The Last Duke (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “Hats, of course.” Valiant frowned. “No lady or gentleman is complete without one. Luton is where all the best hats come from. But most simply get them when they arrive in the city.”

  Anthony filed that information away to consider later.

  “Now then,” Valiant went on. “Tell me what a wife should expect from you?”

  He grinned and decided against pushing her at the moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so very entertained.

  He moved to his desk and sighed as he fell into the seat. “Absolutely nothing.”

  She blinked and then did so again before she said, “Nothing? You’ll give your wife nothing?” When he only held her gaze, her face fell and her lips parted. “And exactly why would any woman fall in love with someone like that?”

  “They wouldn’t, which is why you’ll fail,” he said.

  She fisted her hands on the chair arms. “This is entirely not fair.”

  “I never said it would be.”

  Valiant shook her head as she studied him. Her lovely eyes seemed to search him, and he wanted to tell her she’d find nothing.

  “There has to be something,” she said after a moment. “Surely, you didn’t think to depend on your looks.”

  “Are you calling me handsome, my lady?”

  Her eyes flashed with heat again.

  He chuckled and leaned back in his own chair. “Pleasure,” he finally said. “I can please her in bed. Enjoy telling that to whichever ladies you think to pair me with.”

  She didn’t pale this time. He thought her growing used to his absurdities.

  “There has to be more,” she said.

  “There isn’t.” He’d worked very hard at making himself a good lover, building his expertise over the last decade at least.

  He knew women well. He’d made it his life’s mission and though he’d never heard his lovers admit his grandeur aloud, he’d found his bedroom to have an endless list of newcomers.

  He imagined they whispered his name to their friends.

  That thought used to please him, but over time, he’d stopped caring.

  And yet the need to ensure his good name as it pertained to bedding hadn’t dwindled at all.

  Valiant broke into his thoughts. “I can’t possibly go around telling young ladies that you are good in bed and therefore good for marriage.”

  “You could if you have firsthand experience.”

  Her cheeks flamed red.

  He smiled wolfishly. “And while we’re at it, don’t you dare offer me some child. I’ll take no lady under the age of… let’s say twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five?” Her eyes widened. “You want a spinster.”

  “Or a widow,” he murmured.

  She averted her gaze as if desperate to look at anything but him. Then she simply closed her eyes and asked, “Do you have any other stipulations?”

  Not really. “Oh, yes, there are many.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  “She shouldn’t be too short but not too tall either,” Anthony said just to be difficult. “She ought to be a good weight as well. I’d rather not marry a pole of a woman. Attractive, naturally. I will have to bed her, after all.”

  “Simple-minded perhaps?” Valiant asked mockingly. “Insipid even?”

  He actually took a moment to think on her suggestions, which made her cheeks color for an entirely different reason.

  “Really!” she said with an awed expression.

  “Not simple-minded,” he finally said. “Or insipid. In fact, she should be well read and have a lively imagination.”

  She grunted. “Do you plan to use this clever woman’s imagination to enhance your… bedchamber activities?”

  He chuckled. “No, I hadn’t thought of that, though now that you mention it...”

  She pressed her lips together, likely to stop from shouting at him.

  “I was thinking about our child,” he said. “I would like someone who could read to him or make up entertaining stories.” Just as his mother had once upon a time.

  Valiant softened and asked, “How is your mother?”

  “She’s well.” The duchess hadn’t left the dowager house since Anthony had moved her there. When the duchess had begun to lose her memory, his father had reacted harshly. It was only after the former duke’s death that Anthony had managed to place his mother somewhere safe and protected.

  “Are you close to her?” Valiant asked.

  “Why? Does the notion that I might care for someone make me appear more civilized? Do you plan to print my good attributes in the paper?” he asked.

  She straightened. “Wouldn’t be an entirely bad idea, since you do nothing to stop what is already being printed about you. We could put it in one of those gossip rag stories that simply would say the Duke of C, though everyone would have little doubt it was you. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  He rapped his fingers on the chair arm and wished he was holding his blade instead. The cold steel was comforting, but he was certain the sight of it would scare Valiant away. “You’re doing so much for me. I should return the favor.”

  “Helping me succeed is repayment enough.” She ran her hands over her skirts. “Besides, I’m doing it as payment to you.” She sighed and looked at him. “I never thanked you for what you did for Beatrix and Hero.” She smiled. “They are quite happy.”

  He didn’t care but admitted he liked Valiant’s smile. Then again, he liked her any way she came. He thought to tell her that there’d been no point in her bargaining herself for Beatrix. He’d already decided it best to not marry the woman.

  A little grin remained on Valiant’s face. Did she think him some sort of hero for letting Beatrix go? “I’d already decided not to marry her before you barged into my carriage, though I admit your presence led to a very fruitful arrangement, so I won’t complain.”

  Her lips turned down, and she blinked. “What?”

  “Surely, you don’t think I’d marry a woman who was already in love with someone else?”

  He’d not married Lady Kurdley, his first fiancée, for quite similar reasons.

