Devil Take the Duke (Lords of the Night Book 1)

by Sandra Sookoo

  There was always that danger, but as of yet, he’d never thought deeply enough of a woman that he risked losing his heart. “No. I fear it’s false hope, this breaking the curse business, and even if it was possible, what happens to her? I’ve made my peace with what I am—mostly. I’m comfortable with my circumstances and have worked hard not to let trading lives with the beast embitter me.” Liar. “Why should I ruin hers with a courtship she neither wants nor welcomes?” For the fact remained, he’d had but a chance meeting with Miss Alice Morrowe and that was all.

  “Ah, so that’s the extent of your reach, saving the girl from certain death or injury? You’ve done your duty, did a good deed and now you don’t care that you could possibly come close to breaking the curse?” Rogue’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Impressive, Manchester. I never thought you’d willingly toss away the chance for a normal existence.”

  “Yes,” Mountgarret nodded with enthusiasm. “If such a thing had happened to either of us,” he gestured between himself and the earl, “we would play up a romance to the hilt.” He sobered. “This year grows short and none of us have come close to perhaps breaking the curse.”

  The earl nodded. “If it were me, I’d only need one chance…”

  Botheration. Donovan blew out a breath. “Perhaps that is because the both of you nodcocks wish to find yourselves leg-shackled.” He glared at his friends. Marriage wasn’t for everyone. Hell, his parents had had a terrible go of it. Was it due to his father’s curse or the fact they’d had nothing in common when they’d wed? Would things have been different if they’d loved each other? Unlikely. “I’ll ask again: what does the woman gain from such a union if I indeed wished to proceed on such a fool’s errand?”

  Rogue rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair. “She’ll be a duchess. Don’t all women aspire to such heights and titles within the ton?”

  “I have no idea what she wants, but if she is angling for a title, she’ll find herself sorely disappointed in mine.” This time a trace of bitterness flowed through Donovan’s words.

  He’d never taken an interest in the deeper thoughts of any of the women he’d bedded. Beyond the mutual physical release and pleasure, he’d simply not cared. And to let any female grasp the coveted title of duchess meant he’d give up his freedom, his way of life… as well as his beastly secret. The last time he’d asked a woman to marry him—and perhaps that blasted question was the key to blurting out the tale of the curse—she’d thrown the ring back in his face, hurled a few choice words at him, and then had run screaming from the house.

  I refuse to repeat that bit of embarrassment if I can at all help it—or lose my heart.

  Both had been extremely painful life lessons, and he wouldn’t go through either again.

  Mountgarret softly cleared his throat. “Look, Donovan, it’s the best chance you’ve had in years. And if she’s truly a lonely country miss, you can easily secure her affections with a brief flirtation. It won’t take much to turn her head.”

  The earl took up the cause. “Absolutely. Once you’ve done the pretty, poured on enough of your charm, kiss her under the full moon and enjoy your human existence.” He beamed. “What could go wrong? It’s a straightforward plan, and one that will solve a few of your problems in one fell swoop.”

  “Now I have more problems than just the curse?” What sort of friends were these?

  “Of course you do.” His vampire companion flashed a smile. There was only a hint of elongated fangs, but they were no less impressive. “Do your duty by the title, get off an heir, etcetera.”

  “Spare me the list of my obligations,” Donovan said. He poured out another measure of brandy, but for the first time in his life, he could imagine what it might feel like to have the curse broken and usher in the life of a full human. No more talks with his wolf. No more running as the beast through the countryside. No more killing for the thrill of it. No more excruciating shifts that broke bones and stretched muscles. “I am well aware of what the future wants from me, but what will I do without the constant companion of my wolf in my head?”

  The viscount shrugged. “Same as the rest of us. Celebrate. Live life. And in your case, chase after skirts with a new confidence?”

  Rogue snorted. “Bed them without a blindfold so that you might actually share the most intimate of acts with them by peering into their souls?”

