“And bring the Kingdom here once again.”
He kissed her lips again. She tasted so sweet, so much like home—like Far Hope. “Yes.”
“Then marry me, Your Grace,” she said between kisses, their mouths mating in slick, warm wonder just as they mated below. “Make me your wife.”
She abruptly broke around him as he murmured, “I will,” and when he flooded into her a moment later, filling his soon-to-be bride, he recognized the truth he’d instinctively known all along: Eleanor Vane wasn’t the solution, she was the question. The beginning.
For Far Hope. For him.
Forever.
The End.
Want more dangerous widowers, gothic houses, and carnal secrets from Sierra Simone?
* * *
Check out The Awakening of Ivy Leavold…
Also by Sierra Simone
Thornchapel:
A Lesson in Thorns
Feast of Sparks
Harvest of Sighs
Door of Bruises
* * *
Misadventures:
Misadventures with a Professor
Misadventures of a Curvy Girl
Misadventures in Blue
* * *
New Camelot:
American Queen
American Prince
American King
The Moon (Merlin’s Novella)
American Squire (A Thornchapel and New Camelot Crossover)
* * *
The Priest Collection:
Priest
Midnight Mass: A Priest Novella
Sinner
* * *
Co-Written with Laurelin Paige
Porn Star
Hot Cop
* * *
The Markham Hall Series:
The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
The Education of Ivy Leavold
The Punishment of Ivy Leavold
The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold
* * *
The London Lovers:
The Seduction of Molly O’Flaherty
The Persuasion of Molly O’Flaherty
The Wedding of Molly O’Flaherty
About the Author
Sierra Simone is a USA Today bestselling former librarian who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk. She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City.
* * *
Sign up for her newsletter to be notified of releases, books going on sale, events, and other news!
www.thesierrasimone.com
Duke for Hire
Nicola Davidson
Chapter One
Charlton Kings, Gloucestershire, early August 1814
The time had come for change. No more would the stern expectations heaped upon a clergyman’s spinster daughter rule her life and rob her of pleasure.
Miss Ada Blair glanced around the sunny vicarage parlor. Fortunately, the two people who would support her quest most were here today: her honorary godmothers and fellow members of the St. Mary’s Church sewing circle, Miss Ruth Lacey and Miss Martha Kinloch. Even so, she should begin with a logical, reasoned argument.
“I’m turning thirty and don’t want to be a virgin anymore,” Ada blurted.
Both silver-haired women froze. Then Ruth tossed away her sewing and splashed gin from a silver hip flask into her berry cordial. Martha set down the copy of Mrs. Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, Volume One—cunningly disguised as a treatise on housekeeping—that she’d been reading aloud.
“Hallelujah,” said Ruth, offering a silent toast before taking a healthy swallow. “I’ve been praying for this day.”
Ada blinked. “Er…you have?”
“Oh yes. I even made a notebook titled Aiding Ada: The Grand Cock Plan.”
Laughter bubbled. “I see.”
Martha nodded sagely. “To summarize the notebook, we’ll assist in any way you wish. Money, an alluring gown, list of potential bachelors, excuses and alibis—”
“Alibis? This is not a smuggling operation.”
“There are similarities,” said Ruth with a wink. “Except rather than goods disappearing in the cover of darkness, it’s your virtue. I must say though, I prefer fucking in the afternoon. Warm sun is lovely on bare skin.”
“Ruth,” scolded Martha, her cheeks pink. “Concentrate. A Grand Cock Plan is certainly required, for there are two significant barriers to success. First, Reverend Blair, bless his terrifyingly righteous soul. Second, handsome bachelors don’t grow on trees, especially in Charlton Kings.”
At those two indisputable facts, Ada sighed.
Once she’d dreamed of a handsome prince (a nice man with steady employment) who would storm the castle (knock on the vicarage door) slay the dragon (stand toe to toe with her father) sweep her up in his arms (a negotiable point, she was nearly six foot tall and decidedly plump after all) and teach her all the delights of the marriage bed. But as the years passed, that sweet fantasy had withered and died. Reverend Blair enjoyed the convenience and frugality of a daughter who cooked, cleaned, and ran his errands far too much to welcome suitors, and the few men willing to knock on the door had run screaming at the first hint of fire and brimstone. So, while Ada reluctantly accepted being a wife and mother wasn’t in her future, that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn about bedding. Surely one man in the county might say yes.
Ruth finished her cordial. The woman had a stomach of cast iron. “What would your dream lover be like, Ada?”
“Experienced,” she began, because bold women gave voice to their dreams. “Someone discreet and mature, not a fumbling lad who will reveal all at the tavern after a few ales.”
“Sensible. Also, a grown man will know where your clitoris is, and won’t forget to spill on your belly when he comes. Far too many girls are forced to leave home because some young fool forgot to withdraw. I’m so glad that pussy is my feast of choice…Martha darling, we’ve been lovers forever. How can that word still make you blush?”
“It just does,” mumbled Martha. “Although not quite as bad as fuck. You have the vernacular of a sailor—”
“It makes you wet as rain.”
“Utterly beside the point. We are here to assist our girl.”
