To Desire a Wicked Duke

by Nicole Jordan

“He did not want to risk losing you.”

  “So Rotham claimed. But I don’t understand why you kept the truth from me, my lady. It is not like you to coddle me.”

  The baroness held her gaze steadily. “Like Rotham, I did not want you to be hurt, which would have been the case had you learned that Richard had feet of clay.”

  That much was true, Tess reflected. Her initial disbelief had quickly turned to repugnance and dismay. Now she mostly felt a deep, aching sadness.

  “At the time,” Lady Wingate continued, “it seemed best to let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. I did not know about the affair until months afterward, when the girl realized she was with child and Rotham sought my advice about caring for her and her expected infant. By then you were already in love with Richard, and he swore by everything holy that he rued his sins. Then he entered the army and the duke was able to marry the girl off. I decided that no good purpose would be served by exposing Richard’s despicable behavior to the world. We had the family reputation to consider, you know.”

  Tess shook her head dully. “I feel like such an ignorant fool. You knew all along, but never said a word in warning.”

  Lady Wingate’s mouth pursed in a remorseful grimace. “At my age, I know a good deal about a lot of things, Tess—but I also know it is sometimes better to hold my tongue. Still, I am sorry to have distressed you so. Perhaps I was wrong.” The baroness sighed. “None of this would ever have happened if you had just chosen Rotham in the first place.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked absently.

  Just then, Cheevers returned with a second tray, and the ladies had to pause while he arranged the tea table. When they were alone again, Tess spoke. “What did you mean about my choosing Rotham in the first place?”

  The baroness busied herself pouring a cup of tea for her guest, but she clearly grasped that Tess wouldn’t give up, for she sighed again in resignation. “I would have much preferred that you wed Rotham four years ago.” She gave a humorless smile of remembrance. “If you must know, I invited the duke to your debut ball and insisted he dance with you in hopes that you would take a liking to each other. By that time, Rotham had turned his life around enough that I considered him suitable material for marriage.”

  Taken aback, Tess eyed her with bewilderment. “So you were attempting to play matchmaker? You wished me to marry Rotham, of all people?”

  “You needn’t look so shocked. You are my goddaughter. It is my duty to look after you and to act in your best interests. But to my regret, Richard engaged your affections first. And when Rotham saw your decided preference, he withdrew from the lists for your hand without even putting the question to a test. I suppose it was the honorable thing to do, but it was excessively disappointing to me. Richard was a charming boy, but Rotham was a man. Unlike my dearly departed husband,” the baroness added tartly. “Wingate was such a weakling, I could run circles around him.”

  Her ladyship shrugged then, as if dismissing her unpleasant memories of her late spouse. “I thought you needed much more of a challenge in your marriage, Tess. And I confess, I have always had a soft spot for rakes. I hoped you could be Rotham’s salvation—or at least aid his reformation process. And that is just what happened, even though it took a good while longer than I expected.”

  Tess stared at her in puzzlement. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about, my lady? What reformation?”

  The elder lady’s expression turned softer. “How much do you know about Rotham’s boyhood, Tess?”

  “As much as most, I imagine. His mother died in childbed, and he did not get along well with his father.”

  “That is a vast understatement,” Lady Wingate declared curtly. “Did you know that Rotham faced financial ruin when he inherited the title?”

  Tess continued to stare. “No, I did not.”

  “Well, it is true, I assure you. His father had depleted the entire family fortune on lavish extravagances and then compounded the crisis by losing outrageous sums at a notorious gaming hell.”

  “Like father, like son,” Tess murmured.

  Lady Wingate’s chin rose sharply in disagreement. “Indeed, there was an immense difference. The younger Rotham gambled to stave off destitution. When his father died, Ian was saddled with crippling debts of honor, and he had to fight tooth and nail just to save Bellacourt. Since the main property was entailed, it could not be used to raise capital. His only other choice was to sell all the surrounding lands and furnishings, leaving his ancestral home no more than a shell. An ignominious fate he refused to allow.”

