A Duke's Desire (The Duke's Club Book 1)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Brock pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the small room. His friends looked up with deep smiles, greeting him with raised pints of ale.

  “Really, Hardy,” Brock said as he laid his hat and gloves on the table and hung his cane on its edge. “Couldn’t you find a place with a good footman at the very least.”

  The big Naval Captain laughed as he shook his head, “Leave it to you, Your Grace, to immediately point out an establishment’s failings. Lord Greenville here doesn’t mind. Do you Duncan?”

  Duncan Greenville shook his head as he took a long drink. “Any place they aren’t shooting at me is perfectly acceptable. It is infinitely better than a leaky Portuguese barn under a French bombardment.”

  Brock snorted as he slid in next to his friend. Duncan appeared gaunt. Even in his Major’s uniform. As if he had been under a great strain for a long time. Napoleon was proving to be more difficult than some had anticipated.

  “And you, Suffolk?” Brock asked of his friend Ian, recently raised to the title of fourth Duke of Suffolk with his father’s death. “Do you find this acceptable?” Brock asked. “Surely, we could find somewhere with a finer ale. Or better yet, a good whiskey.”

  Ian smiled and nodded to Hardy. “It was his turn. He gets to select.”

  Brock sighed to himself. It was one of those unwritten club rules that allowed them to maintain their equality. A commoner like Captain Jack Hardy was valued as much as a leading pear of the realm.

  “Yes, well,” Brock said. “How long has it been? A year?”

  “Fourteen months,” Duncan said as he drained his ale. “And I fear it will be longer until we meet next. Between my pending departure back to the battlefield and Hardy sailing the deep blue. There is no telling when the four of us will again be together. If at all. We will have to leave the care of Britain to the two of you.”

  Brock’s insides tightened with worry. His friend was right. This might very well be their last time. He examined each of his friends and felt his heartache. These men were the only friends he had in this world. The only ones who wanted nothing from him.

  As the other’s talked, he silently examined them each. Ian Temple. Like him, a fellow Duke. His closest friend. They sat next to each other in the house of Lords. They attended the same parties, danced with the same women. Tall, blond, intelligent. Ian preferred books to people. Yet, he was gaining the reputation as a bit of a Rake. It seemed the widows and courtesans of London couldn’t get enough of the handsome artist type.

  As for Jack Hardy, Brock could only shake his head. The big man who had never learned to swim was a Captain in His Majesties Navy. Commanding a frigate at the tender age of twenty-seven.

  His father had pulled him from the school at fourteen and sent him to sea as a midshipman. Hardy had proven himself more than once. But, it was his performance at Trafalgar that had caught the attention of the Navy Brass.

  The political connections of his father could not be ignored by the Naval department either. Brock wondered what that relationship must be like. The old Duke had no other legitimate children. He didn’t hide from his paternity. But instead, treated Hardy like a long distant relative. The kind that could be reluctantly acknowledged as a fact that could not be denied. Yet never accepted in his world.

  And finally, he examined Duncan. Lord Greenville. It hurt to see the blank look in the man’s eyes. He had always been so full of life. The first to suggest adventures. Well, it looked as if Duncan had experienced enough adventures for a lifetime.

  The second son of a Duke. It was either a small parish or the Army. And since Duncan had committed more sins than most. He’d wisely chosen a career in the Army. Now, after years of war. It appeared as if the strain was taking a cost.

  And then there was himself. A Duke since the age of three. He knew no other life. There were times when he envied Duncan and Hardy. Living a life that judged them on what they did vice their last name or a title earned by some distant ancestor.

  The bond between the four of them, that bond formed in their early years, remained tighter than ever.

  Sitting back, he let the conversation flow over him as he took in the pure pleasure of being among friends. Being in the one place where no one wanted to use him for their own gain. The one place where he was allowed to be himself.

  After a lull in the conversation, Duncan leaned forward and peered at Ian. “So,” he began. “Tell us, is it any different being a Duke than a Marquess? Brock here wouldn’t know. He has always been a Duke.”

  Ian shrugged his shoulders then said, “I am pursued more diligently by the ladies of the ton perhaps. And by their mothers on their behalf, I might add. It seems that now that I have inherited the full title, I have become even more valued.”

  Hardy snorted and shook his head, “Oh, to have such problems. A gaggle of beautiful women begging for your attention.”

  Ian stared at his drink then shook his head. “They want marriage, not love. It is not me they desire, but the title of Duchess.”

  Duncan laughed, “It still sounds like a wonderful problem. Having women falling over themselves to get to you.”

  “Not women, Ladies,” Ian corrected.

  “There is a difference?” Hardy asked.

  “Yes,” Ian replied. “Ladies are most definitely different.

  Brock snorted and shook his head.

  “What, you disagree?” Ian asked his friend.

  “Women are the same the world over. Mysterious, beautiful, and trouble.”

  Ian frowned back at him. “Surely, you can see the difference in breeding and grace.”