  This whole conversation prompted too much thinking on his part, when the bulk of what he’d been doing the past three days had been just that. For whatever reason, Miss Alice Morrowe wouldn’t leave his mind, and he wanted to know why. He cleared his throat. “You both have valid points. Yet, if I did happen to charm her enough to make her fall, you think I should also marry her in order to fulfil the needs of my title? Would not securing her affections without wedlock be enough to appease the curse?”

  His friends stared at him with speculation and askance. Finally, the earl sighed. “Only you can decide that. As will we all when—or if—our time comes.”

  Indeed, but damnation, what a coil either decision could become. “If I married her, what then? Send a wife I don’t want to my country estate?” For, at the moment, he most definitely did not require a duchess, but if it was the only way of having the girl?

  Stuff and bother.

  Inside his head, his wolf snuffled. Rut with her and be done with it.

  Perhaps it might be that easy, yet would such an event break the curse?

  Mountgarret shrugged. He fiddled with his half-empty brandy glass. “It’s the lesser of the two evils, Donovan.”

  “Mayhap.” He nodded. “And I’ll be free.”

  Rogue laughed, which caused the others to do the same. “To a point. Trading one demon for another with an unwanted marriage.”

  “Yet it will leave her a virtual prisoner.” Donovan sobered. He downed the remainder of his brandy in one gulp and then twirled his tumbler between his thumb and forefinger. The glint of candlelight turned the etched crystal into sparks of light.

  “Not necessarily,” the earl continued. “Give her babes. She’ll have all she’s ever wanted, could ever aspire to from such humble country roots. You both win and you can both move forward in your lives.”

  Without love to muck the whole thing up. Donovan rested his glass on the tabletop. “That’s a rather cold outlook, Rogue.” What the devil was the point in taking a wife if one whisked her off and hid her, never to spent time with her? A wife wasn’t like a painting or a piece of décor one could pack off to a garret when one had no more use for it, yet many titled gentlemen of the ton did just that.

  “That’s the reality men like us face,” the earl answered in a low voice. “Perhaps we were never meant to have everything we’d like, for eventually, we all must answer and pay homage to the curse, and it’s oftentimes a cruel taskmaster.” Bitterness flooded those words.

  Mountgarret nodded. All traces of mirth had vanished from his expression. “On the other hand, you might find that you suit. Love and romance are a novel concept for you, I’m sure, but stranger things have happened.”

  Donovan snorted. Love. Romance. Those things only occurred inside fairy stories. Real life had no room for them, and not especially for men like him. “We have nothing in common, she and I.”

  “Such gammon,” Rogue replied. He flicked the side of his drink glass and the crystal resonated a clear tone. “You feel lust for her, do you not?”

  He pinned his friend with a glare. “That isn’t the same as love, and well you know it.” Just the remembrance of Alice’s exploratory touch had his member hardening.

  The earl continued with a wicked grin. “How did she act when you kissed her? Is there a chance she’d return that interest? It would make the flirtation go more smoothly.”

  “To be honest, she was rather stunned, and I left without waiting around to see what would happen next.” Donovan slumped in his leather-bound chair. The situation was impossible no matter what angle he looked at it. And there was the rub—sigh
t. “Also, she’s blind. She cannot see, so already a courtship will prove difficult, for if I can’t use my looks to help charm her, my suit is doomed.”

  “What difference does that make?” the earl asked in a tone that suggested Donovan was a bacon-brained idiot. “A man doesn’t need another pair of eyes, does he?”

  But her eyes were a most interesting shade of stormy gray with silver flecks…

  “You have the use of your words, the gift of your touch,” his friend continued. “Those are powerful tools in your arsenal.” He leaned forward in his chair while the viscount nodded. “If it’s marriage that’s souring the deal, forget about it. As long as you can get your rocks off and bed her, go ahead and seduce her. Make her love you. No doubt a gel like her has been shunned by male company. Probably won’t take much coaxing on your part. Coat your truth in so much sugar, her head spins with desire and confusion. Then your task will be completed, the deed will be done, and your new life starts.”

  Not much of a challenge there, his wolf complained. Don’t want a woman we don’t have to chase.

  He couldn’t agree with his beast more.

