The Duke Who Ravished Me

by Diana Quincy

  The pervert’s brows lifted in mock innocence. “You said we should make the best of our situation.” He flourished a wave in the direction of the debauchery behind him. “And so I am.”

  Profound distaste rippled through her. She’d never known a man more repulsive than the one standing before her.

  “Are you certain you won’t join us?” He smiled wide and wicked, his glittering gaze perusing her form. “I cannot wait to learn which body part you find most interesting.”

  “You’ve certainly exposed yourself,” she said coldly, summoning her flayed composure.

  He peered down at his loosely belted banyan, which bared quite a bit of skin, but stopped just short of complete indecency. “Surely, my dear Miss Finch, you cannot argue that I am possibly the most respectably dressed person here.”

  “Yes,” she retorted, “but you have exposed something far more incriminating.”

  His dark brows lifted. “Is that so?” Amusement laced his words. “And what is that?”

  “Your true vile nature.” She turned away, shoulders back, forcing herself not to rush as she took her leave of him. He no doubt wanted her to scurry away like a frightened little mouse. She would not give him the satisfaction.

  To Isabel’s surprise, he allowed her to have the last word, except for the deep chuckle that trailed after her as she made her way down the corridor.

  * * *

  —

  Sunny strode from the mews to Sunderford House after his hack in the park, tugging off his gloves as he walked. He pulled open the garden gate and stepped past the stone wall, entertaining thoughts of a quick bath before joining friends for dinner at the club, followed by what he anticipated would be a long and lively evening with a buxom actress who willingly gave private performances while stripped to the skin.

  The nanny and her two imps had upended his life, but it was high time he returned to his usual activities. Last evening’s social gathering had been an excellent start. He smiled to himself, remembering the nanny’s outrage.

  And yet hosting one of his bacchanals with the termagant and two brats just one floor above all of that delicious depravity hadn’t felt quite right. He’d actually experienced a twinge of conscience. Damn it all to hell. The nanny had him feeling guilty about doing as he pleased in his own home. Well, he had no intention of abandoning his wicked ways. No indeed. But perhaps, for now at least, he should carry on his carousing outside of these four walls.

  “Look at me!” an annoyingly familiar high-pitched voice chirped from the far side of the garden. “Watch what I can do.”

  He spotted the little nuisance atop the stone garden wall with her arms spread wide open to balance herself as she edged along the narrow ridge. “What the devil are you doing?”

  “I am walking the entire length of the wall without falling,” she declared with a bright smile on her cherubic little face.

  “Well, bully for you,” he said as he walked past her, determined not to break his stride.

  “I’ll wager you can’t do it,” she called after him.

  He halted and doubled back to her. “Please. This is child’s play. I can walk any wall.”

  “So can I,” she shot back. “Only I can do it in skirts. Can you?”

  That prompted a huff of amusement from him. “I cannot say that I have tried.” He ran an eye over her loose, orange printed gown with frilled edges and matching bloomers. “A duke does not wear skirts.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured impertinently, her little nose firmly in the air. “Do you want to see what else I can do?”

  “No, not particularly.”

  “Watch!” she ordered, paying no heed to his answer. She extended her arms high in the air before wheeling them down onto the wall, supporting her body as she went into a handstand and cartwheeled only to land on her feet again. Well, she didn’t exactly land, because her feet wobbled as they touched the ridge, and she teetered—

  Sunny leapt forward to catch the brat as she tumbled off the wall. “It seems to me,” he said when she landed safely in his arms with a light thud, “that this particular acrobatic feat requires more practice on your part.” She felt very small and fragile in his arms and barely weighed anything at all.

  “That was the best I’ve ever done it!” A bright smile lit up the child’s face. He surmised this urchin was Patience because she was the one who was always tumbling about. “Once I practice it a few more times, it’ll be perfect.”

  “You will do no such thing!” a female voice raged from behind them. Still holding Patience in his arms, Sunny turned to find the apoplectic nursemaid charging out of Sunderford House heading straight for them.

  “It looks like you’ve done it now,” he murmured to the child. “Will Finch send you to bed without supper?”

  Patience giggled. “I think she’s angry at you, not me,” she whispered, and for a moment he felt a sense of kinship with the imp.

  “Angry at me?” he asked incredulously. “Whatever for?”

  “What is the matter with you?” the nanny berated him as she came to a halt, her hands fisted on her hips like a fishwife taking her husband to task.

  “With me?” He set the child back atop the stone wall in a sitting position. “What did I do?”

  Her eyes widened. “What are you doing? Get her off the wall!”

  “As you wish.” He shrugged and exchanged a puzzled look with the child before swinging her off the wall and onto her feet on the ground. He straightened and addressed the nanny. “Happy now?”

  “How could you let her tumble around on the wall?” she demanded, gesturing toward the stone barrier, which came up to her shoulder. “Had Patience fallen, she could have seriously injured herself.”

  “Do not be so overzealous,” he admonished her. “Had Patience fallen, she’d have bumped her head or scraped a knee; it seems to me that would have taught her not to be so reckless.”

  “You don’t understand the child. She has no fear.”

