My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  He quirked his mouth and furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

  Maybe she’d overdone it. “I had something caught in my throat. I wanted to tell you happy birthday.”

  “Thanks. It’s too bad you weren’t feeling well. My mother told me of your note of regret. I was disappointed.”

  “You were?” His admission made her so happy, she could not hold on to her anger at his wretched mother.

  He nodded. “I just finished reading Children’s and Household Tales and couldn’t wait to talk to you about it. I know how you love to read. Have you read it?”

  “No, but I’d love to.”

  He grinned. “Just a minute.”

  He scrambled into his carriage and then came out holding a book that he then extended to her. “You may borrow it, and next time there’s an opportunity, we shall discuss it.”

  Would it be ridiculous to dance around in glee? Amelia snickered. Undoubtedly so.

  “Amelia!” her mother screeched from behind her.

  Amelia just grinned, though she knew her precious time with Charles was up. Charles wanted an Elinor, and if Amelia was anything, it was an Elinor.

  London, England

  1820

  Colin was about three seconds from finding his release when the widow Lady Diana leaned down, her bare breasts grazing his chest, and whispered in his ear, “Happy twenty-fifth birthday, Your Grace.”

  And just like that, the potential for a pleasant ending to the stormy afternoon disappeared. There was nothing happy about his birthday. Each one brought another year that his discontent grew. With himself. With life. His choices. His mother. Even his father who had been dead for a year. Colin had intended to forget this year’s birthday, devil take Diana.

  When she drew away and glanced down at him with a coy smile, he grasped her smooth hips and lifted her off his body to place her gently beside his thigh. A small frown puckered her lovely forehead, and her green eyes briefly narrowed before widening. She must have realized her pretense of pretending to care for him had slipped. Colin almost laughed. She lay by his side then curled her body against his like a cat would before trailing her long nails back and forth across his chest.

  He tensed, unable to help himself, and grasped Diana’s hands to still her motion before carefully putting much-needed space between their bodies. Never one easily deterred, she pressed herself alongside him and brushed her lips against his. Heavy French perfume that reminded him too much of the gaudy scent his mother favored filled his nostrils all of a sudden and made him want to shove Diana far away. Out the door preferably. It was definitely time to end this affair. Whenever he grew to dislike his partner’s touch, it always helped to find a new lover. Pity the prospect did not bring a flicker of anticipation or thrill today―just as it had not in quite some time.

  A sigh rumbled from his chest, mirrored by Diana’s irritated exhalation. Colin smiled as he glanced at her. Her red lips were puckered in a perfect pout. She sat up and frowned over her shoulder before spearing him with a scathing look.

  “I care not if you’re sick of me. You’ll not discard me before taking me to the Stanhope’s ball.”

  Colin tucked his interlocked hands behind his head to prop himself against the down pillow before speaking. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for an obedient dog. Tread carefully, my dear. The only thing canine about me is my ferocious bite when cornered.”

  She smiled wickedly. “Your strength is exactly why I sought you out. My late husband was a weakling in every sense of the word, and I wanted to bed a man who knew his mind. And his power. You have quite a reputation, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” he replied. The absurd sense of satisfaction that acquiring and building his reputation had brought him had died with his father. Yet, here he was doing exactly the same thing, though the need to divert gossip from his father was long gone. For a split second, he allowed the pain of losing his father to break the surface of his mind, but then he immediately willed his thoughts back to the woman in front of him.

  Colin thumped his fingers against the wooden headboard behind him. “Seeing as how you are well aware of my reputation, I admit to confusion as to why you think you can make demands of me.”

  Diana raised her arms over her head and arched her back in a stretch no doubt meant to display her voluptuous breasts. “I spoke hastily,” she said with a pointed look. “I’m making a plea more than a demand. I’m desperate, you see, and though you can be quite wicked, I’ve also seen you take pity on the wallflowers and dance with them when no one else would.”