  Mountgarret added, “You’ve wanted this your whole life, Donovan. Hell, we all have. You have the best chance in front of you. Why not take the opportunity and see where it leads?”

  Donovan remained silent. He stroked his chin as he stared at his friends. When a buxom blonde drifted close to the table, her skirts dampened and clinging to her lower limbs, he waved her attentions away. She left with a pout, for he usually would invite her onto his lap and fondle her ample charms. Tonight he couldn’t summon interest for such distractions. In fact, he hadn’t visited perfumed sheets or had plump flesh in his bed since he’d met a certain sweet country flower…

  Damn and blast. I must ponder this new possibility.

  Rogue elbowed the viscount with a chuckle. “When a man falls into the danger of thinking about a woman…”

  “Do shut up, Devon. I do not need your ribbing.” But there was no bite in the command.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  September 15, 1815

  Shalford, near Guildford, Surrey

  Alice nearly fainted dead away when the duke came to call that afternoon at the milliner’s shop.

  It had been four days since the chance encounter with him, and in that intervening time, she’d assumed he’d gone on with his life and had forgotten about her. After all, dukes didn’t visit country misses, and they certainly didn’t call upon poor relations who’d been firmly put on the shelf for years.

  So, when the austere man strode through the shop door and the tiny tin bell announced his arrival and he announced in his deep tenor, “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m the Duke of Manchester, looking for a Miss Alice Morrowe,” she gasped and turned toward him, no doubt just as all the other females occupying the store did.

  Mrs. Sparkes told the duke she would fetch Alice for him, and before Alice could puzzle out why the man had popped in for a visit, her boss had wrapped a hand about her upper arm. “There is a gentleman here to see you, a duke, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important such an event is.” She guided Alice through the maze of tables containing hat stands and hats that appeared as colorful blobs to her vision. “Don’t muck this up, for he might bring the women in his life here for head gear.”

  It was on the tip of Alice’s tongue to argue and say that no doubt the women floating through the duke’s life were probably not the quality of female Mrs. Sparkes would wish for clientele, but that good lady brought her to a jarring halt, and a dark shapeless form she assumed belonged to the duke loomed before her.

  “Ah, Miss Morrowe, there you are,” he said in a cheerful tone. Then he turned away to address Mrs. Sparkes, who lingered. “Thank you. I did so need to speak with Miss Morrowe.”

  “It’s a pleasure to have you in my shop, Your Grace.” With ingratiating voice, her boss continued. “I can bring you tea if you require it.”

  “I won’t stay long, so it’s not necessary.”

  By shifting her vision over his shoulder, Alice caught his movements as he turned toward her and took a step closer. His scent wafted in a cloud around him, and she surreptitiously inhaled. Lemon, bergamot, mandarin and cardamom top notes combined with clary sage, sandalwood and cedar with a hint of musk bottom notes. It was a heady, complex blend, much like the man himself, and much different than he’d smelled that first meeting. Sure she had his attention, but acutely conscious that Mrs. Sparkes, Fanny, and the two other girls who worked in the shop stared, Alice clasped her hands before her. “What are you doing here, Your Grace? Do you attend another hunt in the area?” It wasn’t outside of realm of possibility, for the autumn presented many opportunities for hunting of all kinds.

  “After a fashion. Why are you here?”

  She wished she could see his form. No doubt it would be as dashing and intriguing as his voice sounded, and she also wished she could feel his clothing, to “see” for herself how he’d chosen to outfit his body… the body she knew only when he’d been naked. A rush of heat infused her cheeks and as he waited for an answer. “I…” Alice sputtered, aware of the eyes on her. Silence reigned in the shop. She cleared her throat. “I am employed here, in exchange for my room and board at the mill.”

  “I beg your pardon. You reside… in a water mill?” Heavy bewilderment ran through his tone.

  Embarrassed heat poured into her person. “It’s, ah… complicated.” Oh, why wouldn’t he just go and leave her alone? She hated that so much attention was directed to her.