  Brock shook his head vigorously. “Training, and expectations,” he said. “That is the only difference. Our ladies of Britain are taught from an early age to believe they are better and deserve more. They are drilled in the etiquette and manners that will lift them above the rest of humanity. But, deep down. I don’t care if she is a barmaid or a princess. She hopes for someone to keep the wolf at bay.

  “Surely that is understandable,” Ian said as he lifted his ale. “They are the weaker sex after all.”

  Brock snorted. “Women are not weak. Who among us could lift a heavy load simply by batting an eyelid and offering a coy smile? How many men do we know who have sacrificed their freedom simply because a woman desired it? No, gentleman, I say that it is women who rule this world. Especially young, pretty ones.”

  The three continued to stare at him in disbelief until Hardy threw his head back and laughed. “Brock, the day you can be manipulated by a woman is the day I will give up my command and come ashore.”

  The other two joined in laughing, dismissing his ideas. Brock shrugged it off. They were not ready to hear him. Not willing to change their preconceived notions.

  Duncan continued to laugh then shifted the conversation to parliament, the war and more important matters.

  For the remainder of the night the four members of what used to be called ‘The Duke’s Club’ traded stories and memories of their youth and prospects for the future.

  It was a good evening, Brock thought. One of the best in a long time. It always was when they got together. But all such good times must come to an end. Hardy needed to return to his ship. Duncan spoke of going to Birmingham to take care of pressing business.

  Brock sighed internally, he worried about his friend. This business in Birmingham was surely related to the war. The pain in the young man’s eyes spoke of a duty he could not avoid.

  “I hope it is not so long until next we meet,” Brock said at the door as he pulled on his gloves then took up his cane. “And next time, it will be my turn and be held at White’s, where a man can get a good whiskey.”

  The others laughed as they stepped out into the night. Brock waived for a taxi at the far end of the street. Hardy begged off. His ship was but a few streets over. Duncan said he wished to walk and clear his head. Brock knew that the man wanted to soak up the sounds of smells of London one last time before leaving for war.

 
Ian smiled and pointed the other way. Brock knew the man had a studio in the far direction. The man would spend the night working over a canvas. Lost in his world of art. Either that, or an assignation with a beautiful widow.

  Brock took a deep breath. This was it then. Parting from these men always left an empty feeling deep in his stomach. He had reached out to shake Hardy’s hand when a high-pitched female scream echoed off the buildings around him.

  The sound gripped his lower spine and refused to let go. It was the primordial sound of a young woman in terror. A sound that spoke to every male of any honor.

  Chapter Three

  Ann twisted to break free as her entire body shook with fear. Grainger’s men. Her life was ruined if she could not escape.

  “Ain’t no use,” the tall one said as he pulled at her arm, his grip like iron shackles, unbreakable.

  The shorter one held her wrist while he slipped an arm around her waist and lifted her up off the ground. He smelled of garlic and stale sweat. Her stomach rebelled as she shivered and cringed, desperate to break free and regain control of the situation.

  His toothless smile sent a shiver down her spine. The man was looking forward to hurting her and she was helpless. Her heart ached with a sense of failure and fear. Free, she must break away, but it was hopeless. These two knew how to hold a person to prevent them from escaping. She was rather positive that they had years of experience.

  A new voice entered her awareness.

  “I say, what is going on here?” the deep, refined voice said from behind her. Both of her captors froze and turned to confront their questioner while never letting up on their tight hold.

  Ann’s stomach clenched up when she saw the tall gentleman watching them with a raised eyebrow. His top hat, kid gloves, cape, and fancy cane spoke of his class. An upper-crust gentleman. Her heart fell. What she needed was a tough dock man, or maybe a sailor. A man with enough experience and heart to stop her kidnappers. Not a fancy gentleman slumming through the darker parts of London curious about how the lower people lived.

  “None your business guvnor,” the taller of her attackers said as he pushed her fully into the arms of the shorter man so that he could turn and face the gentleman, his hands curled into fists, ready for anything.

  The tall gentleman ignored the man and focused on her. His eyes trapped her, dark, mysterious. Full of a confident strength that made her insides flutter.

  “Are either of these men your brothers or husband?” he asked as if he were asking her for directions.

  “No,” Ann yelled as she shook her head and tried once again to break free. Becoming desperate, she tried to stomp down on Shorty’s foot but he shifted before she could strike true.

  “She owes us,” the tall one said. “And if you was smart, you’d leave before you’s gets hurt.”

  The gentleman’s handsome brow furrowed for a second then he shook his head. “How much?” he asked. “The debt, how much?”

  The short attacker held her arms trapped next to her body as he laughed. “She ain’t for sale. Not yet at least.”

  Sighing heavily, the gentleman stuck two fingers into his waistcoat pocket and removed a gold coin holding it up in the silvery moonlight. “This should be more than enough to cover any debt a young woman such as this could incur. Am I right?” Then he did the most amazing thing, he tossed the gold coin at her attacker's feet like he was feeding ducks in the park.

  The heavy clink of the coins on the cobblestones echoed through the street.

  Ann’s insides jumped with hope mixed with a new fear. Who was this man and why was he doing this?