  Tess remained mute, trying to absorb her godmother’s vigorous defense of Ian.

  “I am not saying he did not deserve his wicked reputation,” Lady Wingate temporized. “Yes, he led a life of dissipation and excess in his youth. But I believe much of his rebellion stemmed from his animosity toward his father. Once Rotham inherited the title, all that changed. It was only to repair the dukedom’s dire fiscal situation that he turned to gaming. And thankfully, he had the Devil’s own luck at the card tables. Then he built an empire with his winnings, employing a remarkable business savvy that clearly was not inherited on his father’s side. His detractors say he was ruthless in his ventures, but I expect that was merely sour grapes and envy.”

  Pausing for breath, the baroness sniffed with a measure of her usual hauteur. “I confess, I did not approve of Rotham’s methods. It is ungentlemanly to engage in commerce. But he never cared much about society’s good opinion. It is his biggest failing, if you ask me.”

  Tess’s thoughts were still on Ian’s past struggles, however, rather than his rebel tendencies. “I never realized,” she said quietly. Ian had kept even more secrets from her than Richard had.

  At Tess’s response, Lady Wingate came down from her high horse and softened her expression. “Rotham is not one to air his dirty linen in public, so you could not be expected to know. But I sincerely believe he has changed his sinful ways. To my knowledge, he has given up gaming, at least. And to the extent that he has become concerned about his reputation, I credit you, Tess.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I have little doubt that Rotham wished to earn your respect, much as Richard did.”

  Tess shook her head in disbelief. “You cannot be right, my lady.”

  “Why can I not? Rotham has looked after you all this time.”

  “Because I was betrothed to his cousin. He felt it was his duty.”

  “It was not his duty to support your charities. I kept him informed about your various endeavors, true, but when he learned about the causes you were championing, he bolstered your efforts with absolutely no prodding from me.”

  “That is rather puzzling,” Tess conceded.

  “Rotham is a much better man than most people realize,” the baroness said firmly. “Consider his young ward, for instance. I helped a small measure by finding the child a nurse, but it was the duke who insisted on providing the boy a home, even against my advice and protestations. Rotham certainly did not have to take responsibility for raising his cousin’s by-blow. Furthermore, he allowed everyone to think he was the child’s father. He took all the blame solely for your sake, Tess, to keep you from learning of Richard’s transgression.”

  “He admitted as much this afternoon,” Tess commented.

  Her godmother went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “When you wed him, I wanted to tell you about young Jamie then, because I didn’t want you to think Rotham a complete rake, but he refused because he did not want you to be hurt.”

  “I know,” she admitted.

  “I was never happy with how you were led to view Rotham. In my opinion, Richard was jealous of his cousin and feared you would favor a duke over him. He wanted to court you himself without any competition, so he painted Rotham much blacker than he was in order to turn you away from him.”

  Tess frowned. Much of her unfavorable opinion of Ian had been spurred by Richard. And since his own cousin had deemed the duke wicked, she had read
ily believed it. Yet she’d been greatly mistaken.

  “Perhaps,” Lady Wingate added, “I should not have been so insistent that you marry Rotham, Tess, but honestly, I don’t believe my adamancy was the deciding factor. He could have refused to offer for you, and I could not have forced him if he truly objected. Rotham saw the virtue in saving your reputation, unquestionably, but I think his reasons were much more complicated than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think he cares for you, Tess. The moment you enter a room, his countenance changes. It is a subtle difference, but he becomes more alert, on edge. His eyes follow you—although as soon as you look his way, he averts his gaze. That is certainly not a sign of indifference.”

  Tess suspected her skepticism showed in her expression. “I never thought him indifferent to me, but we have always been adversaries, if not enemies.”

  “I know you are constantly at loggerheads, but that does not mean he wishes to continue as such. He attended my recent house party because it was your birthday. I am positive he would never have come otherwise.”

