by Tessa Bowen
Prologue
Bloomingdale’s Department Store
New York City
Holy Crap! It’s him!
Izzy clutched the display case for support and gawked. He was even better looking in person. Everything about him was chiseled and crisp: the strong jawline, high cheekbones—long elegant nose. Thick russet brows over searing grey-blue eyes...
“Can you assist me, Miss? I am in need of a fresh shirt, I’m afraid this one is soiled beyond repair. The daft girl at the café thought I would look good wearing my morning coffee.”
Get it together, spazzoid. Answer him!
“Oxford cloth—I don’t know my size. Most of my clothes are hand tailored—I have very broad shoulders.”
He shrugged out of his pinstripe blazer and unbuttoned the front of his shirt, revealing the torso of an Olympic swimmer.
No. Friggin’. Way.
It was really him—the notorious English aristocrat whose colorful exploits with the fairer sex and fashionable playboy lifestyle had made him a legend in the press.
“I would beg you to get a move on, Miss. Otherwise I might catch pneumonia standing here in this draft.”
She handed him a shirt and watched as he dressed before her with practiced efficiency. He gave the cuffs a good hard tug and attached the monogrammed links with a flourish.
“Ah, there we are—presentable once again.”
When he scrawled his initials across the receipt, their fingers brushed. A bolt of electricity shot through her and his credit card sprang from her frozen clutches.
“Crap!”
As soon as the word was out, Izzy’s eyes widened in horror. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“I’ve never seen one of those fly before—quite remarkable really.”
She rounded the corner of the counter. “Here, let me pick that up for you…”
She trailed off, looking up at him—it was a long way up. The woodsy notes of his cologne dominated her senses. It made sense really, that he would smell so good. He appeared to be perfect in all ways. She let out a little squeak and her knees buckled.
He steadied her with a firm hold. “Good Lord—you’re quite the little wreck, aren’t you?”
“You’re just so much hotter in real life,” she blurted.
“So they tell me.”
A sudden barrage of bright lights flashed around them, popping off in every direction.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “They’ve found me.”
Izzy was blinded by the bombardment of paparazzi. Seeing stars, she grasped at the lapels of his blazer, nuzzling her nose in the fine fabric. She sighed against the soft wool as his fragrance enveloped her. She felt safe in his arms, as if she was resting under the shade of a bay tree. Or was it cedar…?
“You smell like Heaven. Holy Crap—I think I’m gonna black out.”
“Blast it, not two in one day. I’ve got to let you go now, you silly girl.”
In the next second he was gone, and with him the crowd of wide-eyed onlookers. The photographers followed him out of the store like a swarm of bees. Muzak roared in her ears. She felt a tugging on her arm as employees chattered excitedly.
“Was that him!” Daphne from cosmetics demanded. “Was that really him! He is like so smokin’ sexy. Was he nice? Oh, my God—what did he say!”
“He was…perfect. He smelled…perfect.”
“Did you see how many photographers there were—they took your picture! Maybe you’ll make it into the tabloids with the Devil Duke.”
Chapter One
The stately old gentleman winced as the girl choked on an ice cube. A coughing fit ensued, followed by a loud gulp.
“You want me to do what! Are you totally nuts! You want me to marry him?”
“I realize this request may come as a shock, but I assure you, this is a simple business arrangement. You would only need to appear a few times with His Grace—give a few interviews and so on. A confidentially agreement would need to be signed, of course. Once an appropriate amount of time passes, you would be able to return home. After that, we would only ask that you appear in public together a few times a year.”
“I mean I just sold him a friggin’ shirt and now you want me to marry him.”
“A mere formality, of course,” the personal secretary went on diplomatically. “I realize this is a most unusual situation, but you have caused quite a sensation.”
“There were cameras everywhere. I was blinded by the bright lights. I don’t even know what happened.”
“You are the sweetheart of the British tabloids, Miss De Luca. The public is dying to see more of you.”
“You’re kidding, right? You mean, I’m like a celebrity over there?”
“His Grace is extremely high profile. Any female he is seen with gets immediate attention.”
“You mean they actually think we are together?”
“In the photograph…you seem to be locked in an intimate embrace.”
“As if! The guy is so friggin’ hot I passed out in his arms. This is just a crazy mix-up. I mean, why does he have to get married? I don’t get it.”
“His Grace (though very popular) has been hounded by the press his entire adult life. There are certain dealings he prefers to keep private.”
“You mean his ‘dealings’ with women, right? The guy has a new girlfriend every month. He is like the ultimate womanizer. Is it true what they say? Did he really date Madonna in the 90’s?”
Sir Archibald blanched at the girl’s bluntness as she smacked her gum loudly and took a long pull on her Diet Coke. How she could chew that bright pink wad of gum and drink a beverage at the same time was completely beyond him. He tried hard not to stare at her unusual appearance. Her hair seemed to be smashed on one side while the other side stuck straight up. An obscene bolt of purple fell across her forehead, mixing with the jet black strands tucked behind her ear. Her jeans were riddled with holes while the rest of her was covered up by an oversized, threadbare sweatshirt. The girl did have good bones though and great big, glossy eyes—he’d give her that.
