To Desire a Wicked Duke

by Nicole Jordan

  My bride. My wife. The words sounded strange to Ian. Stranger still was realizing how impatient he was to be alone with Tess.

  No doubt his desire to leave Danvers Hall had something to do with his reception by the company. Since the ton was actually rather small, he knew all the noblemen present, some of them fairly well. But he hadn’t expected to be approached by each and every one of them during the course of the next hour.

  The first to pull Ian aside was Tess’s cousin Damon Stafford, Viscount Wrexham, who said quietly, “I want to offer you a word of warning, Rotham. Should you hurt my cousin in any way, you will answer to me.”

  “I assure you,” Ian replied, keeping his tone bland, “I have no intention of hurting her.”

  “See that you don’t.”

  No sooner had Wrexham walked away than Heath Griffin, Marquess of Claybourne, took his place. “You should be aware that your new wife has a large number of friends, Rotham.”

  Ian suspected that Lady Claybourne had prompted her husband to make her and her sisters’ concerns known. But the next warning came from Marcus Pierce, the Earl of Danvers.

  Ian held up a hand, preempting him. “Don’t tell me. You have come to threaten me with bodily injury should I harm a hair on my new wife’s head.”

  “Not a threat, a promise,” Danvers said easily.

  Ian might have been amused had he not known the noblemen were deadly serious. Even so, he could respect their position and was glad that Tess had so many friends who cared about her welfare, even if he was the one who would suffer the consequences of failure.

  Last was the tall, fair-haired Duke of Arden, Drew Moncrief. Arden’s wry smile of understanding mirrored Ian’s sardonic one. “I suspect you know what I wish to say, Rotham.”

  “I believe I do. Your new duchess is worried for my new duchess and has charged you with seeing that I don’t hurt her.”

  “I won’t need to lift a finger in her defense,” Arden added. “My wife and her sisters think of Tess as their own. You don’t want to make them your enemies.”

  “I expect not. I consider myself fairly warned, Arden.”

  Then Lady Wingate came up to him and proceeded to express her fears for Tess. “I have begun to wonder if I acted too precipitously,” the baroness began. “If you are harboring any thoughts of revenge at being compelled to wed her, you should not blame Tess. I am at fault, Rotham.…”

  With effort, Ian listened patiently and refrained from lifting his eyes to the ceiling when claiming that he had no thoughts of revenge and promising to treat Tess with consideration and respect.

  Lady Wingate did not look entirely reassured, but she left him to rejoin Tess, who was surrounded by the Loring sisters.

  Ian studied his bride for a moment, then glanced at the mantel clock, wondering how soon he could escape the intense scrutiny of her friends and have her to himself.

  I admit Rotham sometimes astonishes me and contradicts my long-held opinions of him.

  —Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard

  By the time the bridal couple departed Danvers Hall for Richmond, the chill, drizzling rain had ceased, but dusk had fallen. Within the relative warmth of his closed carriage, Ian observed his new wife.

  Tess had spoken little once they were alone together and refused to meet his eyes. A melancholy frown pursed her lips now as she gazed out at the darkening countryside, her thoughts obviously far away.

  She didn’t stir even when they reached Bellacourt.

  “Pray forgive me for interrupting your dismal ruminations,” Ian drawled, “but we have arrived.”

  Seeming finally to become aware of her surroundings, Tess gave him her full attention. “I beg your pardon? What dismal ruminations?”

  “You are still stewing about our marriage, are you not?”

  “Truthfully, I was thinking of something else entirely.”

  Visibly shaking off her musings then, she bestirred herself and accepted his hand to descend the carriage.

  Yet when she stepped down, Tess hesitated a long moment, looking up at the magnificent residence of mellow golden stone. Displaying grace and grandeur in every line, Bellacourt boasted four vast wings of four stories each, built around a large central courtyard. Tess had visited there twice before with Richard, Ian knew, but she’d seen only a fraction of the many rooms and few of the numerous outlying buildings on the estate.

