Dukes By the Dozen

by Alyssa Alexander

  The words shocked her. Our marriage. Something she’d never dreamed could come to be.

  He continued, unabated. “Tessa would want you to be a mother to our girls. She wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. Don’t you agree?”

  She couldn’t say no. Lying was a sin. “I do love the girls. With all my heart.”

  “I know you do.” He took her hands in his, both of them. Enclosed them in the blanket of his warmth. “Do you think you could come to love me too? Some day? I would be honored if you said yes.”

  “Love you? Some day?” She knew she was acting like a parrot, but she couldn’t help it. The nonsense he was spouting boggled her brain.

  “Is it such a ludicrous idea? I am a duke after all.” His hopeful expression collapsed. It pained her to see.

  “Oh, Jonathan,” she sighed. “I don’t care that you’re a duke. I never have.”

  “But—”

  She silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Hush, darling. And listen to me.”

  He stilled. A smile blossomed on his oh-so-handsome face. “Did you just call me darling?”

  “Hush. Darling, I have loved you for years. Since the day you rescued me from that tree. Do you remember?”

  “Of course I remember. You were all scraggles and limbs.”

  She frowned at him. “No need to be rude. The point is, I do love you. I always have. I just never thought you would be drawn to someone like me.”

  “Someone like you?” He reared back and, to her horror, gave her the old up and down. What did he see, when he looked at her like that? Surely not a face that wasn’t as perfect as Tessa’s. A body that was plumper. Hair that wasn’t that lovely shade of blonde.

  “Tessa was beautiful.”

  He nodded. “She was. And you are beautiful too.”

  It was difficult to hold back her snort. “Not as beautiful as she.”

  He gave a small laugh. “I wish you could see yourself as I see you.”

  “And how is that?” Was it foolish to ask?

  “Perfect. A perfect woman. A perfect wife. A perfect duchess… You’re the one I want, Meg, and, if you are willing, you are the one I shall have.”

  And then, perhaps to end the argument, such as it was, he kissed her soundly. And ah, it was glorious. He kissed her and kissed her—and, to be honest, she kissed him—for quite some time. They would probably have continued on forever, except a terrible thought occurred, and Meg had to pull away.

  Jonathan studied her expression and his lips took a downturn. “What is it?”

  “Oh, Jonathan, dear. What about your mother? She had such hopes that you would land a society bride.”

  “You are a society bride,” he growled.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “My mother has no say in this.”

  “But—”

  “To hell with my mother!”

  “Well really.” An affronted snort came from the door.

  They both turned to see the dowager standing there with Susana, Lizzie, and Vicca.

  Susana sniffed. “This is becoming a habit,” she said, although she said it with something of a smile.

  “What are they doing?” Vicca asked, poking her head around her grandmother.

  “I do believe your father is compromising my companion,” the dowager clipped.

  Oh dear. Meg leaped to her feet. “It’s not what it seems—”

  “Yes,” Jonathan said, standing as well and wrapping his arm around Meg’s waist. “It’s exactly what it looks like. Meg has just accepted my proposal.”

  Susana crossed her arms. “Well, that took the two of you long enough.”

  “Indeed,” his mother said. And, to Meg’s delight, the dowager came to her with open arms and gave her a lovely hug.

  “What does that mean?” Lizzie said with a skeptical look at the lot of them.

  Jonathan went down on one knee and pulled his daughters close, so he could look them in the eye. “Meg is to be my wife and, if you’re willing, your mother.”

  They both turned to Meg then, and though she was unaccountably nervous, she smiled. “Would you like that?”

  The twins exchanged a look and then shrugged. “Of course we like it,” Vicca said.

  Lizzie nodded. “We told you days ago you should marry Meg.”

  “Weren’t you paying attention?”

  Jonathan sighed. “Apparently I wasn’t. I needed to work it out for myself.”

  “Well, I am delighted,” the dowager said. “We’ll make an announcement at the ball this evening.”