  Colin grunted. No good deed ever went unpunished. Taking pity on a few wallflowers did not make him kind. Even the wicked could possess annoying consciences that kept them awake. Gritting his teeth against the pity awakening in him, he sprung up, swung his legs over the side of the bed to grab her corset, and then remembered she had come without one. At the time, he had been aroused, now he was annoyed as he was sure this was a ploy. Locating her chemise, he snatched it up and thrust it toward her. “Time to go.”

  She took the garment, slipped it over her head then gathered her gown and donned it, only pausing to turn her back to him. “Hook me, please?”

  He reluctantly moved toward her and started fastening the hooks of her peach silk gown. When he was done, he turned her toward him, feeling compelled to say something. “Thank you for these months together. I have enjoyed our time.”

  Diana’s shoulders sagged. “I will be subjected to no amount of catty comments from your other past lovers if I fail to arrive on your arm at the Stanhope’s ball. Have I not suffered enough with the rumors swirling around me regarding my husband’s preference for his assistant Mr. Dunn’s company over mine?”

  The tears filling her eyes and the throbbing notes of desperation in her voice made him pause. Something stirred deep within. He knew better than to trust a woman, yet she seemed so vulnerable and in need.

  “Aversley, please.”

  Her quivering voice pierced him. His own voice used to tremble like that when he was much younger and would beg his mother to stop her affairs. She never acknowledged his pleas but simply looked through him as if he was not there. He opened his mouth to agree to Diana’s request, but she stomped her foot and thrust her hands on her hips.

  “I can see disagreement written all over your face,” she snapped. “I don’t like to make threats, and I have tried to be nice but you are forcing my hand. You will take me to the Stanhope’s ball tonight and dote on me. That way other eligible lords will line up to court me. If you do not agree to my terms, I’m afraid I will have to whisper in several gossipmonger’s ears that your mother is up to her old scandalous behavior and has recently taken a commoner as her lover. You would not want that, would you?”

  Every muscle in his body tensed. “Who?” he asked, struggling to keep the shock out of his voice. As far as he knew, his mother had not been with another man since his father had died. Ironic, considering how she had tortured him with her infidelities during his life.

  “Your father’s old solicitor and now hers. What a scandal that shall create!”

  In a barely controlled voice Colin said, “Careful, Diana. You are angering the hound.”

  Diana cocked her head. “The what?” She waved a hand at him. “Never mind. What time will you collect me for the ball?”

  Anger pounded at Colin as he reached down and grabbed his trousers and shirt. After quickly tugging them on, he walked past Diana and opened his bedroom door. At the threshold, he motioned her to come closer. Damn his mother. After the years of pain she had caused Father, she deserved to feel the heat of the ton’s scorn for taking a lover they would consider beneath her, but he could not quite make himself be that cold. God alone only knew why. She had always been heartless to him. Even still, he would not bend to any demands either.

  Diana sashayed across the floor and sidled up to him then curled her hand around his arm. “I’m glad you understand.”

  C
olin grasped her gently by the chin, though he wanted to shake her senseless. He drew her face close to his. “I do understand you,” he murmured. “You are as calculating as I thought you were. I wish I could say I’m surprised.”

  Her face, turned up to him, tightened into a scowl. “I’m only taking care of my needs.”

  “Yes, I see that.” He released her chin and glanced down, narrowing his eyes. He may not like his mother, but he damned sure would prevent this woman from hurting her. “Have you ever seen what happens to a dog protecting one of its own from attack?”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head.

  “The dog becomes vicious. Ferocious and unstoppable.” He purposely raked his gaze slowly over her. “It’s a bloodbath really for the foolish creature who attempts to harm one of the dog’s pack.”

  “I don’t think―” she burst out before he pressed a finger to her lips.

