A Vixen for the Devilish Duke
A Steamy Regency Romance
Olivia Bennet
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: Guilty Pleasures of a Bluestocking
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Olivia Bennet
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Daring Fantasies of a Noble Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Olivia Bennet
About the Book
He met his fate on the road he took to avoid it...
When the orphanage she works at closes permanently, Adelia Raby is left despondent. But then fate offers her a new lifeline: work in the household of the striking Duke of Rosemond.
Ready to finally settle down, Harry Abberton, Duke of Rosemond, is positive he has found the right match in the face of Lady Dorothea. Until a chance meeting with an enchanting commoner, one Ms. Adelia Raby, shakes his conviction to the core.
Completely bewitched by her and resolving to break his impending engagement, Harry unwittingly brings an old family secret back from the grave...along with the ruse employed to cover it.
Determined to solve the mystery, Harry will come face to face with the clue he’s been looking for: a birthmark on the hip of Adelia, shared by the one person he never expected...
Chapter 1
Serf
Adelia Raby’s hands were red from all the scrubbing she’d been doing in the cold. She was used to it and didn’t let that, or the little cut on her thumb, stop her from completing her task. She still had a whole bunch of children’s clothes to wash and the winter sun would be setting soon.
She drew her worn woolen cloak closer around her as she straightened up to rest her back.
“Golly gee,” she said as she stretched, feeling her back snap with the strain of being bent over for so long.
“Are you doing all right there, Addy?” Sister Mary Catherine called as she carried a basket of grapes from the storeroom to the refinery.
“Yes, Sister. I am fine.” Adelia bent quickly back to her work, not wanting to seem idle for too long. The sisters were fair employers, but very strict. She could see the children of the orphanage in the school room, heads bent over their work, and sighed.
She had just received the news from one of the novices—the orphanage was shutting down. The sisters could no longer support it from the money they earned from the fees paid by surrounding families for their children to attend classes at the orphanage, and the church had other priorities. Adelia did not know what she would do when they let her go. She had no references and very few employers valued a referral from the Catholic sisters. She could not go home to her parents—they would simply advise her to get married. She could not really blame them as the farm had been struggling for years. They barely made enough to keep them in winter clothes and soup.
No.
She would have to find another way.
She scrubbed the thin cotton tunic that served as the common uniform for both boys and girls at the orphanage. She was worried about what would happen to the children. Terese had hinted that perhaps they would be broken apart and scattered to whichever other orphanages would agree to take them in. Adelia knew that there were at least five sibling groupings: a pair of fraternal twins, two sisters and a little brother, four brothers, two sisters and three brothers, and two brothers. They might not all be accepted by the same orphanage.
It broke Adelia’s heart to think of families torn apart in such a way.
She prayed that the church might change its mind and find a way to fund the orphanage and then she would not lose her job as well as her residence.
I need to come up with a plan.
She frowned. She had less than a month to be otherwise situated. The convent was already receiving offers for the land. Many members of the gentry fancied themselves as wine makers. It was a sufficiently genteel undertaking that one could have a winery without any vulgar insinuations about commerce.
Perhaps I can stay on here and work for the next owner.
She straightened up, carrying the bucket to go and hang the clothes. Her long tawny locks blew into her face, obscuring her vision. Sister Mary Catherine was always on her to cut it a little. She always said it was unbecoming for a ‘servant of Christ’ to have such a mane of hair. Adelia did not know how she had managed to come up with sufficient excuses as to why she had not cut it yet. It was the only up side to this mess, that Sister Mary Catherine would stop bothering her about her hair.
Adelia liked her waist-length tresses. They kept her warm in the winter cold, and the children loved to play with it, plaiting it into various twists and patterns for their entertainment. There wasn’t much entertainment to be had at the orphanage.
“Adelia!” Sister Mary Catherine called, “Are you almost done? I need to send you to the market.”
Adelia was not almost done. She still had several mud-spattered tunics to get through. If she did not do them now, then Sister Francine would make her finish before she could have any supper. The temperature was already dropping as the sun went down. She had no intention of having her hands still in the freezing water in the cold of night.
