The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  “As if a bracelet could ruin you, my dear.” Lady Blackwood turned to Emma. “Well, let’s not keep you in the corner, Miss Kent. Shall I introduce you to some of the other guests?”

  “Yes, please,” Emma said, more than ready to embark on her mission.

  For the next hour, under Lady Blackwood’s wing, Emma circulated amongst the glittering throng. She made an effort to converse; after all, her goal was to determine if any of these guests could be guilty of murder, and to do that, she needed to establish rapport. To her surprise, some of the lords and ladies were not as haughty as she had previously assumed.

  Some ladies even discussed such mundane topics as household remedies and unruly children, and Emma found herself quite naturally contributing to the conversation. At the request of a dowager, she provided her recipe for joint salve; at that of a countess with a fussy, two-month-old babe, she shared the tonic she’d used to calm Polly’s colic.

  It was quite strange to find herself fitting in.

  Two hours of conversation and dancing passed pleasantly enough, yet Emma discovered nothing even remotely suspicious. She headed for the refreshment table, the oasis of gossip at any social gathering. Accepting a cup of champagne punch from a footman, she discreetly posted herself behind a potted palm and eavesdropped on the surrounding voices. Alaric’s name soon cropped up, and she peered through the fronds at the backs of the chattering trio.

  “ … it appears as if Strathaven truly is Croesus,” said a grey-haired gentleman. “The price of stock in that joint venture of his has increased threefold in the last week. Everything he touches turns to gold.”

  “Should have bought shares myself,” said a short balding fellow.

  “I wouldn’t act too hastily.” The drawl came from a tall blond man whose black jacket was meticulously fitted to his figure. “You never know what will happen with speculation. As I understand it, Strathaven doesn’t have his investors’ confidence. If the vote to expand the venture doesn’t go through in a fortnight, the shares will plummet once more.”

  Obviously, the man doesn’t know Alaric, Emma thought. Strathaven would never leave something like a vote up to chance.

  “Speculation is a young man’s game,” Grey Hair said. “I’ve always said that the only wealth a gentleman can depend upon comes from land.”

  As the men’s talk drifted to other topics, Emma found her attention hooked by another conversation, this time between a gaggle of ladies standing by the champagne fountain to her left. Emma had a clear view of their bobbing plumes as they spoke in titillated tones.

  “They say Strathaven means to resume his duchess hunt,” said a plump brunette.

  “Given his scandal of late, I wonder at his temerity,” said her friend in rose silk.

  “He’s never lacked for temerity and well you know it.” The arch tones came from a third lady with a smirking expression. “I have no doubt he’ll get what he wants—he always does, after all. Anyway, his search for a wife is old news. What intrigues me is when he will be on the market for Clara Osgood’s replacement.”

  “Lady Julia, how perfectly wicked of you!” the first lady whispered in delight.

  “You were thinking the same thing, Lady Lauren. I just said it aloud.”

  “Well, I confess I am intrigued by rumors of his prowess. You have heard what they say about his personal, ahem, endowments?” Lady Lauren giggled. “Apparently they match his financial ones.”

  “And that’s to say nothing of his stamina and control,” Lady Julia purred. “I’ve heard our duke is as deliciously dominant in the bedchamber as he is out of it. Why, it’s said that a certain Lady M. enjoyed a rollicking afternoon on his desk …”

  As the ladies tittered, Emma turned away, her cheeks burning. She knew, of course, about Alaric’s past and his proclivities, yet hearing other women talk about him in such an openly lascivious and covetous manner caused hurt and, yes, jealousy to burgeon.

  Images flooded her: Alaric tying Lady Clara up in the garden ... him making love to nameless, faceless beauties on the same desk where he’d made love to her ...

  Up until this moment, the passion she shared with Alaric, while undoubtedly wicked, had also seemed ... special. Precious. That others had known the raw intensity of his lovemaking made her chest ache. Her throat cinched, his gift suddenly heavy and constricting.

