Valiant relaxed… until Cartelle’s gaze found hers.
She’d always thought the crazed duke dueled because he craved the battle and blood, but apparently, something else drove him more.
Desire.
And for a moment, Valiant wondered if she’d made a terribly dreadful mistake.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 1
June 1817
London, England
Lady Valiant Chase knocked on the door once more and glared at the butler who’d taken his time about opening it.
The man’s expression held muted disapproval, but he said nothing as he took her cape.
“Where is he?” she asked the servant.
“In the study,” he said. “Allow me to show you the way.” He started before her and while a few artifacts caught her eye, Valiant was are too enraged to take in the townhouse’s extravagant design.
They turned down one hall and then another until the butler stopped before a partially closed door.
He opened it farther and announced, “There is a lady here, Your Grace.” Then, with that, he turned away.
Valiant watched the butler leave and then turned to the man whose throat she wished to squeeze. “Your butler is quite rude. I stood in the heat forever. And then, finally, he opened the door. He didn’t even ask for my name.”
The Duke of Cartelle hadn’t moved from his position since she’d entered the room.
He was in the middle of the room, bent, pulling on a boot.
Yet even crouched on the floor, with his head lifted up, he looked deadly.
His gray eyes watched her from behind that curtain of black hair that shined so true it nearly looked wet. His gaze descended before it progressed back up her body at a leisurely pace, not overlooking a single inch of her.
She didn’t have to wonder if she’d been found wanting. His darkening gaze was answer enough.
As had been his challenge two years ago.
Valiant tightened her fist to stop an onset of fidgets.
Then finally, blessedly, he spoke. “My butler didn’t ask for your name because you wouldn’t be the first lady to visit me today. Or the last.” He stood then, uncurling like a great beast before reaching his full height. “And many of my lovers would rather not have their identities known.” He took a single step toward her and then she was the one looking up.
Most of the men Valiant knew were taller than her, with her brothers being the tallest. But Castelle managed to make Valiant feel like small prey.
She thought the feeling to be attributed to more than just his height. His visage alone had made both men and women tremble. He was emphatically handsome. There was never any doubt or speculation.
He was so blatantly beautiful, with his high cheekbones and sculpted jaw, so perfect that many wondered if he’d stolen the reserves of others. The rest of the world looked rather dull in comparison.
And then there were the whisperers that said his looks announced him as the fallen angel he was.
He had, after all, killed his own father in a duel.
Other lords had disappeared over the years and all the ton believed Cartelle to have something to do with it.
It made him dangerous.
And foolishly alluring to Valiant, though she would never tell him that.
Never.
Ever.
She should be offended by his words.
How dare he imply that women visited him all through the day with the intention of sharing his bed?
And to imply that she was one of them was further insult.
Valiant was a lady. The daughter of a duke. The widow of an earl. A wealthy woman in her own right who controlled many enterprises in London.
She deserved his respect.
Even if it was against social law for her to even be at his home.
She decided to ignore that slight in judgment on her part. “You rejected Lord Rosamund’s apology?” she said, getting to the point.
“I did,” he confirmed.
She could not decipher his mood based on word or expression.
“Why?” she asked. “He said he was sorry. The slight was to me, and I have forgiven him.”
His brow flicked up and then he leaned close and whispered, “But I have not.”
It took a great deal of strength not to pull away… even though she could smell the pleasant aroma of his heated flesh.
Though there was the undertone of something else.
A flower.
A woman’s fragrance.
So, he did have a visitor after all.
Thoughts of Noah surfaced. Her departed husband had often smelled of other women. The fragrance had hardly bothered her on him, yet on Cartelle, it angered her. It made little sense.
She glared at him and recoiled. “You can’t duel a man when it is me he’s offended. That makes no sense. I am neither your child nor your sister.”
“Thank God for that.” One corner of his mouth lifted.
Her eyes were arrested at the action. His mouth could inspire sonnets. When was the last time she’d been kissed?
She blinked at the thought and looked away.
He chuckled as though he could read her mind. “He was not kind to you. Therefore, he shall pay with his blood.”
“That’s absurd. We are not in the wild. You can’t go around…” She waved her hands in the air as she searched for words. “Demanding blood as compensation for every slight. You can’t mean to do this.” Her voice was strained. “Besides, Lord Rosamund was likely drunk.”
“Then he’ll learn to hold his cups better.” All his former humor melted from his face to reveal cold cruelty. “If he should live.”
She was startled by the feel of his finger against her cheek. It trailed down her no more than an inch before he pulled it away.
“He shall pay for his words,” he whispered.
* * *
Anthony Balfour watched Valiant’s delicate color lift to a tempting rouge and had to restrain himself from pouncing on her.
In due time.