  He lifted a brow. “You were right to assume that this entire hunt for a wife is solely in the hopes of getting you in my bed. I no longer wish for a wife. I just want you.” And only in my bed. He made certain his eyes communicated that.

  She stared at him for a long moment and then, in a wink, a hard resolve came over her. “I shall succeed at this seemingly impossible task if for no other reason than to make it clear that you will never have me.”

  Again, that sense of foreboding came over him as though she spoke truths from divine intellect.

  “Never say never,” he whispered.

  She leaned forward. “Not even if you were the last duke in the world.”

  Oh, now he had to have her. The challenge was heightened.

  Then she stood, and her demeanor calmed. “I’m sure you plan to attend the Reddington Ball next week.” Everyone went to the Reddington Ball. To miss it or to not be invited left you at fault socially. “I shall see you then.” Then she dashed from the room and didn’t bother to look back.

  * * *

  Valiant wanted to strangle Lord Cartelle, but as the carriage carried her away from his home, she realized the person she wanted to strangle more was herself.

  He was hopeless. He’d purposefully set out to anger her, and she was trying to help. Why? What did he gain from inciting her ire?

  Well, if he planned to do that with any woman she presented, he’d be alone forever.

  Or not, for in two months, if he wasn’t at least engaged, she’d be filling his bed.

  At the moment, all she wanted to do was set the thing on fire.

  Her back snapped up at the thought, just in time for her to drive by the Beaumont House, the home she’d shared with her husband.

  It sat away from the street with a gated lawn. It was one of the largest estates in London, challenging even t
he grandeur of Carlton House, which currently was the home of the Prince Regent.

  She recalled how eager Noah had been to buy the property. Her husband had been one of the wealthiest lords in England and had thought to purchase a place that would make a statement.

  Beaumont House was a portrait of Roman architecture, a two-story flat-roofed stone structure with columns on all sides. Statues stood like sentinels in between them.

  It stood along Pall Mall not far from the palace.

  Noah had bought it from another family, though Valiant was quite sure he’d threatened them out of it.

  She smiled at the memory and shook her head. Noah had been ruthless with everyone... but her. He’d been rich when they’d married, but she’d watched him double what he had during those years they were man and wife.

  She stared at the house until it was out of sight.

  I no longer wish for a wife. I just want you.

  Cartelle’s words jarred her from her sad thoughts. Her anger came back fresh. She didn’t know what to do, but one thing she was certain of was that she’d need help.

  She arrived at her brother’s house, where she currently resided, and was glad when the butler immediately opened the door.

  It was early enough that the servants were still cleaning the remains from the party last evening. Her friend Everly, her brother’s wife, demanded the servants rest through the night after a hectic gathering and allowed them to clean when morning came.

  Valiant thought that a kind act, since she knew most mistresses never cared how much their servants worked.

  Though not as grand as Beaumont House, the Duke of Ayers’ residence was immaculate, boasting fine art and its own ballroom and enough bedrooms to house Valiant, her three brothers, and their wives comfortably.

  Hero and Lore, her second and third eldest brothers, usually rented their own residences for the Season, but they’d remained here this Season to be together when Lore and Brinley’s first child arrived.

  They’d had twins.

  Valiant moved to her brother’s office and was not at all surprised to find Asher in there.

  Though the duke was not alone.

  Everly sat in a chaise positioned close to his desk, reading.

  Staring at them, Valiant was reminded of the many times she’d found her mother and father in this same position. Richard Curbain had purposefully moved that chaise to his side in order to keep his wife close. It was wonderful that Asher was doing the same.

  It made Valiant glad that she’d gotten involved in helping them get together, for had it been left up to her brother, he’d likely have died alone and heartbroken.

  They both looked up when she entered.

  “Where have you been?” Though Asher did not use his authoritative voice, she knew he expected an answer all the same.

  “Out.” She shared a look with Everly that said they would speak later.

  Everly nodded then stole her husband’s attention. “I can’t understand a word of what I’m reading. How does one ionize gas? It makes no sense.” Everly had a group of women who met to discuss theories in math, philosophy, and science, and though she didn’t care for the latter, she had a friend who did and tried to learn enough to engage her in conversation.

  Though at the moment, Valiant knew that Everly was simply trying to distract Asher from asking any more questions.

  Valiant moved to the writing table in the corner and began to draft a note to Lord Rosamund, letting him know that Cartelle had accepted his apology.

  Once a footman took the note away, Asher’s attention returned to Valiant. His blue eyes were watchful. Valiant and her siblings were all fair-haired and blue-eyed with distinct Roman noses, but they ranged in height and width with Valiant being cut small on both measures.

  Also, their names were odd.

  Hero and Asher, whose actual name was Assurance, battled for being the tallest, though Laurel, who everyone called Lore, wasn’t far behind when it came to stature.

  Lore was all charm. Everyone adored him. Hero, being a soldier, had enough muscle to take on an army, while Asher had shoulders wide enough to hold the burdens of the world.

  And for a short while, he’d held hers, helping her to get her affairs in order while she tried to get over Noah’s death.

