The Devil Duke: A Nobility Love Triangle Romance (The Demon Duchess Series Book 1)

by Tessa Bowen

  “Don’t you want to look your best? Don’t you care about personal presentation?”

  “I can’t look anyway but the way I look. If you want someone perfect you should have hired one of your model girlfriends for the job? They could sit there with their friggin’ legs crossed and say all the right stuff. I don’t know how to do that crap. If you want me to act differently, you will have to send me to acting school.”

  “What you need is bloody finishing school,” he muttered.

  “This whole scam wasn’t my idea. You guys hired me.”

  “I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” he threw back. “You fainted in my arms like a ninny and now the British public thinks your ‘cute as a bug’s ear’. I’m bloody stuck with you, aren’t I?”

  “I’m never going to look like I belong with you, it’s no use. You may as well just get over it. If they think I’m cute, why do you have to?”

  “I simply do not understand why you would dress in tattered rags when I have supplied you with a new wardrobe. Your lack of effort is appalling.”

  She jumped to her feet. “God, lay off me, you control freak! I don’t want to dress like a friggin’ school teacher, okay?”

  The Duke’s nostrils flared. “Do I need to remind you that I am your employer, Miss De Luca? You are raising your voice to me.”

  “I thought you were going to be nicer to me!” she hollered at him. “Arrrggghhhh! You are such a nightmare! If I have to pretend to be a lady the least you can do is pretend that you aren’t a big, giant a-hole!”

  She stormed out of the room, tripping on the edge of the carpet. She issued a colorful curse as she stumbled forward. A horror stricken Sir Archibald blanched in the doorway as the itty-bitty virago made her noisy exit.

  Izzy took the steps two at a time, racing to her room. She peppered the air with four letter words as she ripped off the sweater and kicked off the flats. She tore off the jeans as well. She never wanted to see them again. Tattered rags, he had called them. Clad only in a t-shirt and her undies, she gathered the pieces of her ‘duchess’s wardrobe’ and hurled them out the window.

  “I hate him!” she shouted.

  She pounced on her backpack, ripping through her stuff until she found her iPod. She jammed her headphones in her ears and turned her music on full blast.

  “Hate him! Hate him! Hate him!”

  She punched her pillow to the frenetic beat of the punk rock music and let loose another expletive when she stubbed her toe on the heavy base board.

  “Crap! Crap! Crap!

  The Duke burst into the room, recoiling at the sight of the scantily clad girl hopping around in her underwear. She had made a disastrous mess of the room, clothes and personal items were strewn everywhere. She had recovered from stubbing her toe and now flailed her arms and legs about as she spun in circles, yelling in unison to some demon-inspired cacophony. Her eyes were screwed shut as she uttered the unintelligible words.

  Tilting his head sideways, the Duke took a good, long look at her bottom. He couldn’t seem to resist. Her black panties resembled little girl’s bloomers, complete with white lace trim. Square on the back, right across her little cheeks—leered a skull and crossbones. Trevor was an expert on ladies in lingerie, but his vast experience had done little to prepare him for this sight. He had never seen such a small backside on a woman—tiny, round and perfect. If he were to lay his hand across it, he wondered if his fingers might span the entire width of both cheeks. Yes, he should think they might. He had half a mind to lay his palm across that backside right now, hard and fast.

  Repeatedly.

  He was yanked out of reverie (as was she) when she spotted him standing there. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, dropping the clothes in her hands.

  “Don’t you friggin’ knock!”

  “Turn off that blasted racket! I can hear it all the way down the hall.”

  She made no move to turn off the obnoxious music nor did she cover herself. Trevor thundered toward her, yanking the headphones out of her ears.

  He pointed to the contraption. “Off!”

  Izzy fumbled with the buttons. “What’s your problem? It’s the Sex Pistols. They’re British.”

  “Bloody little anarchist.” He snatched the machine from her, headphones and all and tossed it on the bed. “We’re not finished with this discussion.”