  He nodded. “I agree. You do not think. Neither clearly nor thoroughly before you spout threats. I do, though. If I hear one whisper about my mother, I’ll destroy you. Make no mistake about it. I won’t touch one pretty little hair on your head because I won’t need to. I know all your secrets, my dear. I made it a point to learn them. They were shocking even to me, and that is saying something.”

  Her mouth gaped open.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “I see you understand me now, and we can now go our separate ways. Permanently.”

  She nodded, even as her lips pressed into a thin, hard, white line. God, how he hated to threaten her, but he could not allow her to disparage his mother further than she had already managed to ruin herself, no matter how much she might deserve it.

  “You’re a beast,” she muttered before stomping out the door.

  Confident that his butler Bexley would see her out and safely into her carriage, Colin closed his door and ambled over to his bed. He dropped backward onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling tiles. Was he really only twenty-five today? He felt eighty. Weary. Tired of his life. He needed a change. What sort, he had no idea. But everything seemed dreary. Depressing and predictable. Almost everyone he knew was banally disappointing in his or her debauchery, including himself. His father had been the only good person he knew, and look what that had gotten the old duke.

  “Your Grace?” Bexley called while scratching on the bedchamber door.

  Colin sat up. “Come in.”

  The door creaked open, and Bexley plodded in, his dark wooden cane clicking against the hardwood with each step he took. Even though it had been six months since Bexley had fallen down the stairs and broken his leg, Colin still sometimes forgot that the imposing butler who had served his father for years was not so sturdy anymore. By the whiteness of his knuckles gripping the handle of his cane, the man’s leg must have been causing him pain. Bexley was too stubborn and proud to admit such a thing, however.

  “Bexley, I’d like you to closet yourself today and take inventory of the staff’s wages. I do believe it’s time I give them a raise.”

  Bexley’s bushy black eyebrows shot up over his keen brown eyes. “You gave them a raise two months ago, Your Grace.”

  “Did I?” Colin moved past his butler toward his riding boots, which had been discarded haphazardly by the door. He knew damn well the servants had recently been given a raise, but it was the first task that had come to mind that would force his obstinate butler to sit and relieve his leg pain. He shrugged. “Well, I think I was too tightfisted. It’s been keeping me up at night.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I could hear the trouble you were having sleeping last night when I strolled by your bedchamber before I retired.”

  Colin paused, bent over with one boot in hand. Heat seeped up his neck and for once, he wished he had a cravat on. “I know you don’t approve of Lady Diana. Rest assured she and her shrieking will not be returning to this house.”

  Bexley hobbled toward Colin, the movements jerkier than they had been moments before. He glanced down, and when he did, a thinning lock of peppered hair fell forward. In one fluid motion, he flicked the hair out of his eyes and back into its position then reached into his pocket and handed a letter to Colin. “It is neither my place to approve nor disapprove of the company you keep, Your Grace, but I do feel obligated to remind you that your father would not have liked her.”

  Colin grinned. Bexley always felt obligated to remind him of who and what his father would have liked and not liked, and Colin let him because Bexley had been loyal to his father all his life, and now he was loyal to Colin. The pain of his loss once again gripped him, tightening his shoulders, but he rolled them, stood, and took the cream-colored envelopes. He flipped the first one over and clenched his jaw. His mother’s overly flourished handwriting was not hard to recognize. He was tempted to throw it in the trash without reading it, but what if she was ill or hurt? Damnation, he hated that he cared at all.

  He ripped the missive open, scanned the contents and handed it back to Bexley with a frown. She was summoning him. He barely contained an irritated grunt. They both knew he never adhered to her summons, but this time he would actually go. It was clear she needed to be reminded of the need for discretion.

  “Tell Lawrence to pack my bag for a four-day trip. I’ve a need to visit my mother.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Bexley replied while handing Colin another envelope. This one brought a smile. He ran his thumb over Rhet― Colin stilled his finger. He was still making the mistake of calling his school chum Rhetford even though the man’s father had been dead for well over two years.