  When Tess remained silent, Lady Wingate searched her face. “Is it not possible that given time, your feelings for him might soften just a little?”

  “Yes, it is possible,” Tess answered faintly, knowing the baroness had already gotten her wish. “But our marriage is only a legal contract.”

  “I know it began that way, but will you at least consider accepting Rotham as your husband in truth? For my sake, if not for your own?”

  Tess returned a wan smile. Lady Wingate was playing her trump card, knowing her loyal goddaughter would always strive to please her whenever possible.

  Surprisingly then, the noblewoman leaned closer and kissed Tess’s cheek in an uncustomary outward display of affection. “I will leave you now to finish your tea alone, my dear. I expect you have a good deal to think about.”

  Rising from the sofa, the baroness exited the parlor as promised. Tess could not find it in her heart to object, for she did indeed have much to ponder.

  A kind of bemused numbness settled over her as she considered what she had just learned about Ian. How could appearances be so deceiving? She had been wrong about him all along. He wasn’t nearly as wicked as she and the world believed.

  It seemed a bitter irony, though, that the wicked duke she had wed to avert scandal was truly a good man, whereas her late betrothed wasn’t nearly as good as she’d always thought him.

  Granted, she had always been too idealistic, but now she was forced to see Richard in shades of gray.

  Tess gazed off in the distance as memories of their youth and courtship flashed through her mind. Falling in love with Richard had been so easy. They’d been friends since childhood, and their mutual affection had only deepened with maturity. Despite having to face disillusionment now, she knew he was not a bad man. He’d made a detestable error and tried to atone for it, even giving his life for his country. That had to count for something.

  A renewed wave of sadness and remembered grief swept over Tess, yet it was tempered by her newfound knowledge of Richard. Still, he had asked for her forgiveness … although the pain was too fresh for her to grant it just yet.

  And then there was Ian. Apparently she hadn’t known him at all, Tess acknowledged. Had he actually considered competing for her hand at one time? Or was it merely wishful thinking on her godmother’s part?

  Tess thought back, trying to recall those months directly after her debut ball. Admittedly, she’d felt the increased discord between the cousins during the summer before Richard went into the army. It made better sense now that she understood the cause of their friction.

  And it was certainly possible that Richard had exaggerated his complaints against the Devil Duke for his own personal reasons.

  She was partly at fault, however. She’d been deliberately blind to Ian’s true nature all this time. She had wanted to see him as a wicked rake for her own self-protection. To paint him black, just as Richard had done.

  She’d been determined not to fall in love with so heartless a man, to open herself up to pain again. But now that she knew the truth, how could she justify not loving Ian?

  The fact was, she couldn’t, Tess conceded, her head suddenly reeling in a fresh daze. Her feelings for him had been rapidly evolving since their first shocking kiss, when they were discovered by Lady Wingate and forced by propriety to wed. But now Tess no longer had any doubt in her mind—or more crucially, in her heart.

  She loved Ian. Deeply, irrevocably. The kind of breathless, aching love she had always dreamed of feeling for her husband. In contrast, her girlhood love for Richard had been sweet and innocent, not the passionate love she felt for Ian.

  But it was not just his incredible passion that had won her. She loved him for all the reasons Lady Wingate had just enumerated:

  Because Ian would act to protect a child who was not even his. Because he possessed the kind of honor that was quietly selfless. Because he had protected her in innumerable ways all these many years, with no thought of himself. Because he had brought her back to life after an eternity of numbness.

  A helpless smile touched Tess’s lips. That was likely the foremost reason she loved Ian.

  Because he fired her emotions by challenging her. Because he forced her to feel. Because he had banished the emptiness inside her once and for all.

  She’d resisted loving him with all her might, but her resistance now seemed foolish. She’d really had no choice in the matter once she had become his wife and been obliged to spend intimate time in his company.