  “You can’t just barge in here! How long have you been standing there anyway—you weirdo pervert?”

  If only she knew he’d been measuring her bottom for a spanking, she’d accuse him of being a derelict weirdo pervert.

  “Look at the mess you’ve made. What have you done with your clothes?”

  “You mean my ‘duchess’s wardrobe’? I decorated your precious friggin’ lawn.”

  He peered out the window, scowling at what he saw. “You rotten little creature, how dare you? Go down there and pick them up at once!”

  “No! I’m not wearing that crap. You can’t make me!”

  He loomed over her. “I ought to toss you out that bloody window, you ill-mannered git! I’ve never been spoken to like this in my entire life, I’m a bloody Duke, you know.”

  “I don’t care who you are—Your Grace.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, you wretched girl—”

  “We don’t have dukes and princes in America, you know. I don’t have to bow and scrape to you.”

  “Some bowing and scraping might do you good. Someone needs to teach you some bloody manners!”

  “Why don’t you have me drawn and quartered, you weirdo English pervert? Isn’t that what you friggin’ people do!”

  Trevor stood nose to nose with an elf in drawers, embroiled in a shouting contest. She kept calling him a pervert but she had made no move to cover herself. She stood there unabashedly yelling at him in her outrageous underpants then she threw up her hands and walked over to the nightstand. There was a tea tray on it, stacked high with currant scones. She snatched one up and started laying into it, ignoring him as crumbs were showered onto the carpet.

  She is having bloody tea in her underwear.

  “If you would be so kind as to remove your wee snout from that troth we can continue this discussion.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and threw the biscuit on the tray. “I thought you wanted me to fatten up.”

  She had a bit of powdered sugar on her upper lip, right across the part that curved in a perfect cupid’s bow. It was quite cute really, the way it puckered when she was in a fit of rage. Abruptly, he remembered himself and straightened his collar and cuffs.

  “Perhaps you should be wearing more clothing, Miss Deluca. It’s much too early to be traipsing around in your underthings, don’t you think? It’s not even bloody noon.”

  “I’m so sorry if I’ve offended your tender eyes. God, I mean who knew the Devil Duke would turn out to be such a prude.” With a snort, she snatched up her jeans. “I thought you were supposed to be God’s gift to women.”

  She did another hopping dance to get her teensy legs in her teensy trousers.

  “You are a friggin’ nightmare, that’s what you are,” she continued.

  “That may be true, but I’m richer than God so I may act as I please and they will still put up with me. I will make you rich as well (if you would only behave).”

  “Money can’t buy everything.”

  “Apparently not. It certainly can’t buy bloody peace and quiet.”

  Somehow the simple act of dressing had catapulted her into another fiasco. She had the pants on at least, but the hopping up and down sent her toppling over a night stand. The Duke watched with fascination. He had never met such a bungler. She let out another curse as she writhed on the rug, rubbing the side of her thigh.

  “This place is booby trapped!”

  The Duke pulled her to her feet. He had half a mind to shake her by the scruff of her neck. “You are a dervish, Miss De Luca. You move without any regard to the objects around you. It would be safer for my furnit
ure if your arms and legs were tied down.”

  Izzy stared up at him, baffled by how handsome he was in close proximity. He had her around the shoulders and his nearness overpowered her senses. Something strange happened to her each time he touched her, as if his hands could do magic tricks. Or maybe it was his piercing laser beam eyes. They seemed to melt everything they came into contact with. Her legs were liquefying by the second—sort of like an ice cream cone in summer).

  “It’s not just the money,” she murmured dazedly.

  “What about my money?”

  “That’s not the only reason they put up with you.”

  He looked a little ashamed as he dropped his hands from her. “Yes, I know.”

  “You look like a model. It’s disgusting.”

  “Don’t start with that again. I mean it.”

  “God! You are so rude!”

  “Take it up with Him then.”

  “With who?”