Since the moment they’d first exchanged words two years ago, he’d wanted her but had kept his distance, with her being married and whatnot.
It said much of his self-restraint that he’d waited this long to regain her attention. She’d lost her father days after their discussion of love and then, last year, she’d lost her husband.
And now, two long years later, finally she was here.
She’d broken into his domain once again.
But without the support of a husband.
And making yet another request that could very well lead to her occupying his bed for the remainder of the day.
It was almost too good to be true.
He could already picture what she’d look like with her limbs tangled with his. Her tempting blush spread across the shoulders she would bare to him. Her exemplary blue eyes hooded as she gazed up into his.
He could feel the slide of her warm, sun-soaked blond curls between his fingers.
Patience.
He’d waited too long to take her, his Snow White, the fairest of them all. He’d waited so long, in fact, that one day would no longer do.
Perhaps a week would suffice.
But first, he had to become less of the predator he was and more like a… friend.
Valiant was not like the women he’d bedded. She had the inclination to search for the good in people and try to right wrongs. He’d seen it that night they’d discussed Beatrix and Hero. He’d seen it again during a house party her eldest brother had hosted last year. Even there, she’d sought to stick her eagle-like beak where it didn’t belong. It humored him as much as it irritated him.
He’d never be what she’d consider ‘good,’ and he was never inclined to lie about his nature.
Therefore, he’d have to work to change her mind and get her to bend her well-developed discernment to the side. Just for him.
It was only coincidence that Lord Rosamund had set it all in play when
he’d begun to speak ill of the dead.
All of London had discovered Valiant’s husband, Lord Beaumont, had been a fool who’d taken one mistress after another over the course of his marriage. He’d even dallied with Valiant’s best friend, Lady Yates.
And tragically, that affair was made public when both their remains were found in a fire.
Anthony had never been embarrassed for anyone until Valiant.
He knew betrayal and understood that pain more than anyone else.
It was why he’d stopped sleeping with married women. For the first few years after his father’s murder, he’d moved in a haze, doing anything to forget that morning.
He’d been more concerned with proving himself to be a man than to actually consider what he was doing to others around him. Once he’d understood his actions to be no better than his father’s, he’d ceased.
His senses had come to him, and he scorned married women after that.
Until Valiant.
Lord Rosamund should have thought twice before he dug his ugly knife into a wound that Valiant clearly still bled from.
He’d not seen her since the country party last year. She’d all but hidden from society until last night. Last evening, she’d returned like a brilliant phoenix, draped in an ice-blue gown that reminded him of the purest fire, coming out of hiding to grace her brother, the duke, and his new bride’s first party as a couple.
And Lord Rosamund had attempted to cut her wings.
The moment Rosamund had opened his mouth, he’d signed his death warrant.
“Please,” Valiant whispered. “Don’t do this.”
He loved the way she begged.
She was such an honest woman. She had no clue how to properly hide her every feeling or desire.
And she desired him, he knew. Just as he also knew she’d never give into it without a justifiable reason.
This was it.
Or so he had hoped. Perhaps, he’d been wrong?
“Has it not occurred to you that you could be hurt in all of this?” she asked.
His heart leaped. “Is that concern for me I hear in your tone, my lady?”
She shook as though his words shocked her. Her eyes widened like a deer staring at the end of a rifle.
He could watch her for days and never tire.
“I…” She pinched her brows. “Lord Rosamund didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. My husband desired and took other women. It is true.”
His anger returned in a flash, but he was very good at hiding how he felt. “I don’t care.”
She gasped in outrage. “Oh. You. I just don’t... know what to do with you.”
He smiled. “I could think of a few things.”
She turned away from him and started for the door. “Very well. Do what you wish, but if this act is on my behalf then know that I am by no means impressed.”
He groaned as he thought of a way to keep her from leaving the room. “Very well,” he bit out at the last minute. “Have it your way.”
Valiant turned around and again she was visibly surprised. “You mean, you’ll call off this duel with Lord Rosamund?”
If he were being honest, he had enjoyed the thought of Rosamund suffering for a time.
But, alas…
“I’ll accept his apology.”
“Excellent.” She turned to leave once more.
He frowned and followed.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 2
“Where are you going?”
Valiant bit her lip. Castelle trailed behind her, matching her every step, pounding his heavy boots into the floor until it vibrated beneath her. She wrapped her arms around her and took a breath of relief when the front door came into view.
A few servants watched him cautiously.
“I’m going to deliver your words to Lord Rosamund.”
He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “A servant can do that. We’ve other things to discuss.” His fingers flexed on her bare arm. His eyes warmed like molten liquid, so very different from the cold look he gave the rest of the world.
“What did you wish to discuss?” she asked.