“I’ll just finish these tunics, shall I?” she called back.
Sister Francine humphed in annoyance but stomped off and left her to it. She hoped for a moment that the sister might find someone else to go to the market but didn’t hold her breath waiting for it. No doubt she would have to wake up very early to do it. Most of the maids of all work had been dismissed. Only Adelia and two other girls remained—both were former orphans and had nowhere to go or sufficient references to get other work.
Julia and Katherine were shy, scared, sixteen-year-olds and at nineteen, Adelia felt like their big sister. She said another prayer, just in case God had not been listening before, that a solution would be found that would not have families separated and the three of them out on the street with nowhere to go.
She finished up with the tunics and then hurried to her little bedchamber, a small eight by ten stone room with no windows, so she could change out of her wet gown into something drier and warmer. She then hurried to the kitchen where a huge fire was roaring and the steam from boiling water and tureens of soap warm
ed the air. She shivered as she entered, looking around at her companions and smiling.
There was the cook, Mrs. Daniels, whose husband had died and left her destitute. Carlos, the footman and general handyman, who had also grown up in the orphanage. Katherine and Julia sat hunched on the bench, peeling a mountain of potatoes for tomorrow’s luncheon.
“Good even,” she greeted, before making a beeline to the tureen of soup, bowl in hand.
“Oh, did you finish with the clothes a’wready?” Mrs. Daniels asked.
“Yes, I did. Thank heavens the mud was fairly fresh.”
Mrs. Daniels shook her head. “I’ll newer unnerstan’ the need to go rolling aroun’ in the mud. Woulda took a switch to them if it were me.”
Adelia just smiled. She couldn’t really blame the children. They didn’t get much time to play and when Adelia had offered to take them on a picnic the day before—since the sisters wanted to take some prospective buyers around the property without children underfoot—they had taken full advantage. When Sister Mary Catherine had seen the state of them, her usually stoic face had looked truly horrified.
“Since you thought it a good idea to let them roll around in the mud, you shall wash their tunics,” she had declared.
“Yes’m,” Adelia had replied quietly.
* * *
“Mama, I need a new gown. I haven’t had one in ages.” Dorothea pouted prettily. Her mother laughed. “But did we not just go shopping this week?”
“That was not for the ball. You know how flamboyant Spaniards are. I cannot appear at this ball at anything but my finest. I owe it to England!”
A booming laugh from behind her had Dorothea turning her head to see her father standing in the doorway, smiling indulgently at her. “My daughter is such a patriot, eh?” his eyes twinkled as he teased her.
“Father, I am being serious. I need a gown that is suitable to welcome the new Spanish ambassador and his family to England. You do not want them to think I am beneath their touch do you, Papa?”
“Oh, absolutely not, my dearest. We shall have Miss Walters stop by to design you a gown worthy of your beauty.”
“And may we go to Rundell and Bridge and pick out some jewelry?”
The Earl of Cornhill’s smile widened. “Anything you want, my sweet.”
Dorothea smiled prettily. “Thank you, Father.”
“You’re welcome, Dorothea.”
The Earl and his wife exchanged indulgent glances as they watched Dorothea tuck into her breakfast oatmeal. They felt so lucky to have her, having lost her twin sister at childbirth. She was a fair child with her wheat-colored hair and golden eyes. People said she resembled a wild cat.
Lord Cornhill had been to Africa and hunted big game. The painting he’d had done of himself, with a live lion, it’s mane fanning out, framing its face, honey gold eyes staring impassively at the artist, had been likened to their Dorothea many times.
She sprung to her feet as soon as she was done eating.
“I’ll go and get changed and then we can go to the milliner’s. I need a new hat before we call on the Miltons. So sad about their mother.”
“Yes, indeed, I need a hat as well, so we’d best go. I promised poor Lady Cassandra that I would be there before nuncheon.”
* * *
Lady Cornhill and Dorothea linked hands, as their lady’s maids fetched hats and cloaks and the footman had the coachman bring their carriage around. They had a busy day of social calls and shopping ahead of them.