  “With God.”

  “I will! I’m going to ask him why he made you so much better looking than the rest of us. It totally sucks!”

  “I did not ask to be born with this face. It’s gotten me into a lot of trouble, you know? It can be most inconvenient at times. I can’t even order a cup of coffee without having it spilled in my lap.”

  “Oh, poor you!”

  “You little brat, are you actually hollering at me—and in my own bloody house?”

  She made a hideous simpering face. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Arguing with you feels like doing wind sprints in a heat wave. You certainly make quite a lot of ruckus.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so. My temper is kinda outta control. Mrs. O’Leary used to lock me in the closet when I started yelling.”

  “Who is Mrs. O’Leary?”

  “She was one of my foster mothers.”

  A strange expression passed over his face. “How long did she leave you there?”

  “Just until I calmed down. Sometimes it would take a few hours. I’m still kinda scared of the dark.”

  “There are other ways to calm a child down. I would never lock you in a closet.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Certainly not—I might keep your limbs constrained in some sort of metal brace, however. The way you crash about it’s a wonder the place is still standing. The evening after next we will be attending a charity ball in London. You will be dressed and ready at five o’clock. Wear a burlap sack for all I care, I’m through arguing with you.”

  “Now you don’t care what I wear?”

  “I just don’t see why you don’t care. Once you put on some weight, you will have a very nice figure, and you have excellent bone structure. It does not make sense to me why you would rather dress like a boy.”

  Had he just given her a compliment? He had! He had! Oh, glorious friggin’ day!

  “I won’t wear a burlap sack, I promise.”

  “You will find several dresses suitable for evening in your wardrobe. I’m sure you can find at least one that meets with your approval. We are through here, good day.”

  He turned on his heel to go but Izzy stopped him. She did not want him to go just yet. “What if…what if… I don’t like any of them?”

  He turned back to face her, shaking his head in disbelief. “You challenge me just for the sake of being difficult, don’t you? You are rebellious down to your tiny, fine bones. Not everything has to be a fight, Miss De Luca.”

  “But I’ve been fighting my whole life,” she said simply. “That’s how I’ve gotten by. If I give in—I’ll never get up again.”

  “Yes, well you’re a scrappy waif, aren’t you?” He left out the part about being silky-haired. He regarded her for a few more moments in silence. “I am not suggesting you lay down arms. I am simply asking you to pick out a dress—just one dress. If you should find the rest of them distasteful, you may throw them all out the window.

  Her eyes widened on him, “I can?”

  “Yes, just pick one bloody dress and wear it for one bloody night. Who knows, you might even enjoy looking like a lady for once.” The Duke held out a long fingered hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  She snatched up his hand and pumped it once. “Yeah, ok—deal.”

  He gave her a curt nod and turned on his heel. When he was gone, Izzy fell on the bed, staring up at the ceiling dreamily, thinking of her excellent bone structure.

  Yes, Your Grace. Whatever you say Your Grace. I totally friggin’ love you, Your Grace.

  Chapter Five

  The Duke closed the door behind him and found Sir Archibald pacing nervously in the hall.

  “You needn’t bloody fret so, Archie. I worked things out with the girl, and believe me when I tell you I deserve some sort of medal for diplomacy.”

  “This is very good news, Your Grace.”

  “Don’t congratulate me yet. I’m sure another disaster looms.”

  “I certainly hope not, Your Grace.”

  Sir Archibald followed the Duke as he moved with lithe grace down the steps. He stopped up short and whirled on the older man.

  “Do you know, I walked in on her having a fit in her room—an actual tantrum. She was flinging clothes out the window and cursing like a sailor. She has a terrible temper, this girl—she’s a real problem child.”

