by Tamara Gill
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
To Bedevil a Duke
Lords of London, Book 1
Tamara Gill
Kindle Worlds
Contents
Keep in contact with Tamara
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Introducing… To Madden a Marquess
Feed an author, leave a review
Available Now
Also by Tamara Gill
About the Author
Copyright
To Bedevil a Duke
a De Wolfe Pack Novella
Lords of London, Book 1
Copyright © 2018 by Tamara Gill
Cover Art by EDH Graphics
Editor Authors Designs
All rights reserved.
Keep in contact with Tamara
Tamara loves hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her website or email her at [email protected].
Alternatively, you can sign up to her newsletter and never again miss a sale or new release alert!
Dedication
For my family. Always.
Chapter 1
London 1805
Lady Darcy de Wolfe was foxed. A most scandalous and terrible way in which to be at her own ball, but the ratafia was quite delicious this evening, and well, one tended to imbue themselves more than they aught when celebrating the one year anniversary of her husband’s death and her relaunch into London Society.
Darcy looked down at her golden silk gown with small puffed sleeves. The empire cut accentuated her small waist and ample bosom enough so to garner many admiring glances from the opposite sex. Her dark locks were pulled up into an intricate motif atop her head, small loose curls fell about her face softening the look. With the golden gown and her dark hair, the pairing complimented her, and for the first time in years, Darcy felt attractive.
Her departed husband, the Earl of Terrance had never made her feel so, he was not missed and it had taken all of Darcy’s good breeding to wait out the twelve months required for mourning. Especially when she would never mourn such a man. On his death, he’d left her nothing, which she had expected, not that it impacted her very much. Her grandfather having loved her most out of all his female grandchildren had left her the London townhouse along with a very tidy sum should she ever require it. The same grandfather that Darcy was her namesake and also chose to be known by from the day she’d placed her husband into the cold earth. Her father, the Earl de Wolfe, had supported her in her choice, having been witness to her husband’s indiscretions, his vile temper and cutting tongue was happy she reverted to the name she was born with, not the one given to her upon marriage.
It wasn’t to be borne for a de Wolfe to be treated so shabbily, and as such, Darcy had clasped her freedom upon his death and would not look back. Life was to be lived, and she would never exist again under the atrocious ways she’d endured under Terrance.
“You look positively decadent in that golden gown Darcy, and you know it. Your husband would have a seizure if he knew you were holding one of London’s biggest balls in honor of the anniversary of his death, and your debut back into Society,” said Lady Fran, the Viscountess Oliver and Darcy’s dearest friend.
Darcy smiled in welcome. Fran was a lithe, tall woman with the most beautiful auburn hair, a trait from her Scottish roots. It amused Darcy at the thought of her husband, a man she should never have married in the first place being insulted by her actions. Oh, how she’d love to see his ruddy, fat cheeks blossom in annoyance and anger at her defiance of him. “How wonderful that sounds, but you know, as a woman renowned for scandal, I could not allow such an opportunity to pass. One must keep up the standard to which they intend to live. If I did not, that would be a scandal in itself.”
Fran linked their arms and walked them along the outer edge of the ballroom floor. “You smell of wine. How much have you had this evening?”
“Enough that I know I should have no more, and I promise I will not.” Although Darcy loved nothing more than scandalizing the ton, she would only ever go so far and never crossed the invisible line that even her family’s name could not redeem her from. Two years into her marriage she’d decided that she would no longer live as a doormat to her husband, and had attended, danced, and flirted her way about London. Her husband did not approve, would bellow and break furniture and valuables, but Darcy had had enough. If she could not divorce the man, she would at least live her own life, just as he did.
“The last thing you want is to be compromised by a money hungry rake, looking to catch you at your most vulnerable. Unless of course, you wish to be married again.”
Darcy gasped. “Not in a million years, Lady Oliver. The last thing that I want is another husband. Although now that I’m free from Terrance, I may look for a lover.”
It was her friends turn to gasp before she grinned, just as she used to when they were young women at the Mrs. Dews finishing school for young ladies in Bath, and before they were about to sneak off and have some fun that the teachers were never aware of.
“There are many gentlemen here this evening who’ll only be too happy to oblige you I’m sure.”
Darcy looked about. There were a few of them looking her way, some nodding slightly, others giving the best smouldering look they knew how to perform. And maybe one of these men would do. Certainly, Mr. Ambrose could prove useful. That he was a wealthy American and would not be staying long, could be a point in his favour. A lover this Season was paramount for her happiness and sanity if she were honest.
Not that her friend Fran knew, but Darcy had attended a masked ball one evening that opened her eyes to the pleasures women could have. She hadn’t participated, merely skulked about drinking champagne, but many others were more than happy to explore, become better acquainted with the opposite sex within only a matter of hours.
The sounds that one woman made when Darcy had gone to fetch her cloak to leave was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. It had been one of ecstasy, of begging and gasping, and she’d wanted to know what it was that the woman adored so. How did a man make a woman react so? Her late husband had never fulfilled her needs, and by the time he passed away they’d not shared a bed for a year or more.