  “Quite right. I do not understand her, nor is it my place to. It is yours.” He decided it might be amusing to put Finch on the defensive. “I am not her minder. You are. I presume that is what I pay you for, is it not? To mind the children?”

  “You were right here when she wheeled herself on the ledge.” She was indignant, giving no quarter, but Sunny sensed a tinge of guilt in her words. “You should have stopped her.”

  “I should have stopped her?” He suppressed a smile, quite enjoying himself now. “It’s a fortunate thing that I was here to catch the child, considering that you were being derelict in your duties.”

  “Children are children.” She flushed, the added color again enlivening her unexceptional face. “I cannot watch them every moment of the day. You are the child’s guardian. It is also your responsibility to see to her safety and well-being.”

  “Which I did,” he said neatly. “I caught the child, did I not?”

  She exhaled loudly through her nostrils. “You should have ordered her down the moment you found her on the wall.”

  “I am the Duke of Sunderford, the master of this house and your master, too, I might add.” Toying with Finch was really quite entertaining. “I take orders from no one, least of all a nursemaid who cannot be trusted to watch her charges.”

  Deciding that was an excellent line upon which to exit this scene, Sunny pivoted on his heels and strode loftily into the house. The puff of outrage that erupted behind him made Sunny chuckle.

  And once he was in the house and well away from Finch, he laughed out loud.

  Chapter 5

  “A guardian to two young girls?” Hamilton Sparrow, Viscount Vale, guffawed. “You?”

  “Regrettable, but nonetheless true.” Sunny sipped his brandy. They were enjoying a meal in the eating room of their club, an exclusive male enclave luxuriously appointed in dark colors
and expensive furnishings with plush carpets underfoot. “My uncle sent them into my care due to his supposedly ill health.”

  “Is it his mind that’s going?” the viscount asked. “Because the very last place any innocent child should be is under your roof.”

  Vale ought to know. The former spy had attended a handful of Sunny’s wilder parties prior to falling under the spell of a common heiress Vale had kidnapped at the altar on the day she was to marry another man. To Sunny’s horror, Vale had wed the girl himself a few weeks later and was now tiresomely devoted to his flame-haired wife.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Sunny bottomed out his glass and signaled for the attending waiter to bring more brandy. “Not that you would know, having no children under your roof.”

  “True enough,” Vale agreed. “I’ve only been wed a few months, after all. What are you going to do with your wards?”

  “Ignore them as best I can, I suppose. Leave them to the care of the harpy nursemaid who landed on my doorstep along with the brats.”

  The third man in their party, Cosmo Dunsmore, who’d been quietly listening until that point, laughed out loud. “In my experience, children cannot be ignored. They simply won’t allow it.”

  The duke turned toward the large dark man with strong blunt features. Just a few years ago, Cosmo, the heir to a marquessate, had rivaled Sunny when it came to wine, women, and overall debauchery. But then a half-English, half-French aeronaut had parachuted into Cosmo’s life, upending everything and depriving Sunny of a longtime partner in vice and depravity. Sunny had never quite forgiven the woman.

  “Is that wife of yours still falling from the sky?” he asked Cosmo.

  The other man winced. “Unfortunately, yes. Although, thank the heavens, she pilots the hot air balloon and parachutes far less frequently now that the children keep her busy.”

  Sunny shook his head. “If you don’t care for her aeronautical adventures, why not just forbid them?”

  Dunmore and Vale exchanged an amused look before bursting into laughter.

  Sunny looked at them. “May I ask what the two of you find so amusing?”

  Vale answered first, his mouth still trembling with mirth. “Once you keep company with a woman for more than just bed sport, you will understand.”

  Vale’s attitude did not surprise Sunny. The man had never been overly enthusiastic about attending Sunny’s parties; the viscount’s flirtation with profligacy had been a passing fancy while he’d wrestled with some difficulty in his life that Sunny wasn’t privy to.

  But Cosmo was an entirely different matter. He’d embraced the licentious life as devotedly as Sunny, perhaps even more so. Then he’d gone and saddled himself with a completely unbiddable wife and a couple of brats—a boy and a girl—born in quick succession. And the thing of it was, the man had never seemed happier.

  “Do you actually spend time with your brats?” he asked Cosmo.

  “My children?” his friend responded. “They can be tiresome, but on the whole I find my son and daughter to be quite entertaining. I’m besotted by them, to tell you the honest truth.”

  “Truly?” Sunny thought of Patience and Prudence’s constant barrage of questions. He grimaced. “The two imps in my care cannot stop chattering. They’re constantly asking questions.”

  “That sounds a great deal like my daughter.”

  “However do you cope?”

  “She’s completely charmed the entire family,” Cosmo said. “Perhaps the same will be true for you once you become better acquainted with your wards.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  The deep devotion both men exhibited toward their families perplexed Sunny. In his experience, family was a necessary evil, a tiresome duty that one must bear. He couldn’t imagine the late duke, his own father, ever being charmed by any child.

  And he certainly wasn’t about to be captivated by the two little hellions who’d invaded his life. Sunny wasn’t capable of that kind of affectivity. He simply wasn’t made that way. Like his dispassionate parents, he was as sentimental as a chair.