  “Oh dear, Your Grace. I know these sort of outbursts got her into some trouble a while back; she did a bit of time in a juvenile detention center. ”

  “That’s just bloody brilliant, isn’t it? My future duchess is a half-pint hood with a criminal record. I should have asked her to wear a straightjacket, not a bloody ball gown. She is extremely combative—headstrong to the point of foolishness. I wish you would have found me someone more manageable—more pliant, someone who takes orders with a little more ease—someone who doesn’t belong in a zoo for God’s sake.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace. It just happened. She just happened.”

  “Yes, sort of like a tsunami just happens.”

  “We must do the best we can with her.”

  “She certainly does not take suggestions well.” the Duke went on. “I had to strike a deal with her just to get her to wear a dress for tomorrow night’s engagement. You have seen the clothes she puts together—galling, really. Most young women would squeal at the chance to wear such a fine wardrobe. And why must I wrangle the little mink-haired monkey anyway? This is your job, not mine.”

  Sir Archibald dabbed at his forehead. “I think she is having a hard time adjusting to the place, Your Grace.”

  “What is so hard to adjust to? Being put up in one of the grandest estates in all of Great Britain? Or being asked to wear beautiful clothes?”

  Sir Archibald took a deep breath and continued, trying his best to select his words carefully. “Perhaps, if you spent some time with Miss De Luca—to put her at ease.”

  “This is business, Archie. I’m not supposed to be courting the bloody girl. She is working for me, not the other way around.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

  The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “What would you have me do, take her to the sweet shop for a lolly? Invite her to play a round of bloody hopscotch? By the way, you’d better give her some dancing lessons. That disheveled urchin has two left feet—she is a calamity on two tiny legs.”

  “I will put it on the schedule for first thing tomorrow morning, Your Grace.”

  “And isn’t there something you can do about the way she speaks—all that gum smacking, I find it abhorrent. At least she didn’t snort in my face this time. Bloody Americans, they’ve certainly butchered the English language, haven’t they?”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Your Grace.”

  The Duke tapped his fingertips on the polished wood of the banister. “She is very problematic, this girl and extremely vexing.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The Baroness waited for him at the bottom of the staircase. “I thought we were having luncheon together, Trevor dear
. Perhaps I should come another day. You seem preoccupied.”

  “Preoccupied?” The Duke snapped. “I’m nothing of the sort.”

  He stalked outside, leaving the Baroness and Sir Archibald to exchange a wide-eyed look.

  “It seems our boy has his work cut out for him.”

  Archibald wrung his hands. “I did not anticipate this level of friction between them.”

  “He isn’t used to dealing with such spunk in members of the opposite sex. He seems to find it very…invigorating. ”

  Sir Archibald looked quite befuddled as Charlotte appeared on the steps dragging her teddy bear. “Hello, Baroness. Have you come for luncheon today?”

  “It seems your father isn’t at all in the mood.”

  The girl frowned. “But Bernie and I are positively famished.”

  “Is that your teddy’s name, Bernie? He looks a bit worn out. Perhaps it is time for a new teddy.”

  A look of horror passed over Charlotte’s face as she clutched the bedraggled teddy bear. “I think bloody not!”

  “Your father shouldn’t let you curse. It isn’t lady like.”

  “I love bloody cursing. Well, if there is to be no luncheon perhaps the American elf will play a game of badminton with me. She is good at playing outdoors. She likes to get all dirty.”

  “Does she, indeed,” the Baroness remarked archly.

  “The American has put Daddy in a foul mood again. He shouts at her a lot and when he is not shouting he stares. Funny that he should always watch her. You are so much prettier.”

  “Yes, we will have to remind him of that. Let’s go find him, shall we?”

  ARMS CROSSED, THE DUKE GLOWERED in the shadow of a giant oak tree as Charlotte and his troublesome charge played badminton. The miniature vagabond obviously had no idea what she was doing (but seemed to be enjoying herself all the same).

  The graceful Baroness sailed to his side. She had unpinned her glorious mane of hair and it fell in a shimmering stream down her slender back. She laid a well-manicured hand on his sleeve. “She is quite dreadful at sports, isn’t she?”