  “Hello, miss,” said a hesitant voice. “I was wondering if you would mind some company?”

  She turned and found herself looking into the blue eyes of a plump, ginger-haired pixie.

  “I beg your pardon?” Emma said blankly.

  The girl, who looked barely eighteen, turned as red as her hair. “You were standing there alone, and I’m alone ... well, not exactly, I do have my chaperone, but she’s busy with the other duennas, and I ... dash it all, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” she finished miserably. “It’s a terrible habit of mine, and Papa says it makes me awkward. As if I could be more awkward ...” Her self-conscious shrug caused the ribbons to flutter on the many tiers of her gown. “Never mind. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll just be—”

  Emma took an instant liking to the girl. “No, don’t go. I was just woolgathering, and I’d love some company. I’m Emma Kent.”

  “I’m Gabriella Billings, but everyone calls me Gabby.” The way the girl’s smile lit her face reminded Emma of Polly. “It is lovely to meet you. It’s so tiresome to be a wallflower that even other wallflowers won’t pay any attention to. Truly, I’m more of a wallweed.”

  Emma stifled a smile. “Surely it isn’t bad as all that? You’re perfectly charming.”

  “Only because you’re a decent sort. I can always judge a person’s character, you know, just by looking at them,” Gabby said cheerfully. “Being a businessman’s daughter, I’ve inherited the ability to size someone up at a glance.”

  “Really?” Emma said, amused. The girl’s irrepressible spirit now reminded her of Violet.

  “Take you, for instance. You have a kindly disposition, yet there you were hiding behind that palm, so I surmised that you didn’t fit in here either. I thought you might be a middling class sort like me. No offense,” Gabby added quickly.

  “None taken. It’s true.”

  “Your gown is delectable. And your necklace has the ladies green with envy. So even if you are a Cit like me, you have oodles more style,” Gabby said in consoling tones.

  Emma had to smile. “I wouldn’t mind being a Cit. But actually I’m from the country.”

  “Really?” Gabby said with interest. “I’ve never been outside London. Papa owns a bank, you see, and he’s too busy to take me anywhere.”

  “What about your mama?”

  “She died in childbirth. The only things I have of her are a dowry and this.” Gabby tugged on a bright curl. “Unfortunately, carrots aren’t in fashion this Season. Or ever.”

  “I think your hair is lovely and unique,” Emma said.

  “Truly? You aren’t just saying that?”

  “Not at all. As for fitting in, my papa said that the rarest of jewels shines the brightest.”

  “My father says the nail that sticks out gets the hammer.”

  “Ouch,” Emma said.

  “Exactly.” Gabby sighed. “Unfortunately, it seems I can’t help but stick out no matter what I do. And tonight, especially. Not that I’m surprised—I’m more or less an act of charity.”

  “How so?” Emma said curiously.

  “Papa has a client—a gentleman of consequence—who owed him a favor.” Gabby wrinkled her nose. “Clearly it was a big favor as the fellow had to secure a spot for me on the exclusive guest list. An invitation, however, is no guarantee of success. Papa will be quite disappointed when he discovers that I was not asked for a single dance.”

  “Dancing isn’t all that it’s made out to be. My toes are still sore from being trod on.”

  “You’re very kind. It would be nice, however, to make some friends,” Gabby said wistfully. “You’re the
first person who has spoken with me all evening.”

  “Would you like to call upon me some afternoon?” Emma said on impulse. “I have sisters your age, and I have a feeling you will rub along famously with them.”

  “Oh, I’d love to, ever so much.” Gabby’s blue eyes shone.

  Emma fished a calling card from her reticule. “Here is my direction.”

  “Dash it, I know I have mine in here somewhere …” Rummaging in her lumpy evening bag, Gabby triumphantly produced one bent-eared card.

  As Emma was tucking the card away, a liveried footman came up to her.

  “Pardon. Miss Kent?”