  Both of her attacker's eyes opened. But instead of reaching for the gold and letting her go. The taller one pulled a knife from under his coat and sneered at the finely dressed man across from him. “We’ll be taking the rest.”

  Ann’s heart fell as she realized she would not be seeing freedom. These men would rob this gentleman and still hand her over to Grainger. It surprised her when the gentleman didn’t back off, didn’t suddenly reevaluate his concept of right and wrong and leave her to her fate.

  Instead, a long slow smile spread across his face.

  A voice from across the street called out, “Brock, is everything all right?”

  The gentleman continued to stare at her attackers while yelling over his shoulder to his friends, “Everything is fine, I will be there in a moment.”

  Why hadn’t he called for assistance? Surely his friends could help extricate him from this disaster. At least enough for him to save his purse. She twisted again, hoping against hope that her captor had lost focus and she could surprise him, but the arm around her middle tightened.

  The gentleman slowly shook his head. “Such a shame,” he said as he stepped forward. “I was perfectly willing to let you go on with your life if you simply released the girl. Now you had to make it personal by threatening me. A rather poor decision, I must say.

  Her two attackers looked at each other as they both tried to discern if the man was mad or simply stupid. There were two of them, seasoned criminals, with a long glistening knife. And one thing every London criminal knew was that Gentleman like this had no experience in the way things worked down here.

  He should be running instead of advancing towards them.

  The gentleman glanced at her, holding her stare for a moment, “this will take but a moment.”

  Her brow narrowed as she tried to understand him when without warning, his cane shot out to clap up against the side of the knife welding attacker’s head. Just strong to stun the man and allow enough time for the gentleman to throw a hard cross to the man’s chin.

  The tall man slumped to the ground, out like a snuffed candle. The knife slid out of his hand and lay on the ground like a dead fish kicked up out of the river.

  As she tried to understand what had happened, the gentleman spun and brought the head of his cane down on Shorty’s knee which issued a crack that echoed up the alley. Then, before the man could fall, he used the cane to sweep the man’s legs out from beneath him. Tossing him to the ground like a used rag.

  Immediately, the gentleman took her arm and pulled her free. Then, instead of kicking the knife away, he leaned down and retrieved his gold coin. Tossing it up into the air then putting it back into his vest pocket.

  “You had your chance and chose wrongly,” he said to the short criminal on the ground still gripping his knee.

  Then, without another word, the gentleman twisted, turning his back on her attackers and led her across the street to a taxi with a large coachman bundled up in the box.

  Three other finely dressed gentlemen stood next to the coach shaking their heads.

  “I told you,” one of them said. “He didn’t need any help.”

  The other at the far end of the three snorted. “I didn’t say he needed help. I said we should help. I don’t care who he is, the man can’t have all the fun and not include us. It is rude.”

  “Was that really necessary?” the third said as he examined his friend then turned to look at her.

  Ann’s mouth fell open as she listened to these fine gentlemen talk to each other like they were dock workers fighting over who should buy the next round. Their language was finer, but the banter was the same.

  The tall gentleman that had rescued her turned to look across the street.

  “They are gone,” he said to her as he pulled open the carriage door and prepared to climb up. “I suggest you be more careful in the future. A woman shouldn’t be out on the street at this time of night.”

  She continued to stare up at him, unable to understand her new reality.

  The Gentleman started to climb into the carriage when his friend put a restraining hand on his arm to stop him.

  “You can’t leave her here,” his friend said. “They will simply take her again.”

  “And that is my concern why?” he asked.

  Ann’s insides turned to stone. The man had just saved her from a fate worse than death, y
et he didn’t understand how things worked down here by the docks. Grainger would never allow her to be free. His men had suffered and she would be made to pay.

  He looked at his friends then sighed heavily as he turned to her. “Do you have family?” he asked her. “Someone to offer you protection?”

  She swallowed and slowly shook her head. It hurt to admit it, but there was no one in the entire world to whom she could turn to.

  He continued to stare at her, his brow furrowing into a tight scowl then he let out a long breath, as if resigning himself to a task he did not look forward to. “Get in,” he said with a nod to the dark interior of the carriage.

  A feeling of dread and fear filled her. The man was rich and powerful. He would expect something for his assistance. She could very well end up having avoided a brothel only to become the plaything for a monster. Not much of an improvement in her view.

  She swallowed hard then shook her head and started to back away as she glanced across the street and thought about how quickly he had dispatched her two attackers. She would have no chance against a man like this. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a hint of the wolf in his eyes.

  His scowl deepened as he shook his head. “Despite what you might think, I am not a monster. I won’t hurt you.”

  Oh, how she wished that were true but she had learned long ago that that was what people did, hurt each other.

  “Really, Brock,” his friend said. “you can’t expect a young woman to just get into a carriage with you. She is obviously intelligent.”

  The big gentleman snorted and shook his head as he studied her for a moment then sighed heavily. “I am in need of a maid,” he said.

  A hope began to glimmer deep inside of her. A job. A place to stay. Warm, safe, other people. Was it possible? Moments before she had been destined to a brothel. Now here she was being offered an honorable escape.