  “Alice, don’t talk in such vagaries to a duke,” Mrs. Sparkes admonished, which only served to further heighten the mortification. “My husband and I felt sorry for her when she wandered into the village years ago without funds or recourse. So I let her work here and my husband graciously gave her a room, and we provide her meals. Doing our part for a charity case, Your Grace.”

  Oh, dear Lord, why won’t the floor swallow me up?

  “In London, one doesn’t speak of such things openly, for charitable works shouldn’t be done for the attention, Mrs. Sparkes.” A certain reproach wove through his tone. Then he apparently decided to switch tactics, for his tone softened with the same charm he’d treated her to that memorable night of their first meeting. “Surely you can appreciate how awkward this is, for all of us, Mrs. Sparkes.”

  “Of course, of course,” the woman said, bobbing her head, and looking much like a giant, blurry chicken blob.

  “Ah. It would make me more comfortable if I could converse privately with Miss Morrowe, so if you could find it in your heart to let her leave her shift early?”

  “You absolutely may, Your Grace,” came Mrs. Sparkes’ answer. She even went so far as to sink into a curtsey. “I suppose the rest of us can manage without her, and we hope you might find the shop pleasing enough you’ll return.”

  Alice tamped down on the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Excellent. I’d like to take Miss Morrowe driving. I shall have her back soon.” The duke slipped a hand about Alice’s upper arm with a sure, strong grip. “If you’ll consent to accompany me, Miss Morrowe?” he asked, and his voice rumbled through her chest with thrilling accuracy.

  “It doesn’t seem you’re leaving me much of a choice,” she whispered as he propelled them into motion.

  “Yes, well, I am a duke, after all.”

  As if that made him more important a person than anyone else. Certainly, in the hierarchy of the ton, this was true, but to her way of thinking, a man’s actions told his story, not his title, and respect was earned. Alice blew out a frustrated breath that ruffled the curls on her forehead. “You could have asked nicely.”

  “I believe that I did.”

  “Except you didn’t wait for a response.”

  An unexpected chuckle escaped him, and the sound flowed over her like warm honey. “The answer would have been the same, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes.” Drat the man’s eyes. She was too curious
about the reason for his call to refuse. All too soon they reached the shop’s front door, and he whisked her from the establishment to the tinkle of the tin bell. Outside, as soon as the panel swung closed behind them, she grumbled. “You realize the whole village will be abuzz about this within the hour, and I don’t relish that sort of attention. I’ve lived my whole life on the perimeter.”

  Yet warmth flowed through her. Yes, she was flattered he’d sought her out. If only he hadn’t done so in such a spectacular manner.

  “People everywhere adore gossip. It matters not how I arrived; the results will be the same. Perhaps it’s time people noticed you, my sweet country flower.” He guided her along the street. “Besides, I needed to return your shawl.”

  She scoffed. “You could have sent a courier or utilized the post.”

  The duke put his lips to the shell of her ear. “I wanted to see you.” His breath skated over her cheek. “What better excuse did I have?”

  Delicious tremors fell down her spine. “Why?” Alice squeaked in alarm and surprise when he moved his hands to her waist and easily lifted—tossed essentially—her onto a bench. When she settled herself, she gasped again. The man drove a high perch phaeton. How exciting! She’d never been in such a vehicle before, much less been driving with a gentleman. Most males assumed—if they’d deigned to take an interest in her—that because she was blind, she wouldn’t enjoy the other aspects of such an activity. “Oh my.” It was scandalous how much she reveled in having his hands on her person, even more so when flutters erupted low in her belly. Such a novel experience.

  “Why?” he asked in answer to her question. “You intrigue me and I’d like to know just how much.” He swung up beside her. The carriage rocked from the shift in weight. Then he gathered the reins and with a flick of his wrists and a click of his tongue, he set the equipage into motion.

  Something brushed against her ankle, and when she bent to investigate what it was, her fingertips encountered the wool of the shawl she’d loaned him. He’d been telling the truth. When she straightened into her seat once more, leaving the garment where it was, her right side pressed into his left. Heat trailed through her insides. “I don’t know what to say. About any of it.” A duke, here in Shalford, to see her.