  “That’s me,” Emma said in surprise.

  “I was instructed to give you this, miss.”

  She took the note from the footman’s salver and, unfolding it, read the succinct message.

  Meet me in the gallery on the third floor.

  There was no signature, but the slashing imperiousness of the handwriting gave away the identity of its sender and made her pulse race. Then she remembered what she had overheard earlier and, with a huff, wondered if she should go running to obey His Grace’s command.

  Apparently, he was all too used to having females at his beck and call.

  “Is everything all right?” Gabby said.

  “Yes. But I have to attend to something,” Emma said, sighing. “I shall see you soon, I hope?”

  Gabby gave a merry nod. “You can count on it.”

  Chapter 26

  Emma found the door to the gallery unlocked, her skirts whispering against the Aubusson runner as she entered the long rectangular room. Paintings framed in gilt lined the navy silk walls, and benches and curtained alcoves with window seats were conveniently placed for contemplation or conversation. The lush drapery and carpeting provided a hushed quality to the space, which was a welcome relief from the brouhaha of the ballroom downstairs.

  Awareness prickled over Emma’s skin. As ever, her senses reacted instinctively to his presence even before she saw his leanly powerful figure in one of the alcoves. He was staring out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. His head turned immediately in her direction, and the intensity of his gaze sizzled through her.

  In several strides, he crossed over to her. A faint smile edged his lips as he touched the choker, his finger running over the pearls, causing the strands to clack softly against one another.

  “How beautiful you look,” he murmured.

  “What are you doing here?” she said. “I thought we couldn’t be seen together.”

  “I came in through a private entrance. No one saw me.” He caressed her jaw. “Hasn’t anyone told you never to accept a rendezvous with a stranger?”

  Given the many trysts he’d apparently had, he was one to talk.

  Lifting her chin, she said, “I thought that was why unattached ladies attended these functions in the first place. To find a beau.”

  His eyes darkened. “You are not unattached.”

  The gossip she’d heard continued to sting. She gave a slight shrug. “That is a matter of opinion. Now, Your Grace, what are you—”

  The rest was lost in a gasp as she was yanked into his embrace. His lips claimed hers in a hot, demanding kiss. Desire rose in her, drowning out the protests of her wounded pride. She clung to his hard shoulders as he ravished her mouth, his tongue plundering, luring hers into a primal dance.

  When he ended the kiss, they were both breathless.

  Eyes gleaming, he said, “That settles that. It seems I can’t leave you alone for a day without you forgetting who you belong to.”

  “I don’t belong to you,” she retorted. “At least, no more than all the other women you’ve dallied with.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you going on about?”

  He wanted her to report on the ton’s gossip? Fine. She told him.

  When she finished, his face was utterly devoid of expression. She frowned. Did he not care? Where was his reaction? She’d expected embarrassment, perhaps, or even anger. Instead, he was eerily ... still.

  When she could stand the silence no longer, she said, “Well?”

  “Well, what?” he said evenly.

  “Is it true?”

  “I’m no saint and never claimed to be. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “The problem is I thought that what passed between us was different.” She had to force the words past her cinched throat. “Yet you’ve done the same things with other women.”

  “What happens between you and me has nothing to do with other women.”

  “How can you say that?” she said, her voice trembling. “When you made love to some Lady M. on the same desk where we made love?”

  That fact, she realized, bothered her the most: he’d taken her in the same place he’d taken other women. As if she didn’t have a special place in his life. In the heart he professed not to have.

  The world tilted with disorienting speed. Before she could catch her breath, he’d deposited her none too gently on the padded bench of the alcove. She scooted away, her back wedging up against the window as he leaned over her, his velvet-encased shoulders blocking out everything. All she could see was the savage flame in his eyes.

  Suddenly, she realized that he wasn’t indifferent at all. He was furious.