Izzy caught him staring and threw him a disgruntled frown. “Sorry, it’s laundry day.”
Sir Archibald’s gaze darted around the dingy corner bar, then he produced a pristine handkerchief and dabbed his flared nostrils as if to wipe away the filth of the place. If only she had accepted his invitation to join him at the Carlyle. Instead, she had insisted they meet on “her turf”.
“His Grace is not happy with the state of his reputation you see. He has just gotten through with a messy divorce. He has a young daughter who has not taken the separation well. Her happiness is his main concern now. He worries about what will happen when she gets old enough to read what they print about him in the papers.”
Isabel snorted with nervous laughter. “Maybe he should stop sunbathing on his yacht with naked supermodels if he wants the press to leave him alone.”
“You must realize not everything they print about His Grace is true.”
“I’ve seen the pictures with my own eyes, mister! Anyway, he should settle down with someone more normal and wholesome—then the public would get bored and leave him alone.”
“But don’t you see, Miss De Luca—that is precisely where you come in. By posing as His Grace’s wife you will afford him the privacy he craves. We must give the public what they want—they are utterly charmed by the story, but we need your help to make this happen.”
“Are you like totally high? I mean sorry, but you must be nut
s, he would never be with me. I’m a nobody—I’m less than a nobody! I’m like a minus zero nobody! And I am not wholesome, I have a criminal record. I went to jail! Okay, well juvie, but still. I listen to punk rock music and dye my hair purple.”
“I am aware of your background, Miss Deluca. I know that you were raised in foster care. It’s all part of your appeal, rags to riches—a Cinderella story. They are calling you ‘a breath of fresh air’ and ‘just what the English aristocracy needs’. You would be good for His Grace’s image.”
“I’m not good for anyone’s image. I mean look at me, I’m a mess.”
“We will take care of all that when you come to England.”
“Look, you seem like a really nice guy and I appreciate you coming all the way down to this dump and I’m sorry I hung up on you the other day, but when I heard your accent I thought it was a joke. This is all just way too friggin’ weird.”
“Just think of it as an employment opportunity. You would be awarded a large sum of money for your services.”
Izzy’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, wait a minute. This guy isn’t some sort of a weirdo pervert, is he? I mean they say he’s like a sex addict.”
The secretary’s face drained of color. “I assure you His Grace is a perfect gentleman.”
Izzy snorted again. “I should be so lucky, right? Look, there has got to be someone better for this job than me. The guy has a million trillion girlfriends. You don’t want me, I’ll screw everything up. I mean it’s a total miracle I ever got the job at Bloomingdale’s in the first place. I’m a total spazz—when I waited on him, I nearly took his eye out with his credit card and then I passed out.”
“His Grace has that effect on women.”
“I could sure use the money though. I’m flat broke and I just spent my last bit of linty change on a Snickers bar. I eat them for dinner a lot because they have peanuts—you know for the protein. He is totally loaded, right? So…like…just for argument’s sake, how much are we talking?”
Sir Archibald sniffed at the indelicate question. “I beg your pardon, Miss De Luca. The details would all be written up in a contract.”
“Do you think he would pay me enough to cover my rent for a few months?”
“I do believe His Grace is willing to offer you a million American dollars on completion of your duties.”
Izzy fell back in her chair. “Holy. Friggin. Crap.”
Sir Archibald fretted as he observed the ill-bred girl with unusually good bone structure chew the black polish off her fingernails.
He wondered how this would ever work
.
Chapter Two
Devoy Estate, England
Izzy pressed her nose to the glass, fogging up the window of the Bentley. “Is this place for real?”
Rex the chauffeur chuckled. “She is magnificent, is she not? Every time I round this corner I am impressed by her size.”
The 18th century country manor commanded an elevated site and was surrounded by parkland. The massive structure dominated the pastoral setting. A pristine pond reflected the front of the house and a velvety lawn blanketed the landscape.
“Holy Crap, it’s gigantic!”
“Yes, 15 bedrooms and 900 acres,” Rex boasted as he pulled the car around the circular driveway. “The first duke built the main block in 1707. The long north wing was added by the 6th duke in the early 19th century.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to be staying here. This is like totally nuts.”
When Rex handed her out of the car, Izzy quaked in the shadow of the imposing mansion. The smooth limestone towered before her, seeming to rise straight into the clouds. Sir Archibald stood on the steps to greet her.
“Hello, Miss De Luca. How was your journey?”
He was flanked by house servants who were dressed in formal attire. She knew the guy in the penguin suit had to be the butler and the woman dressed in an old-fashioned black and white uniform had to be the housekeeper.
“It’s like a friggin’ movie set,” she muttered under her breath. “You didn’t tell me his house was like this. Are you kidding me with this place?”
“I hope your new home will be to your liking.”
“This doesn’t look like the other homes I’ve lived in, let me tell you.”
