by Darcy Burke
To my family, who has supported my dreams and this transitional year. Your love sustains me. And for Brendan, my little warrior, who inspires me every day.
Lastly, to my readers ... because none of this would be possible without you! I’m so grateful that you’ve joined me on this adventure. Here’s to our continued travels together.
About the Author
National & International Bestselling Author Grace Callaway writes steamy historical romances set in the Regency and Victorian eras. Her debut book, Her Husband's Harlot, was a Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® Finalist and a #1 Kindle Regency Bestseller. Her subsequent books have hit the Top 100 Bestselling lists on Amazon, iBooks, and Barnes & Noble, and she's a finalist for the National Reader's Choice Awards® and the Daphne du Maurier Award® for Excellence in Mystery/ Suspense.
As a child growing up on the Canadian prairies, Grace could often be found with her nose in a book—and not much has changed since. She set aside her favorite romance novels long enough to get her doctorate from the University of Michigan. A practicing clinical psychologist, she lives with her family in California, where their adventures include remodeling a ramshackle house, exploring the great outdoors, and sampling local artisanal goodies.
www.gracecallaway.com
[email protected]
The Duke’s Match Girl
Lila DiPasqua
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Lila DiPasqua
Cover design by Lila DiPasqua, Bruno DiPasqua, and Seductive Designs
Interior Design by Woven Red Author Services, www.WovenRed.ca
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ISBN: 978-0-9880350-3-4 (trade pbk)
ISBN: 978-0-9880350-2-7(e-book)
Dedication
To everyone who’s ever been given a second chance at love.
And to those who gave it to them.
To the real life Leo—one of the strongest men I’ve ever met.
To my awesome street team, The Pavement Princesses,
who are like royalty to me.
And as always, to the loves of my heart—
Carm and my three angels.
Finally, to God. He knows why.
A Historical Tidbit
Do you know when fairy tales were born? It was not so long ago. During the reign of King Louis XIV. His court was as decadent as it was opulent. A time of high culture, elegance, and excesses. The pursuit of sinful pleasures was a pastime. Sex, an art form. You see, Louis was a lusty king. He and his courtiers were connoisseurs of the carnal arts.
It was during this wickedly wonderful time that author Charles Perrault (creator of The Tales of Mother Goose) first began writing down fairy tales—the folklore that had been passed on verbally for generations. It wasn’t long before fairy tales became a highly fashionable topic of discussion in the renowned salons of Paris. Though the fairy tale The Little Match Girl (1845) was made famous by Hans Christian Andersen, a Danish poet and author, perhaps his muse was stirred by hearing about characters such as these…
[NOTE: Though more inexpensive, self-igniting matchsticks weren’t invented until the 1800s, there were earlier cruder versions of the modern-day match created by a number of inventors in the 17th century. In 17th century France, there were many independent, self-reliant women, many of whom were making a lucrative living at writing the popular genre of fairy tales. I see no reason not to believe that a bright young woman could have been the first inventor of the matchstick… And whose name may have simply fallen through the cracks of time.]
Lila
Chapter 1
“Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life,
love gives us a fairy tale.”
~ Anonymous
December, 1685
France
“Leo, you are up to something. Out with it.” Daniel sported his usual smile, his arm draped casually over the back of the damask chair he occupied.
Chuckling softly, Bernard sauntered over to the ebony side table and poured himself a fresh brandy from the decanter. The sound of the amber liquid draining into his crystal goblet mingled with the crackling fire in the hearth. “It’s a new mistress, isn’t it, Leo? Come now. Give us the details. Dieu. Do you ever give that prick of yours a rest?”
Leopold Charles Nicolas d’Ermart, Duc de Mont-Marly, ignored the comment.
As well as the burst of mirth it inspired from his two younger brothers.
Bracing his shoulder against the window frame, he crossed his arms and gazed outside at the vast grounds of Montbrison, lightly dusted with snow.
If only it were merely a new conquest.
The urge to glance at the clock on the mantel seized hold of him.
Again.
The ticking had started to grate on him, its incessant sound far more difficult to ignore than the needling from his siblings.
Where the bloody hell is Gilles? His man should have returned with a response to Leo’s offer by now. The anticipation was driving him utterly mad.
He wasn’t accustomed to waiting for things, yet he’d waited for this opportunity—this moment—hell, this one woman for years.
This was one female he was pursuing with slow, methodical steps.
If things went as planned, Leo wasn’t going to be able to hide what he was truly up to from his brothers. Nor did he care to.
His plan was centered on Suzanne Matchet. So unlike any woman he’d ever known—and he’d known her forever.
