The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  The Devilish Duke

  Elizabeth Bramwell

  Copyright © Elizabeth Bramwell

  All the characters and scenes in this book are a work of fiction, unfortunately, because who wouldn’t want the Duke of Devenish to be real? Sadly, any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental

  DEDICATION

  This one is for Dr Birgitta

  because she realised I was a slacker

  the day she met me,

  called me out on it, and

  then inspired me to be better.

  Also by Elizabeth Bramwell

  The Dashing Widow

  The Foolish Friend

  His Darling Belle

  The Rebel Wife

  A Novel Miss

  The Alter Ego

  The Independent Heiress

  Audio Books Now Available!

  The Dashing Widow

  CHAPTER ONE

  Of all the places in England that His Grace, the Duke of Devenish had expected to stumble upon his future bride, Bath had never been a serious contender.

  Had anyone thought to consult His Grace directly, they would have learned that he did not expect to stumble upon a future bride anywhere at all. As a youth he had fallen head over heels in love with Caroline Rothman, even going so far as to consider proposing to her, but the fortuitous discovery of her true nature and the scandal that followed, had opened his eyes to the fickleness of the female heart.

  For several seasons, the finest debutantes London had to offer were paraded before him by their proud mamas, as dull and insipid in manner as they were beautiful to gaze upon. When none could catch his eye, some had taken to extreme measures in a ridiculous attempt to force his hand. While he’d forgotten many of them, the girls in question had not put those incidents from their minds. It would be too much to expect the Duke to remember their names, or even to offer a vague wish that they had learned from the embarrassment they had suffered at his hands. He was perfectly capable of putting down their pretensions with a devastating Cut or forgetting their existence mere moments after gifting them his complete attention, and was an expert in stepping over even the most elaborate of snares with an arrogant sneer.

  Such behaviour, no matter how sour it tasted, had produced the desired effect: His Grace – now irreverently referred to as the Devilish Duke by all who had set their cap at him - was considered to be A Very Dangerous Man, and only the vainest and most empty-headed young women were foolish enough to try and entrap him.

  His mother, however, had not given up hope of seeing him happily wed.

  “If I believed you indifferent to feminine wiles then I’d have given up long ago,” she’d said more than once as he’d helped her navigate about town in her wheeled-chair. “That last opera dancer of yours tells me something very different, however!”

  “It really isn’t the done thing for a mother to discuss opera dancers with her son,” he’d remind her, then crack a smile at the invariably rude response he’d receive in return.

  The Duchess, despite the physical limitations her arthritic body imposed on her movement, was not above parading every likely young lady in her acquaintance before him. She was not so gauche as to make her behaviour obvious; instead, she would bring a group of young women under her wing and just so happen to invite them to tea whenever he was home.

  And invariably, the poor girls in question bored him to tears.

  On paper, every last one of the girls selected would have made a fine Duchess. They were all beautiful, well-bred, possessed of common sense if not a small degree of intelligence, all had various accomplishments to their name, and all were exquisitely mannered. Unfortunately, every last one had also been exceedingly dull, distressingly interchangeable with the next debutante he encountered, and all would no doubt be just as willing to marry him had he been a horse-faced hunchback that smelt of garlic, so long as he held the title of Duke and owned the majority of Yorkshire.

  Except for Henrietta, of course, but her heart had always belonged to another, and he wished her a long and happy life.

  Far away.

  Where he could not see it.

  “She wasn’t the right girl for you, darling,” his mother had told him in her usual, placid way. “I might not be able to comprehend why anyone would choose Cottingham over you, but I have to admit I am grateful for it.”

  “What fault could you possibly find with Lady Henrietta?” he’d been startled into saying.

  “None at all,” replied the Duchess. “She is a darling girl, and she blossomed under your tutelage. I fully expect her to take her place as a leader of the Ton in the not too distant future.”

  “You are not making sense, Mother.”

  She’d smiled at him with the indulgent condescension that only a parent could get away with.

  “You will understand when you meet the right person for you, my dear,” she’d replied, refusing to elaborate further, and instead turned her attention to the important task of redecorating the Bath townhouse that had become their primary residence.

  He wondered if his mother, in all her interfering wisdom, had ever thought that the first girl to truly stir his heart would hardly be a girl at all. In fact, it would be a young woman in an ugly dress that he would have walked past without a second thought had she not barrelled straight into him as he strolled along the street.

  “Oh, bother!” the young woman had exclaimed. The force with which she walked into him was enough to send the pile of books and packages flying from her hands. “What do you think you are doing, standing in the middle of the street like that, you foolish man?”

  Devenish blinked a few times, unused to being addressed in such a fashion. The young woman scrambled about in the dust at his feet, apparently attempting to gather together her collection of packages. She reached for a book that had fallen against his boot and paused. She looked up at him, her expression one of pure exasperation.