  He meant to try and make her feel welcome, though. He well remembered what it was like growing up at Bellacourt as a child. The cold, lonely formality of his home had been unrelieved by a procession of nannies and governesses and tutors, or by the presence of his only surviving parent, since his dissolute father much preferred the sinful pleasures London offered.

  “I have instructed my majordomo to make a place for your servants,” Ian said while guiding Tess up the wide front steps. “Your maid and coachman and footmen will have rooms for tonight. Tomorrow we can discuss what further staff you wish to reside here with you.”

  She glanced up at him with sharp puzzlement.

  “You seem surprised,” he remarked. “I am not such a complete ogre that I would deny you your own servants.”

  “I did not think you were a complete ogre,” was her mild retort.

  Ian bit back a smile at that show of her former spirit. “I will introduce you to my housekeeper and majordomo this evening,” he continued, “but meeting the remainder of the staff and touring the house can wait until morning if you wish. You must be fatigued after the unsettling events of the past two days.”

  Her brows drew together as she studied him with something close to suspicion. “Thank you,” Tess replied, reverting to her previous emotionless tone. “I would indeed prefer to wait.”

  As they reached the front door, it was opened by an imperious, silver-haired man dressed in ducal livery, and a much more congenial older woman.

  Ian performed the introductions as promised, making her known to Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Young, then added once they had handed over their outer garments, “Mrs. Young will show you to your apartments so that you may dress for dinner.”

  “I trust I will have my own rooms?” Tess queried in a low voice.

  A dry smile curled his lips. “But of course. Somehow I knew you would insist upon it.”

  Bending, he kissed her fingers, which clearly startled her. “Smile for our audience, darling,” Ian murmured for her ears only. In a louder voice, he said, “Pray join me in the drawing room before dinner, my love. I will be counting the moments.”

  When Tess was shown to her splendidly appointed rooms, she was comforted to find her maid Alice there before her. Having a familiar face with her as she prepared for dinner bolstered her spirits—although it seemed strange to hear herself addressed as “your grace,” especially with such awed reverence as Alice displayed.

  She was the Duchess of Rotham now, however, and as such would have to grow accustomed to the fawning deference afforded ladies of her exalted new rank.

  Tess doubted her husband would show her similar deference in his manner of address. Not only was theirs an adversarial relationship, but Rotham had all the advantages in their marriage … legal, financial, physical.

  There was little point in fretting over her position of weakness, she knew, but Fanny had advised her to start off on the right footing, to establish boundaries from the very beginning. Accordingly, Tess braced herself for the evening ahead and prepared to take the offensive.

  Upon descending the stairs, she was met by Gaskell, the Bellacourt majordomo, who conducted her through the large east wing to the drawing room.

  Once again the rich furnishings and artwork gracing the walls dazzled her. It was hard to fathom that she was now mistress of such a magnificent estate. But when Tess caught sight of the nobleman standing near the mantel, she only had eyes for him.

  Rotham wore a different coat now—this one burgundy—and white satin evening breeches. His own gaze briefly surveyed her rose silk gown, the same one she had worn
for their wedding, before he offered a pleasant greeting. When she made no reply, he dismissed his majordomo and crossed to a side table, where a decanter of sherry sat.

  Tess watched him as he poured two glasses. His hair was too long for fashion, and the tawny brown locks curled over the edge of his high collar. The careless touch softened the aristocratic arrogance of Rotham’s chiseled features, with their high cheekbones and forehead.

  His tone, however, had lost little of its usual mocking edge when he spoke.

  “You might attempt to cooperate in our pretense of a love match in front of the servants,” Rotham said, handing her one of the glasses of wine.

  “I fear I am not skilled enough as an actress to manage that feat,” Tess remarked, keeping to her plan to begin on offense. “And I certainly see no need to do so in private.”

  Rather than respond in kind, he changed the subject. “Did you find your rooms satisfactory?”

