Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart

by Sarah MacLean

  But he had also come to escape Juliana.

  He should have known that once he arrived here, in this house filled with women, that he would be reminded of her. Should have known that when he drank scotch with Nick, he would see Juliana in Nick’s eyes, in the way he laughed. Should have known that near her family, he would think of her constantly.

  But what he had not expected was how much he thought of her when he was near his own family: when his mother had left the house, with barely a word of farewell; when his sister had refused to see him upon his arrival to Townsend Park; when he held his niece in his arms, consumed with how her slight weight could seem so heavy. He’d thought of Juliana at all those moments.

  He’d wanted her by his side. Her strength. Her willingness to face down any foe. Her commitment to those for whom she cared.

  For those she loved.

  When she’d burst into the nursery to take him on, to champion the infant Caroline at all costs, it had been as though he had conjured her up. And somehow, in her railing, he had found comfort for the first time since arriving in Yorkshire.

  She had faced him with a fierce commitment to what she believed was right. No one had ever fought him the way she had. The way she did. No one had ever held his feet to the flame the way she did.

  She was everything he had never been—emotion and passion and excitement and desire. She cared nothing for his name or his title or his reputation.

  She cared only for the man he might be.

  She made him want to be that man.

  But it was impossible.

  He had proposed to Penelope, thinking she could save them all, and only now did he realize that, with that final act, he had ruined everything.

  Simon stared at the door through which Juliana had fled, knowing that the best he could do for her—for both of them—was to keep away from her.

  He owed her at least that.

  She deserved better than ruin at his hands.

  A flood of remorse coursed through him—for what he had done and what he would never do. He tried not to think on it as noise came, loud and welcome, from the cradle; Caroline was waking. He moved instinctively toward her, wanting to hold the little creature who did not know enough to see his flaws.

  He was beside her in seconds, thankful for the odd lack of servants at the Park. In any other house, the niece of a duke would be surrounded by nurses and nannies, but here, she was alone at times, giving her uncle a chance to be near her without an audience.

  He lifted her once more into his arms, hoping that the contact was enough for her to settle and return to sleep. Caroline had other plans, her little cries getting louder.

  “Don’t cry, sweeting,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “Don’t make me have to find a servant . . . or your mother—I’ve made a hash of things with her, as well.”

  The infant took no pity on him, squirming in his hands. He moved her against his chest, her head on his shoulder, one large hand spread over her back. “I am not enough to make you happy, am I? Of course, there’s no reason to believe I should begin making the ladies in my life happy now.”

  “You could try a touch harder.”

  He turned at the words. His sister was crossing the nursery toward him, arms outstretched. He relinquished the baby and watched as Georgiana cradled her daughter. The child instantly settled into the arms of her mother, her cries becoming little whimpers. “She knows you.”

  Georgiana gave a little smile, not looking away from the infant. “We’ve had several months to get acquainted.”

  Several months during which he had been absent.

  He was an ass.

  “I hear you are to be married.”

  “News travels fast in this house,” Simon said.

  “It is a house populated entirely with women. What did you think would happen to the information?” She paused. “Are congratulations in order?”

  “Lady Penelope will make a fine wife. Her family is ancient, her reputation, impeccable.”

  “As ours used to be?”

  “As it still is.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, amber eyes—so like his own—seeing more than he would like. “Not for long, though.”

  He did not want to discuss his marriage to Penelope. He did not want to discuss their family name, their reputation. He wanted to discuss his sister. He wanted to start fresh.

  Not that it would ever be possible.

  “Georgiana . . .” he began, stopping when she turned away, ignoring him and crossing the room to a high table where she set Caroline down and began fussing about with her.

  “You shan’t want to stay for this bit, I don’t imagine.”

  His brow furrowed at the words, and he moved closer, curious. “For what bit?” He peeked over his sister’s shoulder, took note of her actions and instantly turned his back to the scene. “Oh! Yes. Ah—No.” In all his ducal training, he had never been trained on the care and—cleaning—of infants. “Isn’t there . . .” he cleared his throat. “Someone who can . . . do that . . . for you?”

  He could not be certain, but he thought he heard his sister chuckle. “Children do not arrive with nurse in tow, Simon.”

  He did not like the mocking in her tone. “I know that. Of course I do. But you are—” He stopped. There were a dozen ways to end that sentence.

  A duke’s daughter . . . my sister . . . barely out of diapers yourself in my mind. . .

  “I am a mother.” She came around to face him, Caroline now quiet in her arms. His sister, whom he’d always considered fragile, now calm and strong, with a voice like steel. “Whatever you were about to say. It is of no import. I am her mother. And she is first. There isn’t anything you can say that will change my mind.”

  His sister was no longer a delicate girl, but Juno, fully grown and protecting her young.

  From him.

  He, who should be doing the protecting, dammit.

  “I don’t want to change your mind.”

  She blinked. “You don’t.”

  “No.”

  It was true.

  She let out a long breath. “You’ll let me stay with Caroline. You won’t make me fight you.”