Ada grinned at their forthright speech. Nowadays it rarely shocked her, although she could still recall at age eighteen having scarlet cheeks for days after Ruth and Martha sat her down and said because her dear mama was in heaven, they would give her the talk. Her godmothers didn’t believe in waiting until a wedding and provided information with jaw-dropping detail. Ada had also learned their truth: the two women were far more than the good friends her father and the parish insisted they were. Martha said they were life companions. Ruth winked and said they’d made each other sing like nightingales in bed for nigh on forty years. It had been a frank and eye-opening conversation about society and tolerance, but also the very nature of love and pleasure.
“Then by all means assist,” said Ruth, gracious as an empress.
“Very well. Let’s discuss looks,” said Martha. “What do you prefer, Ada? Red, dark, or fair-haired? Beard or clean-shaven? Certain eye color? Height? Because you mentioning discreet, experienced, and mature has me thinking of a certain someone.”
Ada twirled a blond curl around her finger as she considered her answer. “I am not so attracted to red or fair-haired gentlemen. I like dark hair. Eye and skin color don’t matter, nor does his jaw. But for my own peace of mind I’d like him to be taller and broader than me. I couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally hurting someone…botheration. That leaves no possibilities at all, does it?”
“Actually, you just described the man I have in mind.”
Ruth hooted. “Martha Kinloch. If it is the man I’m now thinking of, this is the grandest of Grand Cock Plans.”
“Well, of course,” said Martha irritably. “It’s for Ada.”
At the proof—yet again—that she was so important to these women, Ada’s vision grew blurry. They’d taken h
er under their wing when she’d first arrived at St. Mary’s as a bewildered, grieving child with her newly widowed father, and had been both her rock and her amusement ever since. While it sometimes stung that she remained alone and her godmothers had found their forever love—someone to banter and share adventures with, who was splendid in bed, and who thought them equally delightful at sixty as twenty—she wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world.
“Well,” Ada said lightly, when she had regained control. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Martha. Please reveal the Grand Cock Plan prospect who is discreet, experienced, mature, dark-haired, and taller than me. Because I do not believe such a paragon truly exists.”
“On the contrary. The Duke of Gilroy.”
She almost fell off her chair laughing. “I adore you, but have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all,” said Martha thoughtfully. “In fact, the more I ponder this, the more I’m convinced His Grace would be the perfect pleasure tutor. According to the London scandal sheets, he recently celebrated his fortieth birthday with a magnificent ball. Mature. He never talks about his lovers, even after they’ve parted ways. Discreet. And he requires them to sign a contract outlining each delicious, wicked thing they’ll do. Experienced.”
Ruth sat forward. “No wife, fiancée, or mistress, either. Also, village gossip says he is spending this month at his Cheltenham country estate. What if you trotted over to Gilroy Park and tried to hire him as your temporary lover? I’m sure the duke would be intrigued.”
“Oh yes,” Ada replied with a snort. “Intrigued at how I haven’t already been hauled away to Bedlam.”
“Ye of little faith. A tall, plump blond might be exactly his preference.”
She hesitated. No. Attempting to hire a duke to be her secret first lover was preposterous. It wasn’t like Gilroy needed the money, and he could have his pick of ladies.
But what if he did agree? What if brazenly approaching him resulted in an entire month of pleasure before they bid each other farewell, never to speak of it again?
Bold women pursue their dreams…
“The Grand Cock Plan is perhaps the worst ever,” she muttered. “Fraught with risk and the very high likelihood of my utter humiliation. However…”
“That however sounds like a yes,” said Ruth. “Huzzah! Now, no dillydallying allowed. Tomorrow after we’ve delivered the charity baskets, Martha and I shall escort you to Gilroy Park in the carriage. My word, this is thrilling!”
The two older women stood and danced a jig around the parlor, but Ada remained in her chair, her stomach churning with both excitement and anxiety.
Tomorrow could be the best or worst day of her life.
Gilroy Park
“Are you truly happy, Gil? Tabby and I could stay longer.”
Only years of practice allowed Jasper Muir, thirteenth Duke of Gilroy, to stifle a curse at his younger brother’s diabolical threat.
Tristan, his wife Tabitha, and their five children had stalked the ducal carriage from London to Cheltenham after his recent fortieth birthday ball, convinced he was lonely and requiring comfort and good cheer. But enough was enough. A bachelor could only endure so much spontaneous singing, charades, cake stomped into rugs, and lovestruck married couple before his sanity fractured.
“No, no,” he replied hastily as they watched Tabitha herd the children into a traveling carriage from the safety of the manor’s front steps. “London has the best physicians, so you, your pregnant wife, and thousand offspring must return at once.”
His brother chuckled. “It only seems like a thousand. This next babe will be the last…unless Tabby bats her lashes for another, of course. Can’t refuse her anything. Wouldn’t want to either, not after she scooped up my miserable self and taught me how to laugh. Love is a wondrous thing. Turns your whole life around.”
