What Desire Demands, My Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Olivia T. Bennet

  That was exactly what she set out to do the next day and the day after that. Her father was right in saying that she was reserved but even so, she did not spend much time home. She would travel around London in a carriage, looking out the window in hopes of finally spotting him by a twist of fate.

  She knew it was fruitless and foolish. A waste of time. But after last night, Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to sit around while her search remained unfinished. And with no clues as to where to look for him next, she found herself falling into this terribly monotonous and fruitless search.

  Of course, it ended with no results. Like every other day for the past few years, Elizabeth failed to find him. But, though despair was beginning to set in, Elizabeth refused to give in to it. Once he was back in her life, she would not be forced into a marriage to a man she did not know, no matter how kind that man appeared to be.

  “What do you think, Lady Elizabeth?”

  The voice dragged Elizabeth out of her thoughts and she looked up at Lord Horenwall sitting across from her, who had his brows raised in question. Sitting next to her in the rattling carriage was her father, who would serve as her chaperone for the ball, despite them traveling with the Earl.

  “What do I think about what?” she asked. She hadn’t been listening to a word either one of them had been saying since she came into the carriage. Since they’d been going on and on about matters regarding business, she didn’t think she needed to.

  Lord Horenwall pointed out the window with a small smile. “The sky. There is a full moon tonight. Do you not think it is quite beautiful?”

  Indeed, the night was far brighter than it usually was. She nodded, not particularly caring for the conversation but not the type to be rude. “Yes, My Lord, it is a sight to see.”

  “Though, I must say it pales in comparison to your radiance, My Lady.”

  Elizabeth smiled because she knew she was supposed to. “I must thank you, though I am undeserving of such compliments,” she said modestly.

  “Oh, come now, Elizabeth,” said her father. His usual grin was out in full tonight as he said to the Earl, “She has always been very modest.”

  “I find it to be a charming quality,” Lord Horenwall said. “Or perhaps it shows that she is not easily wooed by sweet words.”

  Elizabeth didn’t see any reason to respond with anything other than a smile. Lord Horenwall regarded her curiously after that, his own smile playing around his lips. Thankfully, he said nothing else as they pulled up to the line of carriages leading to Trenchton House. She’d learned that the theme for tonight’s ball had been A Midnight’s Garden and so Elizabeth had opted to wear a rose-colored gown, complemented by a fichu that effectively covered the scar on her collarbone. Her sleeves were puffed and so she wore a pair of long gloves.

  Her father picked up the conversation once again, engaging Lord Horenwall and relieving Elizabeth of the need to do so herself. It pained her to see her father taking her into consideration through such actions, while simultaneously subjecting her to something she did not want to do. He was an understanding man, but she’d pushed him far past his limits.

  Within a few minutes, they arrived at the house and were helped out of the carriage by footmen. Lord Horenwall gave Elizabeth a smile as they set out towards the door and she just barely managed to return it. She didn’t want to be here. Surely, when she stepped into the ballroom, the gossiping would begin.

  But she held her chin high as she, Lord Gillet, and Lord Horenwall were led through the front doors towards the ballroom. When they were announced, Elizabeth kept her head straight, not letting her gaze rest on any one person. But she noticed curious eyes watching as she went by. She imagined whispers going up about the seven-and-twenty-year-old lady who had not been seen at a Season’s ball in years. Elizabeth liked to convince herself sometimes that the whispering didn’t bother her, especially since she didn’t know if what they were saying was good or bad, but tonight it was difficult to.

  “There is no need to tarry, My Lady,” Lord Horenwall said the moment they came to a stop amongst the masses. “Let us join the dance that is about to begin.”

  “A-already?” she blurted out.

  Lord Horenwall tilted his head to the side, smiling. “There is no greater time than the present, do you not think?”

  He did not wait for her to respond. He took her by the hand and began leading her out towards the other dancing couples. This time, she was most certainly being watched and Elizabeth tried not to lower her eyes to the floor.

  Lord Horenwall gathered her close. For a few moments, they moved to the rhythm of the music drifting through the ballroom before he spoke again. “So, My Lady. What, may I ask, changed your mind about tonight’s ball?”

  Elizabeth’s mind was far away, wishing that she could return home. It took her a moment to realize he’d spoken. She raised her brows in surprise. “Pardon me?”

  “It had appeared to me when last we spoke that you did not fancy the idea of attending. Do not tell me you are smitten with me already?”

  Elizabeth blinked.

  Does he jest or does he truly believe that I fancy him?

  A moment passed by and Lord Horenwall chuckled, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. The movement sent a shudder through her body “I am afraid my teasing cannot hit its mark tonight.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, her tone slightly disinterested. “Forgive me.”

  That made Lord Horenwall chuckle. “The moment has long since passed and now I must recover my pride. But I do hope for a response to my question.”