  But the question was, what did Ian feel for her?

  Suddenly beset by gnawing dread, Tess clenched her hands together. The possibility that her love might never be returned frightened her.

  Although Lady Wingate maintained that Ian’s feelings went beyond mere duty, Tess had grave doubts. He wasn’t the sort of man to fall in love. His past experiences had been very different from her own, starting with his childhood. He had never known a mother’s love, or a father’s. Indeed, had he ever known any kind of love at all?

  If not, then how could he feel love for her? Tess wondered. The kind of deep, abiding love that warmed the very soul. The kind that lasted forever. The kind of love she felt for him.

  She had given Ian no reason to believe she’d had a profound change of heart, Tess bleakly reminded herself. She had pushed him away from the very first, demanding a marriage in name only. Even when their physical attraction had kindled to white-hot desire, she’d insisted that any carnal relations serve only to mitigate their mutual sexual frustration—and Ian had readily agreed.

  What was worse, he thought she still loved another man. Only hours ago she had fled his presence while weeping over Richard … mere moments after Ian had finally admitted the secrets he’d held close for years.

  Tess’s stomach tightened as panic curled inside her. Was she too late to convince him of her changed feelings? To ask him to give her a second chance?

  She wanted his love, more desperately than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She wanted a real marriage with Ian. But now any overtures she made might be futile.

  Do I dare believe Ian when he says he loves me?

  —Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard

  Ian’s strongest inclination was to follow Tess to Chiswick immediately, but he forcibly controlled the urge. Compelling her to share his company just now would only compound her distress. He would be making an even greater mistake, Ian knew, by revealing his fierce jealousy of his dead cousin and demanding that Tess choose between them.

  His impotence was galling, however. When his butler appeared at the study door to ask if he wished to be served tea at his desk, Ian nearly took the servant’s head off with his growled refusal.

  For a moment, Phyfe’s usual impassive countenance slipped enough to show astonishment. Ordinarily the Duke of Rotham never took his ill moods out on his underlings.

  But at least the interruptio
n snapped him out of his own despondency. When Phyfe murmured a meek “As you wish, your grace,” and turned away, Ian called after the butler.

  “One moment, Phyfe. Do you know Eddowes’s present whereabouts? Is he at Bellacourt?”

  The butler shook his head. “No, your grace. Mr. Eddowes is here at Cavendish Square, in the library. He has been working there for the past hour or more, sir.”

  “Has he? I did not hear him arrive.”

  “He used the servants’ entrance, your grace, as he regularly does. Shall I summon him for you?”

  “No, I shall seek him out myself. That will be all, Phyfe.”

  Ian paused only to clear his desk of his most sensitive business documents before rising and heading for the library. His frustration had reached the boiling point. Sitting on his hands would get him absolutely nowhere, so he had to act.

  But the question was how?

  He couldn’t let Tess leave him. He wouldn’t. He intended to fight for her. Four years ago, his cousin had had prior claim to Tess, but he’d deferred long enough. Too long, Ian thought, gritting his teeth. He’d kept his promise to Richard even after death, but now it was time to move on. To convince Tess to let go of the past.

  He knew there was only one way for her to get over Richard, though. He had to make Tess love him. It was the only reason she would be willing to stay with him as his wife. The only chance for them to have a future together.

  Fortunately, he was wise enough to know that he needed counsel—and he knew just the person to ask. Fanny Irwin had attempted to advise him once before, but he had brushed off her good intentions. Now, however, Ian planned to take the courtesan up on her offer, which meant asking where she might be found of her betrothed, who just happened to be his newest secretary.

  As expected, Basil Eddowes was in the library, poring over the catalog of volumes he’d made of the collection at Falwell Castle. He jumped to his feet when Ian suddenly appeared, looking strangely solemn. Then, when Ian eyed the open ledger on the table, the secretary started to explain about having begun work on the library at Cavendish Square.