“Let us return to my study.” He didn’t even bother to hide what his true intentions would be once they were alone.
It bothered her that he could so easily have one woman and jump to another, mainly her.
That helped her right her thoughts. “Anything you wish to say to me can be said right here.” In the company of others.
The duke ground his teeth together right before he took on his ever-familiar blasé expression. “I believe you owe me a debt. I’m calling it now.”
Her heart’s life-giving rhythm came to a halt. “You’re calling it now? The Season is nearly over.”
He shrugged. “That’s not my fault. You made me a promise, my lady, and though I know you married into becoming a Chase, your blood is still Curbain, is it not?”
She nearly cursed her family for building the reputation of never going back on their promises, though she could almost hear her brothers’ outrage if they heard what Valiant had promised Castelle.
“Very well,” she said as she pulled her arm from his hold. She could barely think when he touched her. “We shall start now, though I must confess, given the challenge you present, it could take us some time.”
He crossed his hands behind his back. “I’ll give you until the end of the Season.”
“End of the Season?” she shouted. That barely left her with two months.
Two months to make a woman fall in love with him.
It was impossible, especially given the fact that Castelle had challenged someone to a duel last night! The whole of the ton had a fresh fear of him. And worse, the lady Valiant had intended for him had wed last Season.
“We never agreed to a time limit,” she said.
He narrowed his gaze. “I’m not getting any younger.” His lips hitched up again. “And neither are you.”
She understood the words for what they were. Should she fail…
She didn’t even want to think about failing.
She shivered and told herself it was in disgust… but it wasn’t.
Valiant had been so certain of herself when she’d made the bet. Now, she knew better than to ever challenge the Duke of Cartelle.
He crowded her suddenly. His lips descended to her ear. “Though I hesitate to say it aloud… I dearly hope you fail.”
She bit her lip to hold back yet another shiver, one that had little to do with fear and more to do with desire.
What was wrong with her? It was as if everything she’d learned about men and being a proper lady was thrown out the nearest window when he was near.
It had been like that since the moment she’d stepped into his carriage years ago. There was something about him that called to her.
It was strange to desire a man like this, and if often left her feeling uncertain, uncomfortable in her own skin.
And now that she was no longer married, she had fewer barriers to keep them apart. Him demanding she fulfill her promise would only put them together more often.
Just as he’d likely hoped.
“Very well,” Valiant said. “But you must swear to do your part.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means you must strive to be human,” she said. “Less of a Neanderthal and more like a gentleman.”
He crossed his arms, and his expression became hard. “I can only ever be who I am, and it would be best if my wife knew what to expect from me now rather than later.”
She found herself admiring him even though he was entirely irritating. “I am not asking you to change entirely, but one should always appear polished when in good company.”
His brow cut upward, and his gaze stroked her from head to toe and back up. “Are you telling me that you only pretend to be this polished when in company? Whatever are you like when alone, Snow?”
* * *
“I do not put on airs, Your Grace. Thi
s is me,” she finally managed indignantly. “And I’m not Snow White. My hair is not even black.”
He didn’t believe her and ignored her protest to his nickname. “Everyone has secrets.” Though Anthony had fewer than most. What was the point when everyone knew him to be the barbarian that he was? According to the ton, Anthony had been impatient and killed his father for the title.
The only secrets he truly harbored were those that others asked of him, like the women who came and went.
None of the women who came to him wished to tie themselves to him in scandal or marriage, which made him certain that Valiant would fail.
But he’d not brought up the bet so that he could have a wife. He’d only mentioned it as a way to keep her near. He’d have avoided the very subject if he could have found a way to keep her around. Mentioning other women would not help endear him to her and setting out in search of a wife wouldn’t help either.
If anything, Valiant would distance herself even more, wishing for him to, of course, be faithful to whatever woman he wedded.
Which he had no intention of doing. Faithful meant having ‘faith’ in the relationship and he didn’t. No matter what Valiant said, if he married— which was likely not going to happen— the woman would not love him. Therefore, after giving birth to his heir, she would be free to do as she pleased.
Dreams of fidelity had died with his first engagement many years ago.
Valiant sighed. “Putting aside secrets for the moment, exactly what should a wife expect from you?”
He held out an arm in the direction they’d come from. “Perhaps, we should return to the office for the remainder of this conversation.”
She straightened and stared down the hall with an ominous look and then preceded him back to his office.
He closed the door behind her with a thud he knew would rattle her.
She jumped and glared at him before she moved to a wingback chair in the corner of the room, set away from the other furniture. “At least you dress well enough.”
“You approve of my style?” he asked from the door.
“Well, I’ve not sent you off to Jermyn Street or Paris or even Luton.”
“Luton?” he asked. “What is there?”
The Last Duke (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 2