“I trust you did not run into any press at the airport? We tried our very best to keep you arrival confidential. You must be weary from your travels. Lily will show you to your room.”
A slim, young girl materialized from behind the older housekeeper. She too was dressed in a black dress with a white collar.
Izzy turned back to the car, stumbling over her shoelace. “I need to get my backpack.”
Sir Archibald stopped her with a polite gesture as another servant appeared. This one was a young, fair-haired man. “Thomas will take care of your luggage.”
God, how many servants does this guy need? He lives like a friggin’ king.
She followed Sir Archibald through the massive entrance, stepping into the marble foyer. A grand, winding staircase rose like an ivory passageway to the second floor. Statues lined the perimeter of the extravagant room and a collection of paintings in heavy gilded frames hung on the walls. She eyeballed the impressive portraits as Sir Archibald led her up the staircase.
“Who are all these guys?”
“His Grace comes from a very old family. His ancestors have ruled these lands for centuries.”
Izzy could already make out his scent, the heavenly aroma wafted around his great, big house. She had dreamed about him on the plane ride over. The thought of seeing him again made her stomach do cartwheels.
“His Grace…” she echoed. The title sounded strange to her. “When will I see him?”
“His Grace requests your presence at dinner in one hour. You will have time to…refresh yourself.”
Sir Archibald could not help but cast an eye over her odd attire—black tights and a denim miniskirt with the sort of boots one would wear if they belonged to a motorcycle club.
The audacious girl smirked at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t wear this to meet ‘His Grace.’”
With a polite smile, Sir Archibald motioned to a room and Izzy stepped into the sumptuous chamber. The walls were covered in pink jacquard and the high ceiling was painted a rich red lacquer. The oversized bed was framed in satin curtains.
“No. Way. This is my room?”
“Yes, Miss Deluca. Is it to your liking?”
“Are you kidding? It’s friggin’ amazing!”
Sir Archibald winced at her expletive but quickly recovered with a polite smile. “I know this must all seem very new to you. We are here to make this transition as smooth as possible for you. I will leave you to collect yourself.”
Izzy was too dazzled by the coat of arms carved on the giant mahogany headboard to answer. Alone in the room, she flopped on the bed spread eagle.
“Holy Crap, I’m rich.”
EXACTLY ONE HOUR LATER, there was a knock at her door.
“The Duke will see you now, Miss. I will show you to dinner.”
A jittery, fidgety Isabel followed the maid down the stairs. She felt a little bit like she was heading to the guillotine. Quickly, she checked her appearance in the hall mirror, heaving a wistful sigh. Izzy had always wished she could be tall and blonde with big boobs instead of tiny and dark.
Tall and blonde with big boobs—that’s what the Devil Duke likes. Oh, well—whatever. Who cares if I’m a flat-chested twenty-year old virgin ‘cause I’m rich!
The dining room was massive. Heavy curtains in buttercream yellow and chocolate brown decorated the oversized windows. More large paintings hung on the wall and a really impressive one of a guy on a horse hung over the ornately carved mantle. In the center of the room was a long table lined with a blood-red table cloth. Holding her breath, Izzy counted eighteen chairs covered in burgundy velvet and eight ornate candelabra sparkling in a crystalline row. Slim, white tapers burned from each one, casting the room
in a warm glow. Exquisite floral arrangements of white roses and purple orchids were nestled between each one.
There are like ten billion things on this friggin’ table.
A neatly folded napkin, two plates, a soup bowl, bread and butter plate, butter knife, wine glass, water glass, salad fork, dinner fork and on and on…soup spoon …teaspoon. How would she ever know which ones were which? Was this how he ate every night?
The butler appeared. “His Grace will be with you shortly, Miss.”
“Okay, thanks.”
His Grace.
Suddenly Izzy felt very thirsty.
You have to keep it together this time, spazzoid. They are paying you a butt load of money. Don’t blow it. Whatever they want you to do, just do it.
And then his scent filled the room. Her head spun as he moved brusquely past her. Half concealed in the shadows of the cavernous room, the Duke deftly unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat at the head of the table.
He leaned back in his chair and shot her a probing look. “Good evening.”
“Hi.”
Was that her voice? It sounded so small and squeaky in the big room.
Another servant scurried forward to pour him a glass of wine. “You are Miss Deluca, I presume?”
“Yeah, I’m Izzy.”
“Do you like wine?”
She peered through the shadows at him. He was so far away—all the way at the end of the impossibly long table. He wore a perfectly tailored suit just as he had that day in the store, but this time he wore no tie and the top button of his shirt was open. The candlelight set his auburn hair aflame, but there was nothing warm about those steel grey eyes. His icy gaze bore into her, pinning her to her seat.
“They had wine in New York City last time I checked.”
The sarcasm in his voice stung. Izzy sat up straight in her seat, clearing her throat. “Yeah, they have wine…”
The butler took pity on her and poured her a hefty glass. She snatched it up and took a big gulp, not realizing she still had gum in her mouth. The combination of flavors was sickening. She pushed the gum to the back of her mouth, wedging it against her molars with the side of her tongue.