  Susana chuckled. “And ruin Christmas for Cicely Peck.”

  The dowager smirked. “An added bonus, but it will do.” She sighed heartily and turned to survey the new family to be. Man, wife, and daughters. Hopefully sons soon enough, judging from the look in Jonathan’s eye. “It makes me supremely happy when my plans play out,” she murmured.

  Jonathan smiled. “It was a brilliant plan, throwing a party to find a husband for Meg.”

  “Oh?” his mother said cheekily. “Was that my plan?”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  She shrugged.

  His eyes narrowed. “You told me the point of this party was to find a husband for Meg.”

  Meg blinked. “You told me the point of this party was to find a bride for Jonathan.”

  “Did I?” Was it possible for a woman to flutter her lashes that fervidly and not create a breeze?

  “So what was your plan?” Meg had to ask.

  But the dowager merely looked at them and smiled. “Let’s just say my plan played out, shall we? And I am so very happy for both of you. Now, let’s get going. We have a betrothal ball to attend.” And with that, she shooed Susana, Lizzie, and Vicca from the room, the last two doing a little jig.

  “Your mother is a handful,” Meg said, as Jonathan turned her back into his arms.

  “Yes,” he said. “But this time, I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  “You know, neither could I.”

  And it was true.

  “Now, shall we go prepare for our ball?”

  She smiled at him. Her heart in her eyes. “Yes. Let’s.”

  “But, Meg.” He stopped her and fixed her with a fierce gaze. “You’re not dancing with anyone but me.”

  Epilogue

  Spring in Sutton was lovely. Meg had known it would be so.

  She woke up early on the four-month anniversary of her wedding to find her husband gone and four roses on his pillow. Her heart swelled with love and she sighed. It had been a wonderful four months.

  After the house party, the family had decamped to London while the banns were read and enjoyed winter in the city, including the most amazing Frost Fair held right on the frozen-over River Thames. The girls had loved the menageries, skating on the ice, the horse drawn boat, and, of course, the gingerbread. They’d also visited the museums and shops, and she and Jonathan had gone to the opera.

  It had, indeed been tedious, except during the arias, but Jonathan’s box had been recessed, so there might have been kissing.

  And oh, with the season still in swing, there had been parties. Susana and Christian had led her into the fray, introducing her to all their friends.

  Everyone, it seemed, had been delighted to welcome the new Duchess of Devon into the fold. With the possible exception of Cicely Peck, which was no great loss.

  They’d even attended another wedding. Of all people, Hisdick and Louisa Mountbatten.

  Once the thaw came, they’d discussed returning to Sutton, but hadn’t made any real plans until Meg had started feeling ill in the mornings.

  Meg hadn’t realized what that meant, but the dowager had.

  She’d packed them all up immediately and trundled them to Sutton, claiming Devon was too far to travel for a woman in her condition.

  They’d been here ever since, just the family, enjoying the advent of spring and watching Meg’s belly grow.

  The dowager had been pleased with her progress, exclaimi
ng more than once that she was sure it was twins. And she would know, having carried a pair herself. How she knew these were boys, Meg had no clue, but she was happy to play along.

  Though in truth, she didn’t care it if was a boy or a girl or one of each.

  Just not two of each, please.

  Lizzie and Vicca were delighted, of course, to know a sibling, or two, were on order. If the babies were twins, they announced, there would be one for each of them, whereas, if there was only one baby, they’d have to share and they didn’t care to share. Jonathan had told them there would always be more, so there was no need to squabble.

  Meg smiled and stretched at the thought of more. She had always wanted lots of children, and Jonathan was more than happy to oblige.

  Her stomach grumbled and she sat up in bed—on the off chance it might mean she was about to cast up her accounts. Again. But no. It was real hunger.

  At that moment, the door opened on the most beautiful sight. Her handsome husband, with a tray of food.