  “First of all, Lady M. and I did not make love. We fornicated—which is different from what you and I do. Second, I did not fuck her on the same desk. I do not invite casual bed sport to my home. You’ll recall I retain a cottage for that purpose.”

  Relief unfurled in Emma at his clipped words. At the same time, feminine wariness arose at the tension vibrating from his muscular frame.

  She wetted her lips. “I thought—”

  “You made it quite clear what you thought. Now let me make it clear that I will not tolerate baseless accusations,” he bit out. “I will not be controlled or manipulated by jealousy—I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

  “The accusations weren’t baseless. I heard people talking about you,” she protested.

  “You could have asked me about it rather than flinging it in my face.”

  Her indignation abruptly fizzled. He did have a point.

  “That was unfair of me, wasn’t it?” Releasing a breath, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry.” He spoke without inflection.

  “Well, yes. I shouldn’t have assumed the gossip was true. It’s just that it ... hurt,” she said miserably, “to hear people talk about you. To think that what we shared wasn’t special.”

  He stared at her. “How could you think that?”

  The truth struck her fully for the first time.

  “I suppose I’ve never been special to anyone before. As a sister and friend, yes—but not as a woman. A lover.” She gave him a rueful look. “And here you are: a duke who apparently every lady covets. Why should you want me when you could have anybody?”

  He curled a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Because there’s no one else like you, Emma.”

  “What you said earlier ... about having been manipulated in the past.” She hesitated. “Were you referring to your wife?”

  He straightened, took a step back from her. His expression iced over.

  “After we wed, Laura constantly accused me of infidelity, was jealous of every female who crossed my path from the maid to the neighbor’s daughter,” he said tonelessly. “There was nothing I could do to convince her that I was faithful.”

  Heart thumping, Emma waited.

  “Finally, I got tired of defending myself. She would rant at me, throw fits of hysterics, yet I stopped caring what she believed. Or what she did. She accused me of not giving her attention, not loving her as she deserved—and I suppose she was right. Any affection I felt for her died the moment she took her first lover.”

  “She betrayed you?” Emma whispered.

  Tight-lipped, he gave a nod. “She needed attention more than she needed her next b
reath, and if I didn’t provide her with it, she found it from others. In her deluded mind, she thought that if I saw how desirable she was to other men, I would want her more.”

  “That’s madness.”

  “That’s not all of it. She slandered me to all and sundry, played the role of the injured party—which, in her sick mind, I suppose she was.”

  “Why—why didn’t you divorce her?”

  “I’d made her a vow.” His broad shoulders rose and fell. “And there was my son to think of. I didn’t want Charlie to think poorly of his own mama.”

  It was the first he’d spoken of his son.

  Quietly, Emma said, “What happened ... to Charlie?”

  Alaric’s eyes were empty and cold as he looked out into the darkness beyond the pane. Into the endless stretch of night.

  “Laura and I had fought, and she’d threatened to leave me. I didn’t take her seriously,” he said. “She’d given ultimatums countless times and never once acted on her words. Then one day I came home and found her gone. I could have lived with that—if she hadn’t taken Charlie.”

  “Where?” Emma whispered.

  “She’d secured them passage on a ship bound for France. I believe she wanted me to chase after her, to show my undying devotion. Instead, the ship went down in a storm that night.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “There were no survivors.”

  Having no words for such a loss, she rose and wrapped her arms around his lean waist, giving him what comfort she could. Slowly, his arms came around her. Although he said nothing, his embrace was suffocating. His heart thundered beneath her ear, a shudder passing through his large frame. She held on even tighter.

  “Don’t ever question my desire for you,” he said in guttural tones. “Or compare it to what I’ve known in the past. I have never wanted anyone the way I want you, Emma.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was the closest he’d come to saying that he cared for her.

  “I didn’t mean to stir up old memories,” she said softly, “and I’m sorry I jumped to unfair conclusions. I’m not trying to control or manipulate you. I just want to be ... special. I want to be different from all the other women you’ve known.”