  “Good Lord, are you a gentleman or aren’t you? Don’t just stand there gawping, help me gather up these things you made me drop!”

  “Of course, my apologies, allow me to help,” he stammered, then crouched down to help retrieve the various items sprawled out between them.

  As he picked up two novels, he shook his head. How had a complete stranger managed to command him as if he were nothing but a schoolboy? Amusement crept over him, and he could not help but smile. He took the remaining collection of boxes and packages from her hands, picking up the small mountain of articles as he clambered back to his feet with none of the grace for which he was famed.

  The woman sniffed as she stood back up, holding her hands out for her packages. “Thank you, although I cannot conceive what you are smiling about. You should be more careful in future, you know, else the next accident you cause will be more serious.”

  Devenish could not help himself, and a rare laugh escaped his lips. “I think it is you that should be more careful, madam. It was you that walked into me.”

  “Well, what an ungentlemanly thing to say! Really, sir, you should admit that you are at fault and pass back my packages without further ado,” she said with a haughty air, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  Devenish looked down into her face and realised with a start that this strange woman was a lot younger than her dowdy hat and walking dress made her appear. She was six and twenty at most, with large brown eyes that were brimming with a mischief that did not show on the rest of her features. She wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, the quality of which was at odds with her clothing. They complimented her features and empha
sized the humour she was trying to keep buried within.

  She was pretty rather than beautiful – and Lord alone knew how many accredited Beauties had been passed under Devenish’s nose for inspection – but there was something about her that was not in the common way. Her brown hair in straight tails about her face rather than in styled ringlets, had a richness and depth to them, suggesting she invested time and effort in their care.

  “Well? An apology and my packages, if you would be a gentleman?” she repeated, apparently unimpressed with the intense gaze he had been studying her with. Her tone was mulish, but there was an inquisitive look in her eye and that suggestion of a smile on her lips that he could not help but find appealing. He got the impression that this outspoken young woman was no more used to being crossed than he was.

  “Do you really think I should apologise? That sounds rather dull to me. I have it on good authority that I am not much of a gentleman, and therefore can take leave to inform you that it is you, my dear girl, that was at fault, and not I. In fact, I rather think that it is you who owe me an apology for forcing me into a situation where I have had to scramble in the dirt of a Bath street. Most ungentlemanly behaviour; I do not know how I will show my face in Polite Society again.”

  The corner of the young woman’s mouth twitched in appreciation, and Devenish was seized with a desire to make her smile, just to see if it transformed her into the beauty he believed she could be if she laughed.

  “I am sure you will contrive to live down the inconvenience,” said the young woman tartly. “The best thing to do would be to return my things to me and return home to change; it would never do, you know, to be seen with dirt upon your knees.”

  He glanced down at his legs and gave a sigh as he beheld the black streaks marring his white inexpressibles. That, however, was not the worst insult his clothing had received.

  “Breeches can be changed, but I fear my valet will never forgive me for the state of these boots. I shall be in his bad books for weeks, you know.”

  “How tragic,” said the young woman, her expression far from sympathetic.

  “Indeed it is. To retain Ember’s services, I will be forced to tell him that it is all the fault of a chit of a girl who willfully collided with me on the street and subjected me to admonishments that my delicate ears have never before suffered.”

  “Perhaps if you had suffered them, you wouldn’t be so rude,” she said in a cheery tone that almost caused him to begin laughing.

  “Furthermore,” he said in his best Ducal tone, “the girl commanded me to roll about in the dust to retrieve her packages. Ember will be so shocked by this tale he will be forced to share it with the rest of my staff, and within a week the whole country will know that I was seen about town with scuffed boots and dirty clothing.”

  A smile spread across the lady’s face and almost stole his breath as he watched her come to life before him. “No doubt your reputation will thus be in tatters, and you will be forced to retire from society in disgrace?”

  He gave a weary sigh. “You have the measure of me, I see.”

  “Well, let it be a lesson to you, sir, that you should consider taking up more meaningful activities and sports so that there is more to hang your reputation upon than your clothing.”

  Devenish, dismissing his athletic prowess and academic pursuits, nodded his agreement. “A fair assessment, but not something I can rectify before disaster strikes! I am utterly ruined, and it is all due to the fact you did not look where you were going, my dear girl.”

  “You, sir, are very rude,” she told him with no trace of rancour. If anything, she seemed rather delighted by the exchange.

  He sighed. “I am often told so by my mother. I have always dismissed her opinion as biased, but following this encounter, I fear it must be true.”

  She gave a delicious gurgle of laughter that made his heartbeat increase.

  “Does she really, Sir? Well, if you have it on her good authority that you are not a gentleman and yet dismiss her opinion so lightly, I expect you ignore everything else she says to you as well.”

  “True enough, I am afraid,” lied Devenish. “Take this encounter, for example. Where my mother here she would have insisted that I apologise for my conduct immediately, hand you back your parcels and bid you a good day.”