  “Ah, she’s awake,” he said and his comment was followed by squeals of delight as Vicca and Lizzie piled into the room and onto the bed.

  “My darlings,” she said, giving each of them a kiss, even as Jonathan implored them to be gentle. He sat the tray on the bed and sat down beside her. Where he belonged.

  “You finally woke up,” Lizzie said with a sigh.

  “I was tired.”

  “Why were you tired?” Vicca asked. “Didn’t you and Papa go to bed early?”

  Indeed. They had.

  “Perhaps she didn’t sleep well,” Jonathan suggested with a grin.

  Meg surveyed her tray, which held eggs, toast points, hot chocolate, and a slice of cake. There was also a small bundle of greenery on the side. She reached for a triangle of toast and gave her husband a smile. “Thank you for the flowers,” she said, nodding to the roses.

  “Thank you for last night,” he said, picking up the bundle and showing it to her. Where on earth had he found mistletoe this time of year? She laughed as he held it over her head and kissed her on the nose. Didn’t he know he didn’t need that anymore? He could kiss her anytime he wanted.

  “What happened last night?” Lizzie asked.

  They exchanged a glance.

  “Ah, your mama read me a story.”

  It was adorable, how he flushed.

  “I did indeed. It was a very nice story.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Nice? It was a damned sight more than nice.”

  “Yes, dear,” she said patting him on the hand, because it had been.

  Vicca put out a lip. “I want to hear the story.”

  “Me too.” Lizzie pouted.

  And, of course, Jonathan laughed. “You’ll have to wait for that,” he said.

  “How long?” the twins chorused.

  “Oh years, one hopes,” Jonathan said on a chuckle. “Years and years and years.”

  She and Jonathan both fell into peals of laughter, but Vicca and Lizzie weren’t amused in the least. But they didn’t mind so much when their father kissed their mother until she was distracted, and they were able to steal her cake.

  About the Author

  Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of award-winning hot and humorous romance. Her heroes range from valiant SEALS to sweaty cowboys to hot Highlanders and more. Check out her latest awards for Susana and the Scot including a 2017 RITA nomination and the

  2017 National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award Winner.

  Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and tiara giveaways.

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  Never Miss a New Book! Sign up for Sabrina’s VIP List Today and get a free book!

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  Also by Sabrina York

  HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  Noble Passions Series

  Dark Fancy, Book 1

  Dark Duke, Book 2

  Brigand, Book 3

  Defiant, Book 4

  Folly, Book 5

  Untamed Highlanders Series

  Hannah and the Highlander, Book 1

  Susana and the Scot, Book 2

  Lana and the Laird, Book 3

  The Highlander is All That, Book 4

  What a Highlander’s Got to Do, Book 5

  Say Yes to the Scot Anthology

  The Dundragon Time Travel Trilogy

  Laird of her Heart, Book 1

  Her Hot Highlander, Book 2 (Coming Soon)

  His Highland Lass, Book 3 (Coming Soon)

  Waterloo Heroes

  Tarnished Honor, Book 1

  Call of the Wild Wind, Book 2

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Check out Sabrina’s SEALs, Cowboys and Steamy Romantic Romps on her bookshelf: Sabrinayork.com/books

  DUELING WITH THE DUKE

  January

  Eileen Dreyer

  Preface

  When Adam Marrick, Duke of Rothray, shows up on Georgie Grace’s doorstep in rural Dorset, she thinks it is to acquaint himself with his cousin James’s widow and child. Instead the duke brings the news that Georgie’s four-year-old daughter Lilly Charlotte, whom James’s family disowned, has inherited a Scottish duchy. Unfortunately, the news has also brought danger to her door.

  Chapter 1

  She had a face that was completely forgettable. At least that was the way Jamie had described her. A girl you might overlook if you weren’t careful, which Jamie had said would be a shame. After four years, Adam was finally going to be able to judge for himself.