  “As to why I suddenly wished to attend?” Elizabeth was scanning the guests. It was an instinctive reaction. If she was near a group of people, she always had to look to see if William was present. The disappointment she felt seeing that he was not, hardly bothered her anymore. “It is simple, My Lord. I did not have much of a choice.”

  “Oh? Pray tell why.”

  She lifted a single shoulder. “My father grew enamored with the idea and I did not want to disappoint him.”

  It was partly the truth, the other part holding on to the hope that she would find a clue as to William’s whereabouts, as impossible a feat it might be.

  “You are a kind daughter, Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Horenwall responded. “It is always heartwarming to see a close relationship between a lady and her father.”

  Elizabeth didn’t care to talk about herself any longer. “And you, My Lord? Is the relationship between you and your parents a good one?”

  “Yes, we are quite close. I believe they are quite honored to have a son quite like myself.”

  Elizabeth looked up at him, preparing herself to laugh until she saw how utterly serious his face was. She didn’t think he was joking this time. Ah, he is hiding quite an ego, isn’t he? Goodness, I loathe this betrothal more and more by the day.

  “With good reason,” she stated, hoping it would be left at that.

  “I am happy you see it as well, My Lady,” Lord Horenwall gushed. “Why, just the other night…”

  Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh as the Earl delved into a story about his prowess regarding an incident with an overseas diplomat. She didn’t understand it and didn’t care to, knowing that he was only gushing about how great he was. She’d noticed during the dinner party that Lord Horenwall had quite a lot of pride in himself, but his hubris seemed to shine more brilliantly among so many other people.

  Not everyone is as insecure as you are, Elizabeth, she told herself. Perhaps you should listen and learn how to gain a bit of confidence.

  But doing anything other than smiling gently and nodding along to the Earl’s tale felt far too cumbersome. He asked her a few questions as well, inquiring about her life, and Elizabeth only gave cryptic responses. She wanted this dance to be over.

  At long last, the song came to an end and other dancing couples began parting ways. Lord Horenwall kept close to her as they made their way back to where her father stood talking to an elderly B
aron.

  “Pardon me, My Lord,” Elizabeth breathed, stepping away from Lord Horenwall. She felt stifled by his presence. “I wish to fetch myself something to drink.”

  “Allow me to bring it for you, My Lady,” the Earl suggested but she was already shaking her head.

  “There is no need. I can do it myself.” To ease his mind, she smiled at him as she began stepping away and then disappeared into the thick of the crowd before he could say another word.

  Elizabeth drew in a long breath, releasing it through her nose. Going to the refreshments table would be a short reprieve as Lord Horenwall would undoubtedly find her again. Since the wedding date had already been set a month from now, Elizabeth believed their marriage announcement was already in the papers. And if not, rumors would certainly take care of that when they were seen together for most of the night. He would certainly ask her to dance again before the night ended.

  The very thought burdened her and she reached for a glass of lemonade without thinking. She paused by the end of the table, lifted the glass to her lips, and prayed she had the strength to get through the night.

  “Have you heard, Lady Blackpole?” came a nosy whisper. “The Duke of Brandon has passed away.”

  “Has he?” The responding voice was shocked. “Despite his age, he appeared to be quite the hearty and healthy man, do you not think? How odd that he would pass away so suddenly.”

  Slightly curious, Elizabeth glanced over to see who was speaking.

  It was two matron ladies standing before her, their heads bent together, each with a glass of Negus in their hand. They didn’t seem to notice that they did not speak as quietly as they should, despite them bringing their heads close to each other’s. The chubbier of the two held a fan in her hand, moving it back and forth as she watched every person that went by with intense curiosity. The other lady did the same, like two hens sizing up every person in attendance to see if they were worthy of being gossiped about.

  “Healthy?” snorted the first lady, one who sported wide hips and chubby cheeks. “Do you not recall how he nearly went bankrupt last year spending all that time in the clubs? He had to sell a few of his country estates to stay afloat! I believe he must have had a heart attack when he realized he has lost all his wealth.”

  “Yes, Lady Joneshire, you’re right!” Lady Blackpole expressed with a gasp. Unlike her friend, she was rather tall and lanky, her face pinched with distaste. Her maroon gown hung lifelessly off her shoulders, like the drapes hung in the drawing room of Gillet House. “Heavens, it is quite unfortunate that nearly all of London knows his private business. And have you heard the rumors? That he was once the son of the Viscount of Blackworth?”

  Elizabeth went rigid. It…couldn’t be…

  The Viscount of Blackworth was William’s grandfather. Since…since when had the son of the Viscount become a Duke?

  “Of course, I have, though I am not sure I believe it! Wasn’t the Viscount’s son living overseas?”

  “Yes, you’re right! Hm, well the Duke has certainly shown he is not one to be responsible. He should not have been so vocal about his troubles with the lightskirts he laid with at night,” Lady Joneshire twittered, chuckling as she drank her wine. She wore a more muted color, a soft blue that would have looked quite nice on her had her features not been twisted with unkindness. Her friend laughed alongside her.