  “Ah, here’s Will,” Cosmo said as a trim, wiry man with spectacles and copper-colored hair joined them. “Sunny, I believe you are not acquainted with my brother in marriage. This is Will Naismith.”

  Sunny tilted his head back against the chair as he regarded the man. “Huntington’s by-blow, aren’t you?”

  The man’s cool eyes held his gaze. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Will’s married to my sister, Eleanor,” Dunmore said.

  The sister had been the toast of her season, if Sunny recalled correctly. “You’ve certainly done well for yourself, Naismith.”

  “I’m a fortunate man, of that there is no doubt,” Naismith agreed with a quiet but formidable confidence.

  The earl’s bastard certainly could hold his own, despite being the only one among them without a title or hope of one. Sunny remembered hearing the man even worked for his living—did something or other at the Home Office. “Why don’t you join us for a drink?”

  Cosmo came to his feet. “Alas, there is no time for that. We’re off to the country for a few days. Father and our wives and children are already there. We leave this evening.”

  “So soon?” Sunny looked from one man to the other. “Why rush after them when you are free and unencumbered of familial duties? London has many pleasures to offer a man on his own.”

  Naismith shot him a quizzical look. The earl’s bastard struck Sunny as quite humorless. “It is precisely because we are here alone in Town that we are anxious to join our families.”

  “Don’t bother, Will.” Cosmo bowed in farewell to Sunny and Vale. “The duke would not understand.”

  Sunny stared after the two men as they made their way out. “I wouldn’t understand what, exactly?”

  “Never mind.” Vale smirked and came to his feet. “It would take far too long to explain it to you. Are you up for some cards?”

  Sunny rose. “At least you are not running home to your wife like a castrated sheep.”

  “No indeed.” Vale waited a beat before adding, “Did I mention that Emilia is away? She’s spending a few days in the Lake District with her mother.”

  Sunny shook his head with disgust. “You, Dunsmore, and Naismith—none of you comprehend a wife’s proper place.” His mother and father had led completely separate lives and had obviously preferred it that way. They’d barely ever spoken to each other. He couldn’t fathom why these men were constantly in their wives’ pockets.

  “Right you are,” Vale agreed good-naturedly, following Sunny into the cards room.

  * * *

  —

  One of the brats was underfoot the instant Sunny returned home the following morning after a boozy evening with his actress friend.

  Patience—at least he presumed it was the tumbler although it was hard to tell in his current half-inebriated, completely sleep-deprived state—sat on the steps of his sweeping marble staircase in the front hall. The little hellion’s elbows were braced on her knees with her chin propped in her palms. The hound that Sunny rarely saw these days dozed on the step next to the girl, his eyes half open.

  “You’re looking glum,” Sunny remarked to the child as he passed off his hat and the crumpled cravat he’d relieved himself of hours ago to a waiting footman.

  “I am,” she said petulantly.

  “Well, I’m off to a bath and then to my bed.” He angled past her and the animal sprawled on his steps.

  She jumped to her feet and trotted up after him. “Aren’t you going to ask why I’m sad?”

  “No.” He moved faster, taking the steps two at a time, hoping to shake the little nuisance.

  She ran after him. “Why not?”

  “Because I could not care less. That’s Finch’s department.”

  “But
she’s the reason why I’m sad.”

  Suppressing the urge to curse in the most profane terms possible, he halted, realizing the urchin was liable to follow him into the bath if he didn’t give her a moment of his time. These brats were always demanding his attention, something he would never have dreamed of pursuing with his own parents.

  In fact, he’d spent his childhood dreading the daily private audiences with the duke and duchess. The encounters normally lasted about fifteen minutes during which Sunny was interrogated and tested on the lessons he’d learned or skills he’d perfected. He’d learned quickly that there was a steep price to be paid for deviating from the path his father had set for him—not just for Sunny, but for others as well.

  “Izzy is why I’m sad,” Patience repeated.

  He exhaled long and loud. “Very well. What has Finch done now?”

  “She forbade me from tumbling. And I cannot go outside for two days.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I fell off the wall, of course!” The words were emphatic, as if he were a dotard for not knowing why she’d been punished. “Don’t you comprehend anything?”

  “I understand better than you know.” As a boy, he’d been room-ridden more times than he cared to remember, usually when he’d failed to master a lesson or task as quickly or adroitly as his father thought befitted a duke’s heir. He’d spent endless hours sitting in his rooms at the opposite end of the country mansion from his parents’ bedchambers staring out the window at the gardens and copse of trees in the distant Sunderford orchard, wishing he were free to climb the trees, to roam and explore.

  But there’d never been time for that. All of Sunny’s days had been scheduled down to the minute—the studies with his tutor, lessons in deportment, history, culture, manners, and dancing, riding out with his father to meet tenants and learn about the estate yields. It had been never-ending.

  All of this will one day be yours, his father had said. You must always be a credit to the Sunderford name and me. Sunny did not care to recall the longing that had filled his boyhood, or the anger and frustration he’d felt at having to stifle his natural urges and interests. But it all came rushing back to him now.