  “As much as possible under the circumstances.” Tess glanced around the large, splendid drawing room. “I expected to feel sympathy for the poor female who agreed to be your duchess, but I concede there are many ladies who would be thrilled to be mistress of such a grand estate as Bellacourt.”

  “But you are not one of them.” He took a swallow of his sherry. “You are not exactly my ideal bride either. You are too managing and independent for my tastes.”

  Tess felt stung by his honesty. It was vexing also to admit that her feminine pride might be a little wounded, knowing that Rotham had no desire to wed her.

  “No doubt you prefer someone more helpless,” she said, parrying his gibe. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  She expected him to say something cutting in return, but he merely gestured toward the same side table. For the first time Tess noted the silver tray lying there.

  “Those are for you.”

  Curious, she went over to inspect the tray’s contents—several official-looking documents and a small, blue velvet box.

  “Open the box,” Rotham instructed.

  When Tess did, inside she found a lovely gold locket on a delicate gold chain. Lifting the bauble from its resting place, she shot him a puzzled glance.

  “Your birthday gift,” Rotham replied to her unspoken question. “It occurred to me that your birthday was spoiled, so you ought to have your gift now. I brought it with me to Wingate Manor yesterday, but never had the opportunity to give it to you.”

  “You brought me a birthday gift yesterday?”

  Tess stared at Rotham in near shock. She could not have been more surprised if he’d claimed to have plucked the moon out of the heavens for her.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she focused on his gift. The locket was simple, but an appropriate birthday remembrance from a family acquaintance to a single young lady—which was what they had been yesterday before Rotham had interrupted her ill-conceived experiment in passion and set them on the path to marriage with his devastating kisses.

  “The Rotham jewels also belong to you now,” he added, “and are much more valuable … although since many of the pieces are entailed, you cannot sell them. They are in a bank vault in London for you to wear any time you wish.”

  When Tess fell silent, unsure what to say, Rotham continued. “Those documents are from my solicitors—various legalities to allow you to keep your own fortune and properties, in addition to the details of our marriage settlement. The last is my wedding gift to you—a bank draft for the Families of Fallen Soldiers. As you recently told your major contributors, with winter coming on, the funds are badly needed.”

  Tess stared at the draft for two thousand pounds, then mutely lifted her astonished gaze to Rotham. She had been prepared to meet him with defiance and belligerence, but his thoughtful gifts had completely taken the wind out of her sails. Were his magnanimous overtures a peace offering of sorts? An attempt to reduce their constant warfare and call a truce in their verbal sparring?

  “Th-thank you,” Tess stammered. “I never envisioned such generosity from you.”

  His mouth curved. “I well know your opinion of me, sweeting. Perhaps that alone spurred me to prove you wrong.”

  If he had schemed to confound her, he had certainly done so, Tess thought, taking a long swallow of wine. She must have drunk too quickly for she suddenly felt light-headed. Swaying, she brought her fingers to her temple.

  Rotham immediately reached out to support her elbow. “Sit down, Tess. Did you eat anything today?” he asked as he led her to the nearest chair.

  “Not much,” she admitted, consciously responding to his continued kindness.

  “Drinking wine on an empty stomach is not wise. We will go into dinner shortly.”

  “I am not particularly hungry.”

  “Even so, you should eat.”

  At his forceful tone, Tess stiffened out of habit, then applauded her instinctive response. She didn’t want to live in armed warfare with Rotham, but neither did she want to become even more vulnerable to him than she was now. She was making a poor job of keeping her distance thus far.

  “Is that a command, your grace?” she asked airily.

  That half-smile etched his mouth again. “A suggestion, merely. But I might remind you that not three hours ago, you vowed to love, honor, and obey me.”

  Glad to be back on familiar ground, Tess arched a taunting eyebrow. “Surely you do not expect obedience from me?”

  “No, I know you better than that,” he returned with amusement. “Obedience is far beyond my expectations. And you declared yesterday that you could never love me. So that leaves honor.” His smile faded, while his eyes fixed on her. “I expect you to honor our marriage vows, Tess, even though they were made under duress. I have no desire to be cuckolded.”