Full of adorable little quirks and oddities. With big, alluring brown eyes. A brilliant mind for science. And the only woman in the realm who preferred he fall off a cliff.
And for a damned good reason, too.
“Now, Bernard,” Daniel said. “I’m sure there’s a woman or two left whom our brother hasn’t sampled.” He grinned.
Leo frowned and grappled with his patience. Normally, he was unfazed by his brothers’ baiting and ribbing. But today he was on edge. “Are you both quite done?”
“Not until you tell us who she is,” Bernard said.
Daniel was quick to add, “And how delicious she is.”
They were now both sporting the same idiotic grin.
It took everything inside him not to punch the wall. Something, anything to vent the frustration mountaining inside him as he waited.
And waited.
And, Jésus-Christ, waited some more.
What was taking Gilles so fucking long? He should have been engaged in a private meeting with Gilles right at this very moment, rather than this grating conversation with Daniel and Bernard.
Though Leo and his brothers kept little from each other, Suzanne was not a subject he’d ever discussed with them. That wasn’t because he didn’t know how delicious she was.
In truth, he did. He knew every last mouthwatering inch of her.
He knew more than just her body and the sweet spots that made her melt and moan for him. He knew her deepest secrets. Her hopes and dreams. The sweet way she’d tug on her ear whenever she was nervous or deep in thought. And the way she’d tangle a finger in one of her silky curls and absently play with the strand when she was engrossed in a book. Though he hadn’t laid eyes on her in years, he could effortlessly recall that little crinkle that would form on her brow whenever a pensive expression shaped her comely features.
Christ, he could effortlessly recall countless memories of her.
And he was sic
k and tired of battling them back.
She was ten years of age when first she came to live at Château Montbrison with her father, then the newly appointed official physician of the d’Ermart family.
Leo was twelve.
He’d been immediately taken aback by the pretty, spirited girl who had marched straight up to him upon their first introduction, flouting convention and forgetting her place, despite her father’s gentle admonishment. She had a habit of speaking to Leo with a bluntness no one else ever dared use. She’d never placated him simply because he was the heir to a duchy. Or to win favor, as others did. And she could climb a tree—all while in skirts—as fast as he and his brothers. Always eager to prove she was just as clever and brave as any boy.
They became instant allies, and friends.
A smile tugged hard at the corners of Leo’s mouth as their childhood mischief flitted through his mind. He and Suzanne were constantly aggravating the servants. Peeping over countertops, they’d snatch food off the trays, food meant for his parents or guests—just for the fun of it—then race off into the extensive gardens at Montbrison for private picnics. He’d spent hours lying beside her on the grass staring up at the sky, utterly charmed and entertained as he listened to the random scientific facts she’d relay—whatever happen to manifest at that moment in her bright mind. She had devoured the books in her father’s personal library voraciously. And those in the large library at Montbrison.
Normally, prattle about science would have bored him beyond measure.
But there was absolutely nothing boring about the very unique Suzanne Matchet.
And on one Christmas Eve—eight years after they first met—their relationship progressed from the best of friends…
To lovers.
“Will you look at him, Daniel?” Bernard said, motioning to Leo with a jerk of his chin. “He’s practically smiling. The sex must be excellent.”
Daniel strolled over to Bernard and propped his elbow on Bernard’s shoulder. “Yes, and he still has not shared the tantalizing tidbits.”
Oh, there were definitely tantalizing tidbits.
And excellent wasn’t a strong enough word to accurately describe what had transpired between them that extraordinary night.
She’d tasted so good. She’d felt incredible; he couldn’t get enough of the delectable clench of her hot, silky sex squeezing around his thrusting prick. And those exquisite little spasms of her vaginal walls rippling down his length as she came on his cock were nothing short of mind-melting.
But that wasn’t all.
The physical ecstasy wasn’t the only thing that had made the sexual experience so significant.
It was the emotions that he hadn’t felt before—or since—during sex. Emotions he’d tried to deny for so long.
At a time when he’d normally be reveling in pure lust, he’d been inundated with soft emotions, intensifying the encounter in ways he’d never anticipated. Heightening the hunger. And spiking each and every sensation that swamped his body.
It was the most unforgettable experience of his life.
And Lord knew he’d done everything in his power to forget it—and her.
He’d spent the last seven years drowning himself in every vice just to purge her from his system.
And failed miserably.
He didn’t know when the exact moment was, when precisely it happened. But somewhere along the way, she’d stolen his heart.
Years later, he was still reeling.
He’d had no right to be in love with her when he knew he had familial obligations he couldn’t forsake. He’d had no right to make promises he couldn’t keep just to have her. He’d been young and a damned desperate fool. And he’d fought the sexual pull that had been mounting fiercely over time as hard as he could. Merde, he’d even left Montbrison for several months, staying at his family’s hôtel in Paris hoping to snap the allure.
