Drenched With a Duke

by Emily Murdoch

  Drenched with a Duke

  Emily Murdoch

  Copyright © 2018 by Emily Murdoch

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my brother: he will probably never read this, but he is a constant inspiration to me.

  And of course, Joshua.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Shipwrecked with a Suitor

  Historical Note

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This was the series that I never thought I could publish, so first thanks must go to my amazing Kickstarter supporters! Thank you for your faith in me, and I hope you love this book as much as I do!

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Julia Underwood, who has given me unparalleled advice – any mistakes left are completely my own!

  Thank you to my glorious cover designer, Samantha Holt, a true artist whose patience with me is much appreciated.

  Thank you to my ingenious formatter, Falcon Storm, whose willingness to format whenever I drop an unexpected email is fantastic!

  And to my family. Thank you.

  1

  Alexander was not angry. He was fuming.

  “And what right does she have,” he spat out while striding down the street, his companion struggling to keep up. “Little slip of muslin, I know her brother and he is only just a decent sort of man.”

  “Slow down,” panted Luke. “I am the Marquis of Dewsbury, not a horse – Caershire!”

  Alexander found his arm had been grabbed, and swung round to stare at his friend. “What?”

  He could not help himself. Rage burned through his lungs, and he wanted to shout and complain until it was all blown out of his body. His dark hair had dropped over his eyes, and his broad shoulders were heaving, heart pounding, feet desperate to keep moving.

  “You will do yourself an injury.” Luke took in deep breaths, and leaned against the wall they were standing beside. “I swear, Caershire, you will take a step in front of a carriage or pick a fight, I know you of old!”

  Alexander grinned. “Perhaps too long, I would say. God’s teeth, but you are right.”

  The tension in his shoulders was starting to dissipate, and the cool of the night air was drying the sweat on his brow.

  Luke pulled his cravat, which had become dislodged from its correct position in the rush to leave Almacks, back to its rightful place. “London is no place to wander in anger, Caershire, you should know that by now.”

  The Duke of Caershire shrugged, but his heart was still beating fast and the injustice of the last hour still rang in his mind. “Miss Josephine Layland had no right to speak to me that way.”

  Luke’s laugh echoed in the deserted street. “Caershire, any woman has the right to reject a man’s hand for a dance – where would we be if we could force the beautiful ones to remain on our arms all evening?”

  But his friend’s laughter did nothing to sooth Alexander’s spirits. It had been humiliating: there was no better word for it. There he had been, dressed in all his finery, waiting for her for nigh on two hours, refusing to ask a single other young lady to dance – at great personal cost, for there had been some favours promised to irate mothers which would now have to be explained away – and when Miss Layland had entered the room –

  “Already engaged to dance!” He spat, his thoughts finding room in his tongue as he started to walk once more. “A completely full card, that is what she said, and yet I had engaged her for the La Boulangere dance what – three days, ago?”

  Luke, striding beside his friend, brought out a pocket watch and examined in. “I think you will find it is four days ago, now.”

  Alexander’s eyebrows rose. “Goodness, past midnight already? Oh, Dewsbury, I do not mean to be such bad company. When I get disgruntled – ”

  “You stay disgruntled,” finished Luke, a lazy grin on his face as they passed a gentleman walking in the opposite direction. “Do you not think you should start to mend that habit, now you approach thirty?”

  “When you perfect all your character flaws, then you come to me,” shot back Alexander, but it was not said in anger. That had drained out of him now, the heat of the moment dissipated as quickly as the anger had risen. All that was left now was bitterness. “Thank you for walking with me, I had no wish to stew in a carriage. Did you hear what she said to me?”

  They turned a corner, taking the road that would lead them back to Luke’s lodgings.

  “No, what did she – ”

  “She said that she could never deign to accept the hand, for a dance or in matrimony, of a man with such a sullied reputation,” said Alexander. He tried to laugh, but it sounded empty even to his own ears. “I mean, can you believe it?”

  His companion did not speak, but focused determinedly on the road ahead of them.

  Alexander nudged his friend’s shoulder. “Well?”

  Luke sighed. “Well, what? You think that a Dukedom means that any pretty woman should throw herself at your feet?”

  “No, but – ”

  “You think that you are the only charming man that walks into Almacks?”

  Alexander felt a little uncomfortable now. “‘Tis not like you to preach, Luke.”

  Their footsteps had taken them directly to the Marquis of Dewsbury’s London apartment, and he sighed when he looked at his friend. “Caershire, you know that I am your friend, and I do not say these words to hurt you – or to embarrass you.”

  Alexander sighed, and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And a better friend, I have not in the world.”

  Luke grinned. “Careful, or Anthony will be after my blood. No, let me be serious for a moment. The rumours of your reputation notwithstanding – ”

  “Or lack thereof,” interrupted Alexander.