  The suggestion that she would ever commit adultery, regardless of how their marriage had begun, filled her with indignation. “I would never dream of cuckolding you, your grace. Although it is a matter of supreme indifference to me if you fail to honor our vows. Indeed, I expect you to seek your pleasures with your numerous mistresses.”

  At her adamant reply, he studied her for a long moment, as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Then his expression seemed to lose its intensity and his sardonic humor returned. “My numerous mistresses? How many do you think I have?”

  “Rumor suggests that you have several.”

  “Rumor would be wrong.”

  “You cannot deny that you have kept mistresses in the past.”

  “Never more than one at a time. And I have none now.”

  Tess shrugged, although her show of indifference was pure bravado. She sincerely hoped her husband would not choose to flout their vows so savagely and sully their union—or if he did, that he would be discreet about it.

  “I only meant,” she explained, “that I am not opposed to having a liberal marriage.”

  “I never realized you were so broadminded.”

  “I am, rather. It comes from having several married friends.…”

  She hesitated, debating whether to mention her friendship with Fanny Irwin.

  Just then Gaskell appeared to announce that dinner was served. She allowed Rotham to escort her to the smaller of Bellacourt’s two dining rooms. The table was still enormous and sparkled with crystal and china.

  Instead of sitting at each end, however, parted by the vast length of the table, Tess found herself seated at Rotham’s right. When they had begun the soup course—the first of many dishes and removes—and the liveried footmen had left them alone, Tess returned her attention to Fanny, not only to provide a distraction from her own marital difficulties, but because she sincerely wished to help her friend.

  “Do you happen to need a secretary, Rotham?” she began. “I know you are not much involved with politics in the House of Lords, but with your vast business enterprises, you must have numerous tasks that require clerical assistance.”

  “I have two secretaries now. Why do you ask?”

  “I know someone who would be ideal for
the position. His name is Basil Eddowes. For the past several years, Mr. Eddowes has worked as a law clerk for a London solicitor, but just recently Lord Claybourne secured him a post as a junior secretary for an elderly nobleman. His salary is not sufficient for his needs, however, and I hoped to improve his prospects.”

  Rotham’s expression remained neutral. “Why such a marked interest in this Eddowes fellow? Is he a former beau, perhaps?”

  “Not a beau of mine. His affections are set on someone else entirely.” Tess paused before launching ahead with the nascent plan that had been forming in her head ever since last night. “Are you by chance acquainted with Fanny Irwin?”

  She could tell her question was unexpected. “The Cyprian, Fanny Irwin?”

  “Yes. Fanny is a dear childhood friend of the Loring sisters, and has become a close friend of mine these past few years.”

  Rotham’s eyebrow shot up. “I find it surprising that you claim a friendship with a leading citizen of the demimonde.”

  “It is actually not so unusual.…” A blush rising to her cheeks, Tess told him about meeting Fanny four years previously when the Lorings moved from Hampshire to Chiswick to live with their cantankerous uncle … how Fanny’s craving for excitement had lead her to embark on a career as a lady of the evening, and how the sisters had refused to give up the connection with their bosom friend even after making brilliant society matches this past year, despite the courtesan’s notoriety.

  Her tale was interrupted when the soup was removed and the fish served, but once the footmen were gone, Tess continued, explaining about Basil Eddowes’s odd courtship of Fanny.

  “She no longer traffics with the gentlemen of the ton, but you can see why Mr. Eddowes would be hesitant to propose.”

  “I believe I can,” Rotham murmured, his tone dry.

  Tess ignored his remark and went on. “His pride is a large impediment, not only because of Fanny’s scandalous past but the issue of finances as well. She has abandoned her expensive lifestyle entirely—recently she sold her grand London residence and moved to her much smaller house in St. John’s Wood. But Basil wishes to support his wife in at least moderate fashion. If you were to hire him, he and Fanny could afford to marry.”