  Just as the thought crossed Adam’s mind, the penguin-shaped little butler who had preceded him across the tidy entry hall threw open a set of doors as if invading Windsor and called out, “His Noble!!...er, no. His Gracious!….no, that’s not right either, is it?” His voice weakened with each progressive attempt, ending in a bare whisper. “His high….?”

  Which was when Adam fully appreciated how young this butler was, not even to his majority, Adam suspected. The boy was suddenly red-faced and ducking his head. “Ma’am, excuse me. How do you introduce a duke?”

  Adam leaned around the young man to discover a small, tidy young woman in a forest green round gown seated at a Sheraton desk, looking as if she was doing sums in an account book. “What, Tom?” she asked without looking up.

  “A duke, ma’am. How do I introduce one?”

  Muttering under her breath, she scratched something out and checked another page. She still didn’t look up. “You introduce them as His Grace the Duke of Whatever, Tom.”

  The boy bowed. “Thank you, ma’am.” Clearing his throat, he straightened so fast it looked like he might crack. Adam fought back a smile. “His Grace, the Duke of Rothray!” the boy all but wailed, his voice breaking right in the middle, which provoked yet another blush.

  The noise finally brought the young woman’s head up with a snap. She caught sight of Adam leaning on his cane just beyond her butler, and she gaped. “Good heavens.”

  Adam smiled and bowed. “Lady Georgiana, I presume?”

  She jumped to her feet and smoothed her skirt, which unfortunately left a smear of ink down the front. She never noticed. She was busy pulling off her spectacles and hiding them behind her skirt, as if it would make them disappear. Adam was finding it harder to maintain his ducal poise. She was blinking at him like a bunny.

  “Mrs. Grace, ” she corrected, finally bobbing a curtsy. “Your Grace. Won’t you come in?”

  He didn’t want to say the obvious, that he already was in. “Thank you.”

  “Er….” she brushed at her chestnut hair, which seemed to be in want of some pins. “Tea? Yes. Tea. Tom, pop off and let Mrs. Cranston know, won’t you?”

  The boy bounced a quick bow and left at a clattering run.

  “A bit young for a butler, isn’t he?” Adam couldn’t help but ask once the boy had disappeared down the corridor.

 
“He is. Please accept my apologies for the, er, introduction.” She gave an ineffectual wave after the boy. “The actual butler is up in London with my brother right now, and I thought, well, Tom so wants to be a butler, that I might give him a chance for a bit while things were quiet. We have a program to teach young people from the workhouse, and, well, I never expected the poor boy would have to introduce a duke.”

  Adam gave her his best smile. “A laudable act.”

  She nodded a time or two, still just standing there, as if she’d never had a duke in her parlor before. Well, Adam thought, she might not have. Still. Her father was a marquess.

  He might have to rethink his plan if this visit didn’t improve.

  It was almost as if she’d heard him. “Oh!” she said, waving toward the sunflower-colored settee. “I’ve left you standing far too long. Please. Have a seat.”

  It was all he could do to keep a straight face. He limped across the small salon, quickly taking it in as he passed. Small, square and cozy, it contained two settees and a few scattered chairs grouped around a fireplace. Considering its dominant color, the room was undoubtedly called either the Yellow Salon or the Lemon Square. At least it was warm, with a bright fire crackling in an Adams fireplace to push out the bitter January cold.

  It was a pretty room, situated on the east side of the tidy Queen Anne manor to pick up the warm morning light. He couldn’t, however, call it comfortable. The settee he eased down onto was stiff with the kind of spindly legs that made him worry he would presently be seated on the floor. Mrs. Grace—he couldn’t help thinking of her as Georgie--settled herself on a matching yellow brocade chair.

  Jamie had been correct. If Adam had simply seen Jamie’s wife sitting at a desk, he would have walked right by. It was when she moved that she began to make an impression. She had a compelling grace, especially for a small woman. He would have expected her to, well, bounce like a small bird on a fence. She glided as if books rested on her head.