world is going on here?

A man had asked the question, in a calm but deep, menacing voice.

Mrs. Henderson immediately dropped the cane on the floor, whirled around, gasped, and bobbed a quick curtsy. Master Stanton.

Claire looked toward the parlor entrance. There stood a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man. With the brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows Claire noticed he was dressed rather formally for morning. But the frock coat, white shirt and silver-grey waistcoat enhanced his masculinity and his handsomeness. His face held a mixture of exhaustion, inquisitiveness, and anger as he glared at her tormentor.

This man, the master of the house, had arrived home from a business journey yesterday, and spent his first evening with his mistress, according to the gossiping staff. Upon his return in the wee hours of the morning, he’d instructed the staff to leave him be for he’d sleep the day away. Now Claire believed she was in even more trouble for he’d wakened early, likely because he’d heard the ruckus Claire and his housekeeper had made.

Upon this first meeting, Claire guessed him to be about thirty, much older than her, but so virile and gut-wrenchingly handsome. With great effort, she looked away and focused on the housekeeper hunched over her still, cane lying on the floor at her feet. Mrs. Henderson wrung her hands and perspiration dripped from her forehead.

Good! She hoped the woman paid for her wrath. Justice would be served.

I asked you a direct question, Mrs. Henderson. What has the girl done to warrant your wrath?

Claire’s eyes widened, and she gulped as she watched the master prowl across the parlor floor and then stop beside Mrs. Henderson where he bent down and swept up the cane, tapping it against his thigh. His very muscular thigh, Claire noted, her eyes riveted to it.

The woman straightened a bit and blustered. She was sleeping that’s what! It isn’t allowed, Master Stanton.

Claire cowered now as her employer’s piercing gaze settled on her. Is that true? he asked in a dangerously soft voice. Were you sleeping instead of working?

With a short nod, Claire averted her eyes, not wanting to see his anger. Andrew Morgan Stanton possessed the face of an angel, yet she wondered at his looming reaction to her transgression. He had every right to be furious for she’d disobeyed one of the rules of the house. What Claire had yet to determine was if the rule truly was his, or something the nasty Mrs. Henderson had determined.

Master Stanton directed his argument back to his housekeeper. They moved further away from Claire, who ignored their words and instead studied this man she’d heard so many roguish things about. What a horrid thing to happen; meeting her employer for the first time under such awful circumstances. She sat there quietly, utterly taken by him, all thoughts of anything else left her mind.

Not for the first time did she wonder why an unmarried man would reside in such an enormous house—a house with an enormous name—Morgan-Stanton’s Settle, named after Andrew Morgan-Stanton himself, who’d ‘settled’ there five years ago, upon making his fortune in the railroad business. She thought it a rather pompous name but there was no accounting for nouveau-rich folks’ eccentricities she’d learned since her arrival in America three years ago, at the age of fifteen. With a sigh, her eyes misted over as she thought of the green hills and valleys of Ireland, but she for certain didn’t miss the abject poverty.

Oh, how she longed to rest. She secretly worked late at O’Gara’s Pub in the evenings, sneaking off when the household was quiet. Last night she’d had very little sleep. She leaned back to wait for them to stop, her arms still protectively crossed over her breasts. Perhaps she’d been lucky with his intervention. Unable to help herself, she slumped down against the divan’s back cushions again and closed her eyes, awaiting either further punishment or release. How much worse could it be?

Would ye look at that, sir? She’s at it again!

Claire’s eyes shot open, startled by Mrs. Henderson’s shrill voice and she shot up straight once more. She met the master’s eyes, saw he’d crossed the room to her side without a sound, his expression haughty yet, dare Claire think it, concerned as well? She started to stand but sank down and shrunk back when he reached out and placed his hand against her forehead.

I won’t hurt you, he murmured. Mrs. Henderson, she’s quite warm, he said. I’m wondering if she has the fever.

Claire couldn’t tear her gaze away from Mr. Stanton, so delightfully cool was his hand on her. She felt captivated by him, and the rest of her world dwindled away to nothing. Heavens, she was drawn to him as a moth to light, as a bee to a flower...

Are you ill? he asked.

Shaking her head, Claire started to stand once more but he held her down with a hand on her shoulder.

Then what ails you, girl? When she didn’t reply, his low voice raised, Are you with child?

She gasped, No!

Mrs. Henderson growled, No, Master, you mean!

Claire’s eyes widened as she darted a quick look at the woman, then she