Jasper grimaced at the excessive sentiment. Their late father had taught them to be reserved and stoic men who disdained emotion, but nowadays his brother was almost obnoxiously chirpy and forever wanting to discuss feelings. Worse, he’d become one of those eccentrics who kissed his wife in public, romped with his children in the nursery, and hugged. Everyone knew that proper noblemen demonstrated pride and care with an inclination of the head, handshake, or if hearing particularly good news like a military victory, a brief clap to the shoulder. Anything else was decidedly un-British.
“Indeed,” he said with acute unease, because talk of love inevitably led to talk of—
“I’m sure Cheltenham is near-bursting with potential brides,” continued Tristan, his voice gaining volume with enthusiasm. “It’s time to bid farewell to mistress contracts and welcome a Duchess of Gilroy into your heart and home.”
Christ.
“There is already a Duchess of Gilroy,” Jasper retorted. “Mother.”
Tristan shook his head. “Her duty is done after all those terrible years with our shriveled-soul father. She found love with Mr. Winslow. Tabby is my forever. I’m sure you’ll find yours as well. There is no need to feel lonely or empty.”
Not again.
Jasper rocked on his shoe heels. They’d had this ridiculous conversation on countless occasions, and he was bloody tired of it. Mistress contracts kept his existence neat, orderly, and free of theatrics. He did not feel lonely or empty, he did not need long conversations or hugs, and he certainly didn’t need a wife. Not when he already had legitimate heirs in his brother and three nephews.
“Tristan!” called Tabitha, laughing, “From the expression on his face, Gil is about to shove you into that fountain. Better join us in the carriage.”
“A timely warning,” muttered Jasper.
“But I’ll echo my husband’s words, please find a wife and sire an heir so he and our sons are cut from the line of succession—”
“Safe travels!” Jasper barked, holding out his hand to Tristan.
His brother pouted, but accepted the handshake then bounded down the steps and into the carriage. As it moved down the gravel driveway, a thousand fingers burst out a partially open window to wave frantically, and Jasper raised a relieved hand in farewell before returning inside. Some time alone in his library would cure the madness of the past few days.
Soon he was settled in his favorite chair—custom made to accommodate his unusually tall six-foot three-inch frame—with a large pile of ball and soiree invitations to peruse.
Lonely and empty? Ha.
No one this popular could feel such emotions, nor had turning forty instigated any kind of panic. He had no complaints; it would be churlish of a man with an ancient title, vast fortune, and numerous estates to be anything other than content.
A minute later, he drummed his fingertips on the carved oak desk. Christ, it was quiet.
Why haven’t you secured a new mistress? It’s been several months. Could it be that you do wish for more than bedsport?
Jasper glared at an invitation. He wasn’t looking for love; in truth, he might not even be capable of tender sentiment. If he was that way inclined, surely one of the courtesans, widows, or well-bred young ladies he’d met would have prompted a grand declaration.
No, the family visit had just addled his mind. He needed a distraction. Immediately.
“Your Grace?”
He brightened when a footman peered around the library door. For once, a swift answer to prayer. “Yes?”
“You have visitors. Three ladies from St. Mary’s—not in Cheltenham, but the smaller church in Charlton Kings. Miss Lacey, Miss Kinloch, and the vicar’s daughter, Miss Blair. They wondered if they might have a little of your time.”
Jasper sighed and stood. Church ladies on a mission; no wonder a heavenly answer had been swift. But granting a funding request for a roof repair, charity baskets, or the upcoming village fair was certainly preferable to sitting here scowling about love. “They may. Escort them in.”
Soon, three visitors approached his desk and sank into curtsies. Two neatly dressed, silver-haired women, and…
<
br /> His breath caught.
The third woman was tall, wonderfully so, and wearing a modest pale blue gown that in no way disguised her lush breasts and hips. She certainly wasn’t young, yet her creamy skin was unblemished, her eyes the hue of expensive brandy, and her unruly honey-blond curls battled to escape a severe chignon. As for those dusky pink lips…he’d never seen a mouth more suited for long kisses, sultry smiles, and sucking his cock. Together with those ample curves and long legs, she’d be the perfect mistress; even the thought of sinking deep into her wet heat while she moaned and pleaded for more had him harder than stone.
“Your Grace?”
Shocked at his lapse in decorum, Jasper sat. She was here on behalf of a church, not seeking a lover at a pleasure club.
“Ladies,” he said, his tone more forbidding than he intended, so he tempered it with a brief smile. “Do take a seat. How may I assist?”
One of the older women beamed as she settled on the overstuffed chaise. “I am Miss Ruth Lacey. This is Miss Martha Kinloch, and our dear friend Miss Ada Blair.”
Oh. The luscious beauty was Ada Blair, the vicar’s daughter.
He’d just fantasized about fucking a vicar’s daughter senseless.
Inwardly wincing, Jasper inclined his head. “Enchanted. Do you seek funds for charity? Building improvements, perhaps? If so, I should be happy to contribute.”
An odd, tense silence met his words. His guests exchanged meaningful glances, and the Misses Lacey and Kinloch stood.
“We’ll let Ada explain,” said Miss Lacey. “May we peruse your library shelves?”
“I love books,” said Miss Kinloch with a sweet smile.
Duke I’d Like to F… Page 11