  For the last six months, he had been certain that sending the child away would be for the best. Even on the journey up, he’d toyed with the possibility, played over potential destinations in his mind, unwilling to release the hope that all could return to normal.

  He now understood how ridiculous such an idea had been.

  He could not bear the idea of sending Caroline away.

  I know what it is like to grow up knowing that a parent does not want you, Simon. He’d seen the sadness in Juliana’s eyes as she’d spoken the words. He wanted to take his fists to the people who had made her feel such devastation. And he never wanted his niece to feel that pain.

  “Of course you shall stay with Caroline.”

  Georgiana’s relief was clear. “Thank you, Simon.”

  He turned away, less than deserving of his sister’s words of gratitude after his poor treatment during the past few months. He deserved her anger and her fury and her loathing, not her thanks.

  For, even as she held her daughter in a loving embrace, he thought of the damage that would be wrought upon the family name.

  The scandal would come. And they would weather it. He was prepared. Or would be once he married Lady Penelope. “I shall be married in a month. It will help defray the interest in your situation.”

  She laughed at that, and the sound grated. “Simon, a royal wedding itself would not defray the interest in my situation.”

  He ignored the words, heading for the door, wanting nothing but to be free of this room that had seemed so welcoming and turned so cloying. Georgiana spoke before he could exit. “You don’t have to do it, you know. Nowhere is it written that you must shoulder the burden of our reputation. You don’t have to marry her.”

  Of course he did.

  He was the Duke of Leighton—one of
the most powerful men in England, born to bear the weight of one of the most venerable titles in the aristocracy. He had spent his whole life preparing for this moment, when honor and duty came before all else.

  Where was the honor in what he had done to Juliana? In the stables? In the park? In this room?

  Shame coursed through him, his skin growing hot.

  “It is not a question. I will marry the lady.”

  He would do what needed to be done.

  He found St. John in the Earl of Reddich’s study.

  The door stood open, and he knocked once, firmly on the jamb, waiting for St. John to wave him into the room before assuming the ample leather chair on the far side of the great mahogany desk.

  “One might almost think you were titled for how well you look behind that desk,” he said.

  Nick finished annotating a long column of numbers in the estate ledger and looked up. “Considering that the earl is ten and at school, I don’t think he will mind if I keep the chair warm until he is ready for it.” He leaned back. “It is the mistress of the house that we have to be worried about. She gets irritated when I use her desk.”

  “Why not get your own, then?”

  St. John grinned. “I rather enjoy her when she’s irritated.”

  Simon pretended not to hear the inappropriate comment. “I should like to talk about my sister.”

  “Excellent. I should like to talk about mine.” Simon froze at the words, and St. John’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Isabel thinks there is something between the two of you. And she is always right. It’s infuriating, really.”

  “There is nothing between us.”

  “No?”

  Yes.

  “No.” He attempted to sound emphatic. Hoped he succeeded.

  “Mmm.” Nick removed his spectacles and tossed them on the desk. “Well then. By all means, let’s discuss Lady Georgiana.”

  Simon’s relief came out on a wave of irritation. “I am happy that someone in this house remembers my sister’s station.”

  Nick’s brows rose. “I would exercise more care if I were you, Leighton.”

  Simon swore quietly, his hands balling in fists.

  “Try again,” Nick said.

  Nicholas St. John was, very possibly, Simon’s oldest friend, if he were to lay claim to one. The two, along with Ralston, had been the same year at Eton, and Simon, young and entitled, had spent too much time reminding the brothers—and the rest of the class—that the sons of the House of Ralston had come from questionable stock indeed. One day, he had pushed the easygoing Nick too far and suffered the consequences. Nick had bloodied his nose, and their friendship had begun.

  It had waned in the years following their departure from school—Simon had become the Duke of Leighton, the head of the family, one of the most powerful men in England—and Nick had left for the Continent, disappearing into the East as a war raged. Leighton money had funded Nick’s activities, but that was as close as Simon had come to his friend during those years.

  When Juliana had arrived in London, Simon had done nothing to support the house of St. John. And still, when Georgiana arrived on the doorstep of Townsend Park, with child and little else, Nick and Isabel had taken her in. Protected her as though she were their own. And as Simon had railed against them, threatening this house, their names, even their lives, Nick had stood firm, protecting Georgiana at all costs.

  A friend.

  Perhaps his only friend.

  And Simon owed Nick more than he could ever repay.

  And now he was going to ask for more.

  “She wants to remain here. With the child.”

  Nick leaned back in his chair. “And what do you want?”

  What did he want?

  He wanted it all to go back to the way it was. He wanted Georgiana safe in her bed at his country estate, preparing for autumn harvests and winter holidays. He wanted to be free of the burden that had been his since he had ascended to the dukedom . . . since before that.

  And he wanted Juliana.

  He stopped at the last, her name whispering through his mind.

  But instead of bringing clarity, it served only to bring frustration.

  He could not have her.