  “Are you going to let me speak?”

  “Sorry.”

  Luke smiled ruefully at the tall man opposite him. “I am going back to the family home tomorrow, and yes, that means you will be here in London on your own. I know that this hurts you more than you let on. Just . . . just know that you knew this would happen when you made that decision four years ago. You knew the consequences then. You have to live with them now.”

  Alexander stared into the dark brown colour eyes of his best friend, and dropped his gaze. “I cannot deny it; and yet I wish that it were not so. If I had known, then . . .”

  “You would have made the same decision.” Luke grinned, and jerked his head to the door. “I better go in, I am meeting with my brothers tomorrow and I will need all my strength for it.”

  Alexander returned the smile. He had known the Northmere brothers his entire life, and Luke, as the eldest, rarely missed getting his own way with the family – even if it meant going against his intimidating father.

  “Send my best wishes to the Duke,” he said.

  Luke nodded. “My father, I am sure, sends his regards back.”

  The two men embraced, and Alexander tried to convey some of the gratitude that he felt to his friend for the last two weeks of companionship. It was difficult; he was not a man who shared his emotions easily, and Luke’s constant devil-may-care attitude belied what he truly felt. But if ever a man was a brother to him, it was the Marquis of Dewsbury.

  They broke apart.

 
; “Safe journey,” said Alexander with a smile.

  Luke nodded, and entered his home leaving Alexander alone in the street.

  He sighed, and watched his breathe plume before him. His own lodgings were just a few streets away, but his feet itched. This bitterness, this frustration at being – once again – rejected by a beautiful woman, it had to be got rid of before he turned in for the night.

  The streets of London were well known to him, and so he made his way to the banks of the Thames. Long and winding, the pathway along the north bank were almost as populated at this midnight hour than during the day.

  Hawkers and sellers, a few pedlars and a woman selling hot pies that smelt delicious; Alexander glanced at them all with little care as he strode along by the water’s edge.

  Somehow, water had always calmed him. He had been like that since a boy, when he and Richard –

  The pain shot back into his heart, and Alexander physically shook his head. No need to delve into that again. He had experienced enough heart wrenching today without revisiting his brother’s past.

  The gas lamps had been sparsely lit down the pathway, so Alexander moved from light to shadow as he paced. Why should he care so much, why should it matter? The memory of the entire room in Almacks quietening as Miss Layland strode away from him, a friend at her side for support. The way that eyes had followed him, greedy in their hunger for gossip, intrigue, and rumour.

  The darkening of her eyes as she had beheld him, and rejected him publicly and without honour.

  There was physical pain now; Alexander glanced down at his hands, and saw that he had clenched them, digging his nails into his palms until his left hand had started to bleed.

  It was intolerable, this stain on his reputation. If things did not change soon, then something drastic had to happen. Perhaps even –

  The night was torn apart by a loud scream, and a terrible splash.

  As Teresa hit the water, the freezing cold seemed to burn her skin, dragging her down as her skirts became drenched.

  An attempt to scream was stifled by the rush of water that flowed into her throat, and her desperate arms moved wildly in an attempt to keep herself afloat.

  “Help me!” she spluttered, desperation preventing her mind from knowing that there was no one who could help her.

  This could not be happening – she was not going to drown here, she was not going to die! But there seemed little chance of any other outcome as the freezing current started to pull her downwards, and there was nothing she could do, she could not swim, and her head sank under the waves and her hands were the only things still above the water, and this was it, this was how her life ended –

  A hand. A strong hand, a hand on hers. Teresa felt it dimly, as though it was happening a thousand miles away from her, but it was definitely a hand, and there was a pain in her shoulder and she could not understand why, and her lungs were on fire and yet her mouth was full of water, and suddenly a rush of water was cascading down her as she was hauled out of the water and dropped onto something that felt as heavenly as earth …

  Teresa took in the deepest breath of her life. Coughing and spluttering, the cold night air absolutely glacial on her skin as it hit the droplets of Thames still dripping from her, her gown sodden and ruined, the silk completely destroyed, she opened her eyes.

  Before her were a large pair of men’s boots. There were legs inside them.

  “What in God’s name were you doing in there?”

  The words were harsh, from a deep male voice, and cutting in their tone.

  Teresa tried to speak, but spluttering was all that she could manage. Her lungs were painful, throbbing pulsated in her throat as she tried again, but her body could do nothing.

  “Fool,” muttered the same voice, and suddenly a heavy coat was covering her sprawled body.

  Heat now rose within her, but it was of shame and embarrassment, not thanks to the greatcoat that enveloped her. To think that she should be seen like this, bedraggled, hair a mess, gown ruined, and by a man of some repute too, if the quality of his greatcoat was anything to go by.

  Teresa took another deep breath, and tried once more to speak. “Th-thank you.”