  Colin would save the Earl of Harthorne’s letter to read when he was alone. His friend was a wordy fellow, and his letters were usually several pages long and sprinkled with windy, comical descriptions of whatever scrape he had pulled his younger, hoydenish sister out of, or sometimes Harthorne’s letters would be rather sobering with news of the declining state of his properties. “Tell Lawrence to have everything ready by three. I’m going to go for a ride and then head out after lunch.”

  “And cake,” Bexley said, his mouth pulling into a smile.

  “No cake,” Colin said firmly.

  “If I may be impertinent, Your Grace, when will you allow your staff to show their appreciation for you by permitting them to celebrate your birthday as we used to? I know it’s unseemly for me to suggest such things to you, but I feel I must tell you that making new happy traditions in the present can help erase past memories.”

  Colin winced. That last part sounded close to advice his father had given him, and Colin still thought it an unsound recommendation. “I simply don’t want to celebrate my birthday, but if the occasion ever arises that I do, you will be the first to know.” He could never explain how his mother had screamed at him on the day his father had died, which was the day before Colin’s birthday last year, that everything had gone wrong with their marriage the very instant he had been born.

  “Go on, now,” Colin said, his words clipped because of the harsh memory.

  Bexley nodded and disappeared out the door. Without hesitation, Colin ripped into Harthorne’s letter, hoping there was a humorous tale of his sister’s antics inside. He needed something bloody cheerful in his life, even if it really had nothing to do with him.

  Dear Aversley,

  I hope your birthday finds you not in the arms of any widow but of a young woman who adores you. I wish for you some dreams of what may come. To help you see what true love looks like, I am inviting you to my wedding to Lady Mary Treveport, which is to be in one week. I expect to see you at my home post haste so we may visit before I wed and am a bachelor no more.

  Colin groaned. Lady Mary was a well-known strumpet. Leave it to that dreamer Harthorne to fall under the spell of a woman who was about as virtuous as Colin was. He was sure Harthorne had no clue. “Damnation,” he muttered. “Bexley!”

  After striding over to his desk, Colin pulled out a piece of foolscap and jotted a note to Harthorne letting him know of his impending arriva
l in Norfolk in three days. He would see his mother first and then head straight to Harthorne’s After a few minutes, the clack of the cane echoed in the hall and Bexley appeared, red-faced from his efforts to get there. Guilt stabbed at Colin. He should have gone to find Bexley and not made the poor man trudge back up the stairs to him.

  “I’m going to be gone longer than expected. Tell my valet to pack my bag for a week and then draw my bath, if you will. I’ll be leaving shortly.” The sooner he got on the road, spoke with his mother, and headed toward Norfolk to save Harthorne from the mistake of marrying a strumpet―or even marrying at all, as far as Colin was concerned―the better.

  Once Bexley had gone to speak with the valet, Colin scanned the rest of the letter and laughed. Only Harthorne’s sister would climb a tree to spy on the man she was obsessed with and fall on top of said man and the woman he was kissing. As usual, Colin tried to picture Harthorne’s younger sister but got no further than his friend’s long-ago description of the girl who looked like a skinny branch with two overly long knobby sticks for arms and legs and a mass of unruly pale hair on her head.

  His mood improved, picturing the girl, despite Harthorne’s ridiculous news of his impending marriage. As he recalled different stories about the sister, Colin chuckled, and even as he left to lecture his mother, he kept a tiny slither of that lighthearted feeling with which his friend’s young sister’s antics always filled him.

  St. Ives, Cambridgeshire, England

  Colin strode through the sunny portrait gallery of Waverly House with his mother’s butler, Fletcher, on his heels like a yapping dog.

  “Your Grace, Your Grace,” the man implored in a high-pitched voice tinged with the vibrating notes of unmistakable tension. “Please, Your Grace, allow me to announce you first. As I explained, your mother is in a meeting with Mr. Nilbury.”