  Not now, not ever.

  And so he asked for what he could have.

  “I want Georgiana to be safe. And Caroline—the child—I want them both to be safe.”

  Nick nodded. “They are safe here.”

  “Tell me how much you need.”

  Nick slashed one hand through the air. “No, Leighton. You’ve given us enough over the past six months. More than necessary.”

  “More than you expected.”

  “Well, you must admit . . . with the way you stormed out of here after discovering your sister’s situation, we hardly expected you to become a benefactor of Minerva House.”

  He’d done it out of guilt.

  Georgiana had been terrified of telling him the truth about her situation—that she was with child—that the father’s identity would remain her secret. She’d been in tears, had virtually begged him to forgive her. To protect her.

  And he’d walked away, angry and unsettled.

  He’d returned to London, desperate to shore up their reputation.

  Pretending that she was an inconvenience rather than his sister, and the only member of his family who had ever felt like family.

  And so he had done the only thing he could do.

  He had sent money.

  A great deal of it.

  “They are my responsibility. I will continue to care for them.”

  Nick watched him for a long moment, and Simon held his friend’s gaze. He would not be denied this—the only way he could even begin to rectify his mistakes.

  Nick nodded once. “You do what you feel needs to be done.”

  “You will let me know if anything . . . if she needs anything.”

  “I will.”

  “You are a good friend.” It was the first time he’d ever said the words. To Nick . . . to anyone. The first time he had acknowledged a friendship that was more than a drink at the club or a fencing match. He surprised himself with the sentiment.

  Nick’s eyes widened at the words. “You would do the same.”

  The simple truth shook Simon to the core. He would. Now. But until recently, he might not have.

  What had changed?

  The answer was clear.

  But he could not admit it. Not to himself. Certainly not to Nick.

  “Now that that’s settled,” Nick said, reaching for a bottle of brandy and pouring two snifters’ worth of the rich liquid, “shall we return to the topic of Juliana?”

  No. She is too much on my mind as it is.

  Simon took the offered glass, trying to keep from betraying his thoughts. “There is not much to say.”

  Nick drank, savoring the liquid and drawing out the moment. “Come, Leighton. You forget to whom you speak. Why not tell me the truth this time? I know my brother hit you. I know my sister flew into a near rage when she thought you might be here with your own child. Do you really want me to draw my own conclusions?”

  They could not be any worse than the truth.

  Simon remained silent.

  Nick sat back, hands clasped together over his navy blue waistcoat—a portrait of calm. Simon loathed him for it. And then his friend spoke. “Fair enough. I shall tell you what I think. I think that you are beside yourself with discomfort at the situation your sister is in. I think you’ve proposed to Lady Penelope in some mad belief that your marriage can offset Georgiana’s scandal. I think you are marrying for all the wrong reasons. And I think that my sister is proving it to you.”

  Simon had an instant desire to put his fist through Nick, who noticed the flash of anger with a wry smile. “You’re welcome to hit me, old friend, but I can tell you it will not make this any easier. Or my words any less true.”

  Simon supposed he should have been impressed by Nick’s astuteness, but when h
e really considered it, how difficult was it to see the truth?

  He was foolish around her. She made him a fool.

  She made him more than that.

  She made him ache. And want.

  And more.

  He did not follow the thought. Would not.

  Nick need not know such things.

  Instead, he faced his friend in silence, and they sat like that, unmoving, not speaking, for long moments before one side of Nick’s mouth rose in a small smile. “You realize you won’t be able to avoid it.”

  Simon made a show of brushing an invisible speck from his coat sleeve, pretending to be bored, pretending not to care even as his mind and heart raced.

  “Avoid what?”

  “Avoid the way she makes you feel.”

  “And who is to say she makes me feel anything but irritation?”

  Nick laughed. “The fact that you know precisely of whom I am speaking is enough. And you will discover that, in this family, irritation is a precursor to far more dangerous sentiments.”

  “I have discovered far too much about this family as it is,” he said, hoping that years of practiced haughtiness would cover the other emotions roiling within.

  “You can play the part of the disdainful duke all you like, Leighton. It won’t change anything.” Nick set his snifter down and stood, heading for the door, turning back before he opened it. “I suppose it is too much to ask that you stay away from her?”

  Yes.

  The idea of staying away from Juliana was incomprehensible.

  And yet, he must.

  What an ass he was. What a fool.

  “Not at all.”

  Liar.

  Nick made a little sound that spoke volumes.

  “You do not believe me?”

  Not that he should. Lord Nicholas St. John should remove him bodily from the house—for his sister’s protection.

  For Simon’s.

  “No, Leighton. I don’t believe you. Not in the slightest.” Nick opened the door.

  “If you think I am a risk to her—to her reputation—why let me stay here?”

  Nick turned to face him then, and Simon saw something in the other man’s blue eyes—eyes so like Juliana’s.

  Sympathy.

  “You are not a risk to her.”

  Nick did not know the way desire raged through him when she was near.