  “It is what manners demand,” she agreed with a pretty smile. She was a good foot shorter than he and had turned up her face to meet his gaze.

  She looked eminently kissable in that pose; a fact that was as surprising as it was intriguing even if he were not such a cad as to steal a taste of her lips without permission.

  Flirtation, however, was perfectly permissible.

  “Manners are overrated, for had I followed that course of action I would not now be enjoying this delightful conversation with quite the prettiest girl I have met in Bath.”

  “Fudge,” she told him with so little regard to his attempted flattery it left him surprised. “I’m sure there are a great many prettier girls in the city and most with no need to wear spectacles. No doubt you are staying in Bath with some elderly relative, which accounts for your delusion.”

  “I promise you, I am not delusional – and my mother will be mightily put out if she thinks you consider her elderly. She would also agree with me that you are indeed the prettiest, most interesting girl I have met for a long time.”

  The compliment was sincere. Even Henrietta, whose hand he had seriously considered offering for, had not had the power to make him smile so easily – and certainly not on such a short acquaintance.

  His companion, however, seemed unmoved by the tribute.

  “I suppose I may be considered both pretty and a girl by Bath standards,” she mused. “But when you consider my chief rival for the heart of the city’s menfolk is Lady Seraphinia Harden, you will excuse the fact I am not overly flattered by your tribute.”

  Devenish laughed, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation. “You are a difficult girl to compliment, Miss..?”

  “Scott, Sir. Compliments are one thing, but trying to bam me is quite another. I cut my wisdoms a few years ago you know, and as for being the prettiest girl in Bath, well, I am nothing of the sort, being both rather plain and old enough to be considered well on the shelf.” She paused as she cocked her head to one side, her brow wrinkled as though she were deep in thought. “And even if I were the prettiest, which I am not, the Season has already begun, so all the best-looking girls will be in London anyway!”

  “You are an absolute delight, my darling Miss Scott,” Devenish said before he could help himself. There was something about this woman that made him wish to throw propriety to the wind and kiss her right there in the middle of the street.

  She rolled her eyes. “I do wish you would be serious for a moment, Sir.”

  “Call me Devenish. Every time you call me ‘Sir’, I feel as though I age ten years.”

  “If you wish. Pleased to meet you, Mr Devenish, but I would be grateful if you stopped making fun of me and returned my packages at once,” she said, but her smile softened her words.

  He blinked.

  Perhaps his mother and Lady Seraphinia were correct when they said Society had spoilt him, but he was genuinely surprised that Miss Scott had not realised that he was a Duke rather than a mere Mister.

  He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to someone who did not know his financial worth better than he did himself. Women, especially those of marriageable age, seemed to be so intimately acquainted with every aspect of his tastes and style that he’d long ago formed the opinion that Ember was selling a guidebook on him.

  For a moment, he considered correcting her but dismissed the urge as quickly as it had come upon him. Somehow, he did not think this was a young woman who would be impressed by titles. It might even strike her as gauche.

  “What, and further destroy my credibility in your eyes by leaving you to struggle on your way?” he asked with mock horror. “Unthinkable! I sh
all carry these parcels for you, Miss Scott, and escort you on the rest of your shopping expedition.”

  “There really is no need.”

  “Honour demands it, my dear.” He glanced about them and frowned. “Do you not have a companion with you?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Not you as well, Mr Devenish? Lacey has lectured me already, and I’m heartily bored with it. In case you had not noticed I am of age, and I’ve been going about by myself since I was out of leading strings! There is nothing remarkable about a woman in her late twenties shopping without an escort, you know. Well, not in the country, or in Bath.”

  Devenish glanced at the small mountain of packages. “Of course not, but I was rather thinking of the safety of the other residents. You have proven yourself to be a hazard, and just think what would happen if you walked into an elderly aunt or grandmother next? Or worse – Lady Seraphinia!”

  She gave a little giggle, and Devenish felt his heart somersault again. Her fine eyes shone with amusement, and her cheeks dimpled adorably.

  He wondered how long was reasonable to wait before asking her to marry him.

  “If you insist, Mr Devenish, then you may assist me, for I would hardly wish my first encounter with Lady Seraphinia to also be my last. I have finished my shopping anyway, and I am staying a short walk away from here. I am sure that the elderly residents of Bath will feel safer knowing that you are here to protect them from the many dangers I pose.”

  “The most sensible course of action, I promise you,” he replied and was inordinately pleased to have her company for a few extra minutes.

  They began to walk along Milsom Street, Devenish loaded up with the strange assortment of boxes and books, and Miss Scott clutching a sock purse and a bandbox. More than one person glanced over at them, curious at the picture, but no one in his social circle was present to witness his struggles. Most of the Ton had already left for London, and the rest were unlikely to be about at such an early hour.