  Elizabeth was already moving without thinking, even though she did not know them. It was incredibly inappropriate to cut into a conversation like she was about to do, but she couldn’t let this opportunity pass her. “Pardon me.”

  They both turned to the sound of Elizabeth’s voice and neither one of them could conceal their interest when they saw that it was her. Elizabeth instantly knew she had to tread lightly. It was clear these ladies had nothing better to do that to stand around talking badly about others, even the recently deceased. Considering the robbery that had taken place five years ago, and her spinster state, Elizabeth was sure the gossip had reached the ears of those in London by now.

  “You are the daughter of Lord Gillet, are you not?” asked Lady Joneshire, her eyes sparkling.

  Elizabeth nodded, resting her glass on the table. She tried to conceal her suddenly trembling hands by hiding them behind her. “Yes, I am.” She curtsied. “It is a pleasure.”

  Lady Blackpole held her chin high. “It has been some time since we have last seen each other, has it not? Was it at a tea party? Or perhaps a dinner party? I cannot recall. I pray you have been well.”

  “I have, My Lady, thank you.” Elizabeth couldn’t fathom when she’d ever met either one of them, but she guessed it must have been a few years ago, when she’d actively participated during Seasons. “May I ask about the man you just mentioned? The Duke of Brandon?”

  “Yes?” asked Lady Joneshire. “What of him?”

  Her heart was pounding. Her tongue was dry. She was trying to quell her optimistic side by overpowering it with realistic thoughts. “You say he was the son of the Viscount of Blackworth and that he has passed away?” she asked, pleased that her voice was neutral and unassuming.

  “Well, I do not know about him being the son of the Viscount,” Lady Joneshire said. “But the Duke of Brandon has certainly passed away.”

  Questions popped into her mind all at once. If the Duke of Brandon was truly the son of the Viscount…then that meant William’s father had returned. For so long, William had resented the absence of his father but never had she considered that he might have returned. And had secured himself a better title, as well. Her heart began to race, sensing that she’d just learned a vital clue. She tried to keep this from appearing on her face, instead murmuring, “That is quite saddening to hear.”

  “Yes, death is always sad,” Lady Blackpole agreed with a nod, though the way she turned her nose up didn’t suggest any pity. “Living the way he did, however, I am surprised it did not come earlier.”

  “The way he did?”

  “He was quite the drunkard, Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Joneshire explained with a single shrug. Elizabeth didn’t miss the way she peeked up at her, as if wanting to gauge Elizabeth’s reaction despite her nonchalant answer. Her voice was already lilting with the urge to gossip to someone else. “Why, there is never a time he was not at the clubs wasting his money away on cards and drinking. It is quite disappointing.”

  Disappointing, yes. But Elizabeth never truly knew who he was. Ever since she’d known William, his father had always been overseas and William had always been unwilling to speak about him. Thankfully, because their mothers had been friends, seeing each other had been simple enough.

  She’d been away from London for so long that it didn’t come as a surprise to her that she hadn’t heard of any of this gossip. Other than the few times she would go to that small park—even after the robbery—Elizabeth had remained mainly indoors with Gemma, then Patience, as company.

  Elizabeth tried to keep her tone steady as she asked, “And what of his son?”

  “The Marquess of Flayburn?” Lady Joneshire lifted her fan to her face as she rolled her eyes in thought. “I suppose he has now inherited the Dukedom. I wonder if he has what it takes to pick up the pieces his father has left behind?”

  “He is well?” Now desperation was bleeding into her voice. Elizabeth took a step closer, eyes filled with urgency.

  “William?” Lady Blackpole echoed in surprise. “Ah, I suppose you must have been close with him as well. My, Lady Elizabeth, to think you have always been so well-connected. Here I thought you remained unmarried simply because you could not find the proper connections, but it appears that is not so. I see no reason for you to remain a spinster all your life, I hope you know? You are a pretty enough lady, as well, so that should account for something.”

  “Yes, that is right,” Lady Joneshire said, adding to her friend’s pitying tone. They both looked at her as if she was a sad thing who needed help. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you lost hope.”

  Get back
on track!

  Elizabeth wanted to scream the words at her. Holding herself back was an impossible feat, especially when her friend added, “Yes, but not everyone is lucky in that regard.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t even manage a tight smile. “What of Will—the new Duke? Do you happen to know anything about him?”

  “Nothing, other than his title. Quite the enigma, I must say. Though, I suppose when you live on the very outskirts of London, it is easy enough to stay out of the public’s eye.”

  The outskirts of London? He moved from where he last lived?

  Relief crippled Elizabeth’s legs. She rested a hand on the table, trying to pull herself together, but both Lady Blackpole and Lady Joneshire noticed her sudden pallor.