  It was not enough, she knew, to say to the man who had saved her life, but it was all that she could manage at the moment.

  “How did you fall in?” asked the voice, and Teresa pushed herself into a sitting position on the damp ground to look at the face of her rescuer.

  He was tall. Seated as she was, Teresa had to tilt her neck backwards to reach his face, and it was only then that she realised that he was just as drenched as she was. He had a dark, olive complexion, dark hair – although perhaps it looked darker because it was wet – and a questioning eye that did not blanch as she examined him.

  “I did not fall in,” she said eventually, arching an eyebrow with a smile. “I was pushed.”

  “Pushed?” The man seemed astonished, and despite the cold, wet, and slightly uncomfortable position that she was in, Teresa could not help but smile. It was always reassuring to see that she had what it took to confuse a man.

  Teresa nodded, and struggled to her feet. “‘Tis of no matter, I assure you.”

  “No – no matter?” Now it was her rescuer’s turn to splutter. “My dear lady, if a man has made an attempt on your life, you should inform the Bow Street Runners, immediately! I will be glad to assist – ”

  “No,” said Teresa curtly. The last thing that she needed was for a peeler to get anywhere near her. At the raised eyebrow of her rescuer, she added, “I am sure it was an accident, and I would be loath to get a gentleman in trouble for an accident.”

  Now that she was standing, the man’s height seemed diminished slightly. The broadness of his shoulders, perhaps, distorted the view, for he was still just as tall, but strong, young like she was, perhaps even a little younger.

  Teresa pulled a blonde strand of hair away from her cheek, and smiled. “Now, I have an appointment to make. Do excuse me, sir.”

  Looking about her, she saw that she was back on the north bank; most inconvenient, as it was going to be a long walk back to the dockyard. Perhaps she could find –

  “Appointment?” The man stared at her. “What sort of appointment – with whom?”

  Teresa smiled, and removed the greatcoat from her shoulders. “No one of your acquaintance, I am sure, Mr . . ?”

  For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of confusion over his face, but then he sighed and said, “Alexander.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr Alexander, for your kind rescue.” Teresa put all her beauty, drenched as it was, into the smile that she gave him. “I certainly do not know what I would have done if you had not come along, but I am quite safe now.”

  She reached out the greatcoat, but he did not take it. “It is not Mr Alexander, actually. ‘Tis just, Alexander. That is my name.”

  Why did he not take the coat? Teresa tried to keep her smile on her face, but it was a little more brittle now. She was late to meet Lord George Northmere as it was, and if she missed it, she was unlikely to get a second chance.

  “Alexander? Surely you have a surname?”

  He looked even more uncomfortable at this, and Teresa could not sense why. There was such a simplicity about him, really, completely unlike most of the men she knew.

  But she did not have time to play naming games with a stranger on the bank of the Thames. She had somewhere to be.

  Throwing the greatcoat over one of his shoulders, Teresa said gaily, “Well, whoever you are, thank you. Good evening.”

  She turned away from him, and began to walk briskly – partly to reach Lord George in time, and partly, in truth, to keep warm.

  Hurried footsteps followed her, and she rolled her eyes before Alexander reached her side.

  “But you cannot just – you are soaking wet!”

  “Yes, I am aware of that, thank you,” Teresa attempted to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it was incredibly difficult with such a silly
man. Why could he not leave her alone? “And yet I am almost sure I know the remedy for that, so good evening to you.”

  He was a handsome man, she could see that now. That olive complexion, that chiselled and finely shaved jaw, that essence of strength that a man either had or had not. You could not replicate it, you could not pretend.

  This Alexander had it in spades.

  “My dear lady – what is your name?”

  Teresa was attempting to increase her pace, but the dratted man was just as quick as she was. “Teresa.”

  They rounded a bend in the river, and passed a gaggle of revellers, undoubtedly thrown out by one of the gentleman’s clubs. Teresa swore under her breath. If she did not find Lord George soon, she would be too late to take advantage of throwing out time, and then she would be in a difficult spot.

  “Teresa . . . you must have a surname.”

  Alexander placed a hand on her arm as he attempted to slow her down. “Surely you cannot be any sort of real rush, Miss – ”

  “I am,” she said, wrenching her arm away from him and glaring at him. “Miss Metcalfe, not that it means a thing to you, Mr . . ?”

  If she had not known better, she would have said that he looked a little embarrassed.

  “Duke, actually.”

  She did not have time for this, every second wasted on this man was one that she was losing with Lord George. “As I said, thank you, Mr Duke, for helping me out of the river, but there really is no need to accompany me.”

  And yet he still did not disappear, even when she started walking again. “I am not Mr Duke, I am a Duke.”

  That was enough to stop her in her tracks. Teresa flew around to stare at him. “A Duke?”

  Alexander grinned at her, almost apologetically. “Duke of Caershire, believe it or not.”