“Do you think the Duke of Rosemond will be at the ambassador’s ball?” Dorothea asked as they rode. “You know that he almost asked me to dance at the cotillion?”
“He did?” her mother raised a surprised eyebrow. She had heard through the grapevine that the Duke was in the market for a wife and so all the mothers were out in force, wherever he was, trying to get him to look at their daughters. Lady Cornhill was not one to push her daughter forward—Dorothea did that quite well by herself. She had not known that her daughter held any interest in this particular Duke, however.
“Yes, indeed. However, his dance card was already full when Lord Cunningham introduced us. It was quite the disappointment.”
“Well…you should make sure to seek him out early. I am sure he shall be at the ambassador’s ball. As a gesture of goodwill, if nothing else.”
Dorothea nodded. “I think so, too. He is quite a handsome fellow, don’t you think?”
Lady Cornhill smiled. “Yes. He’s quite handsome and kind. He will make you a good husband.”
Dorothea smiled. “I expect he shall be very flattered by my attention.”
“I expect he shall.”
Dorothea preened, looking out the window. The carriage came to a stop and she sat impatiently, waiting for the footman to open the door. He went first to her mother’s side and helped her out before opening Dorothea’s door. When she was on the ground, she reached out and snatched the coachman’s whip, slashing it across the footman’s face. “Next time, move faster,” she hissed in annoyance.
The footman held his face, his eyes wide in shock and pain. “Y-yes, My Lady,” he said and turned away even as the welt began to swell. Dorothea humphed in annoyance and threw the whip back at the coachman.
“We shall not be long. Wait right here,” Lady Cornhill informed the coachman.
“Yes’m.” He bowed his head quickly, while keeping control of the horses.
Lady Cornhill beamed at Dorothea, holding out her arm for her daughter to take and they walked into the haberdashery.
* * *
“The Duke of Rosemond.”
The butler announced him as he stepped in the room and he bowed to their Highnesses, before giving the new Spanish ambassador a bow.
“Welcome to England, Your Excellency.”
The ambassador nodded and smiled. Harry had met him in Madrid the previous summer when he called upon the Spanish court to thank the King for his benevolence in allowing the Duke’s ships to dock briefly in Spain. “Gracias, Your Grace.”
He smiled back and then walked into the ball, his eye sweeping the room. His mother was ill, possibly dying, and he had promised her that he would find a wife before she died. Of course, he had every intention of doing everything in his power to make sure that did not happen soon, but if this was her dying wish…then he would endeavor to give it to her.
He had refrained from making an announcement about his intentions because he did not want to be deluged with overeager debutantes throwing their handkerchiefs his way.
No, he would rather do his own discreet investigations and find someone suitable that way. His eyes fell on Lady Dorothea, her magnificent mane of hair piled on her head, while her honey-gold eyes peered about in satisfaction. She was in the arms of the Viscount Ashness and he was sweeping her about the room, ensuring her red silk gown was shown off to perfection. She really did look a picture.
On closer inspection however, the honey-gold eyes were hard and cold, and her fingers dug into the Viscount’s coat like claws. Perhaps she was merely a wild child, looking to be tamed…Harry would have to see. His eyes swept her figure, up and down, and he licked his lips. It would truly be a pity if she was as spoiled a brat as advertised because she was one of the loveliest ladies he’d ever seen.
The music came to a stop and she stepped back from Viscount Ashness and to Harry’s surprise, caught his eye. She smiled, a come-hither look if he’d ever seen one, and his legs were moving before he could even think about it.
“Lady Dorothea,” he bowed over her hand, depositing a kiss just above her gloved knuckles.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice low and sweet like honey, “It is wonderful to see you again.”
Harry shivered, feeling the effect of her tone on his flesh. He would truly be disappointed if she turned out to be as much of an ogre as his valet tried to make out. Michel was a Frenchman and therefore fussy about women. Harry truly believed he might have been married already if his own valet were n
ot so choosy on his behalf.
It made him laugh sometimes how Michel would dismiss a potential mate for something as flimsy as the hem of her gown not quite hanging correctly. That’s why he was sure that if he wanted to find a bride, he needed to do it away from his residence, in less critical company.
A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 1