It didn’t work.
The moment he returned, the attraction between them ignited into an inferno once more. The air practically crackled with the fire that burned between them. It was so deliciously hot. So completely untamable. He found himself having to control his breathing and his gaze around her so he wasn’t gawking at her. Or panting like a bloody dog. It didn’t help that he’d stolen a kiss before he left for Paris. The memory of that kiss burned in his mind and body the entire time he’d been away.
He returned famished for another taste.
Worse, he was still just as ravenous today.
Leo cast a sidelong glance at his brothers. “Don’t the two of you have something better to do today than annoy me? Have another brandy. Play some Basset. Perhaps take a walk off a cliff?”
They burst into good-natured laughter, not in the least bit offended.
Daniel shook his head. “I cannot believe our brother isn’t sharing with us, Bernard.”
“Yes, and I’m quite wounded by it.” Bernard placed a hand over his chest as if pained.
Bernard had no idea what wounded felt like. Neither had he, until the morning after their night together, that Christmas Day, when everything imploded. The look of devastation on her lovely face still tormented him. The very next day, Suzanne’s father, Richard Matchet, respectfully resigned his post and left with his brokenhearted daughter.
She was gone from Leo’s life. For good. In an instant. And his world had never felt more empty, his heart just as gored as hers.
For months he walked around feeling winded, as though someone had slammed him in the chest.
Two months later, Leo learned Suzanne’s father had become the town doctor in Maillard, attending to those less fortunate. Barely scraping by. He’d traded the opulence of his private apartments in Château Montbrison, with a personal staff to attend to him and his daughter, for a humble hovel.
And that tormented Leo, too.
After all this time, she still lingered on the fringes of his mind and made appearances in more erotic dreams than he could comfortably count.
There were too many things left unsaid.
There were too many unresolved emotions and desires that ran so deep, they’d become imprinted on his very marrow.
He’d no idea if the connection they’d once shared still existed. Or if it would even be possible to recapture even a fraction of what had slipped through his fingers. But he had to try.
Or he’d never have a moment of mental peace.
Nor vanquish the ache in his heart that hadn’t abated since the day she left.
Dieu, was she going to accept his offer? Leo glanced at the clock, unable to help himself. Only five minutes had passed since the last time he looked.
And still no Gilles. Fuck.
“You’ll survive, Bernard.” He managed to keep his tone bland, belying the tension inside him.
“Can you at least tell us why in the world there is such a flurry of activity among the servants?” Bernard pressed. “And they are all quite tight-lipped about it, too.”
“They have been attending to your needs during your visit, and they are preparing for the arrivals of Elisabeth and Aurore.” Not exactly the whole truth. But that was all Bernard was going to get for now. It was a believable partial truth. Christmas was in a mere ten days. The balance of Leo’s siblings would be arriving soon.
But none of that was going to be a hindrance to his objective—getting Suzanne back under his roof.
He never expected to see his brown-eyed beauty again.
He certainly never expected his life to take the shocking turn it had four months ago.
His disastrous marriage to Constance had come to an abrupt end. Her sensational death brought to light her affair with the Marquis de Chermont and set the gossipmongers’ tongues wagging in every salon in Paris.
He didn’t care a whit what people had to say.
He’d known of Constance’s extramarital indulgence with Chermont for a long time—or at least suspected as much. Leo hadn’t lived under the same roof as his wife for years.
&
nbsp; Not since the night they’d consummated the marriage. He’d been gentle with his bride, even while he had a heavy heart and could still taste Suzanne’s lips. Still remember the feel of her skin. All the while plagued by the fact that Suzanne had been the last woman he’d kissed. Touched. Had. And the only woman he’d hungered for then…and ever since.
After the deed was done, he’d found himself with a weeping wife on his hands.
Not exactly the sort of reaction he’d ever experienced after sex.
It had taken some coaxing, but he finally learned the truth behind Constance’s tears. She had been in love with Chermont since girlhood. Her father had refused to consider the match, opting for a future duc for his daughter. Instead of a marquis.
Constance’s words had turned the lingering ache in his chest to a sharp stab.
Her circumstance was far too familiar and resonated deep inside him.
He’d done what was required of him. He’d married the woman he’d been expected to wed to increase his family’s already vast wealth and further advance their political power.
But he’d be damned if he was going to force a woman into his bed who longed for another.
The entire situation was nothing but a stinging reminder of his own deplorable predicament. And what—or rather whom—he’d personally given up in the name of duty.