  So, when he spoke, she had the tendency to listen.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 4

  It amazed Valiant at times, just how much foresight her eldest brother had. It had nearly made it impossible for her to get away with anything as a child.

  “Did that note have anything to do with the scandal that broke out last evening in this house?” Asher asked.

  Though Cartelle had made his challenge in the company of the few who’d been in the dining room, it had soon spread throughout the house until even the servants could barely be contained.

  If Cartelle was willing to kill his own father, then surely, he’d not hesitate to put down someone he didn’t care for.

  Valiant turned to her brother as she stood. “I thought it best to see if I could calm the gossip.” And hearing that the duel would not take place would do that.

  Everly stood as well and turned to Valiant. “I must show you the needlework I’ve done for my godchildren.”

  Needlework?

  Even Asher made a face, but Everly quickly rushed her from the room with a swift goodbye to her husband.

  “You didn’t actually do any needlework, did you?” Valiant asked.

  “Oh, I did.” Everly grinned. She was the portrait of Aphrodite with brilliant red hair and a visage that humbled many. Her green eyes often danced with laughter or shined with love when she was looking at Valiant’s brother.

  “Did you stab yourself at all?” Valiant asked as she allowed the lady of the house to steer her upstairs.

  “Numerous times.” Everly frowned before escorting Valiant into the nursery.

  The pure white room faced the rising sun. The light caught the design in the molding and lace curtains that blew gently from the breeze.

  Brinley and Beatrix were there as well, whispering as the children all slept quietly.

  “Valiant,” Beatrix said in a happy tone. She was blond and blue-eyed, lovely in both looks and personality.

  “Wherever did you run off to this morning?” Brinley asked. She was a brunette beauty with large brown eyes. “I went to your rooms, but you were nowhere to be found.”

  Valiant took one of the available chairs. “I went to see Lord Cartelle to see if I could put a stop to this duel.”

  The mothers gasped silently.

  Everly stood by a table but came over with a silk that held embroidery. There, in fine white thread, were initials— and it took Valiant some time to read it—L and C. The letters were thin in some places, crooked in others. If she’d not known to look for Liberty and Creed’s initials, Valiant wasn’t sure she’d have found them.

  “Well?” Everly pressed.

  Valiant looked over at Beatrix and Brinley to find both their gazes averted. Then she smiled at Everly and said, “At least it is white thread on white silk. No one need know you attempted the needle at all.”

  Brinley covered her mouth, but a snort escaped nonetheless.

  Beatrix physically pinched her lips together with her fingers.

  Everly chuckled and took a seat next to Valiant. “I suppose I shouldn’t attempt to make a gift for Asher this Christmas.”

  Valiant patted her hand but said not a word.

  “All right,” Beatrix pressed. “Wherever did you find Lord Cartelle in time to stop the duel?”

  Valiant thought of what to say and realized she’d not hold back. There were few secrets between these women. She’d always wished for sisters and now her brothers had given her three. “Where else does one find a gentleman first thing in the morning?”

  Brinley blinked. “You went to his home?”

  Valiant nodded.

  Everly asked. “What is it like? I often imagined it to hold the bon
es of his victims strung up from the chandeliers.”

  “Everly.” Beatrix placed a hand to her chest and gave a short laugh. “What a gruesome thought.”

  “Yes,” Brinley agreed. “Besides, there would be no bones remaining, since I imagine he grinds them into dust and sprinkles them into his coffee in the morning.”

  Everyone laughed, but Valiant shook her head. “Both of you are prohibited from reading any more gothic novels.” Writers like Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis had become quite successful recently with their terror novels. “Besides, his home is not very dark at all. It held intrigue, but I admit I barely gave it much of a glance.”

  “Very wise of you,” Beatrix said with concern. “I’d have been nervous to look around by simply being in his presence alone.” That anything made Beatrix nervous was a surprise. Though born a lady, she’d run away from home and had gained employment at various establishments throughout London, dealing with the worst sort until Hero found her and restored her to her rightful place.

  “He’s not a monster,” Valiant said and wondered at her need to defend him. “The only person he’s ever been proven to have murdered was his father.”

  “Proven is the word,” Everly said. “But you hear the rumors. He goes north for winter and people suddenly go missing; dishonorable men go missing.”

  “Rubbish,” Brinley said. “We all go away for the winter, which means we could all very well be guilty and none of the men who are supposed to be missing have ever been proven to have been murdered. The paper exaggerates.”

  Valiant was glad Brinley did not think Cartelle a wild murderer. The stories printed about The Duke of C were extravagant enough that Valiant had never believed them. One only had to watch Cartelle in a public room, casting blasé looks at everything and everyone, to know him to be of little danger… except where a lady’s virtue was concerned.

  “Besides,” Brinley went on. “If he wishes to take care of dishonorable men then I say let him be.”

  Beatrix looked as though she were inclined to agree.

  Everly shrugged. “Which is exactly the reason I did nothing to stop Lord Cartelle when he made his challenge to Lord Rosamund.” Everly had walked into the dining room just before Cartelle demanded Rosamund call his second, the man who would try and broker peace for him and handle his affairs should the inevitable happen.