“What do you think of Mr. Ambrose?” Darcy asked, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing footman, ignoring the fact she wasn’t supposed to be having any more wine.
“Delicious,” Fran said giggling, “although please do not tell Lord Oliver I said such a thing. You know how he can be.”
Only too well. Viscount Oliver, Fran’s husband of two years, was devoted to her, and at times could be quite the jealous husband. Not that Fran would ever wish to leave the fellow, they were quite, in Darcy’s estimation, a lovable couple. Perfectly made for each other.
“I would never tease his lordship so, even if I wanted to, I would never go against your word. But I do think you’re right, Mr. Ambrose would do very well pleasuring a woman I think.”
Fran barked ou
t a scandalously unladylike laugh, which had those about them turn at the outburst. Darcy smiled as if she’d not shocked her friend into hysterics. “Do you not agree?”
“Pleasuring a woman? Darcy, you are too wild. Wherever did you hear such a saying?”
“I played whist with the stable hands yesterday evening, and after some beer, the men were quite free with their speech. I learnt quite a few sayings if you wish to be enlightened?”
“Enlightened may be the wrong word to use in this case,” Fran said, taking a sip of her champagne. “But in all truth, my dear, do you think you will take a lover?”
Darcy shrugged, oh yes she wanted a lover. To find pleasure in the arms of a man without having to tie herself to him indefinitely. “Maybe, if I find a gentleman that I want to sleep with.” God knows her deceased husband Terrance had been terrible in bed, and she’d often been thankful he’d had his whores, if only to keep him away from her. He did not know anything about giving pleasure to a woman, or how. It was like lying with a block of wood that grunted a lot and was finished within a minute.
Fran sighed as she watched her husband chat with some other guests across the room. “It is so very important they know how to please. I could not bear my marriage if I did not find my husband attractive in that sense. I am certainly blessed that papa allowed me to choose who I loved to marry, not some gentleman who’d bring fortune and prestige to our name.”
“Luckily that Lord Oliver brought those things in any case, along with his heart for you.”
“He did,” Fran said, turning her gaze back to Darcy. “People will expect a de Wolfe to marry high, and many thought you did not marry to your station with the Earl since his pockets were to let. What will you do?”
“I will do as I please, although in hindsight I probably should have listened to papa when he said the man was a dandy. How very accurate he was in his estimation.” Darcy sighed thinking back on the time. “I feel for papa for he did not know Terrance was so deep in debt. As you know the man had his money troubles well buried until after our marriage.”
Not to mention her own blindness toward Terrance. To be so easily swayed by declarations of undying love, of a life that would be comfortable and happy, to believe whatever came out of his mouth as truth was a mistake she’d not make again with another man. This time she would choose a man who shared her values, did not wish for marriage and understood women’s needs behind closed doors. And one who did not expect her to finance his lifestyle.
“Yes, indeed.” Fran smiled. “What about the Duke Athelby? Rumor has it that he’s seriously searching for a wife, and he’s dreadfully handsome. Dark and brooding, tall and with that slight air of aloofness to all that’s before him. I think he may pleasure you very well.”
Darcy choked on her champagne at her friend’s use of her words. She directed her attention at the duke. A shame she had given up any thoughts pertaining to the man, but then it was his own fault. No longer did Darcy de Wolfe go out of her way to please any man, especially one that thought all women should be seen and not heard, but relegated to the nursery producing babies and heirs. He was severe, and his words were sharp enough to cut even the thickest-skinned person among her set if he disliked their appearance or manner. The duke was a towering terror that made most debutantes shudder in their silk slippers and gentlemen to walk with care.
Not Darcy though.
She’d merely dismissed him as a man who thought too much of himself as he always had. Not a feature that was at all redeeming. That Darcy’s godmother, his grandmother and only surviving relative thought he held qualities that would suit her and other women was an absurd notion. He might be a gentleman, a duke even, but his manners or lack of knowing when to speak and when to hold one’s tongue made it debatable. Women did not want to be chastised simply over what they wore, or how they ate, or who their friends were. The duke was only too willing to point out any little flaws if he deemed them so. Darcy shook her head. His grandmother seemed to think Athelby had a heart, how wrong she was.
It was really quite unfortunate that the woman was so completely blind.
“The duke is a no, I can promise you that. He’s a young, handsome man until he opens his mouth and this grumpy, middle aged man appears. It is no surprise to me he’s not married, for who’d put up with such a displeasing creature?” Although he wasn’t displeasing to the eye, her words were not as true as she’d wanted them to sound. Sometimes when he laughed, which wasn’t often, she glimpsed the boy he’d once been in the man he’d become, and she longed to have him back.
“Creature may be too harsh a term, Darcy. Maybe his grandmother is right, and he’s merely misunderstood.”
Darcy shook her head, smiling at Fran. “You’ve always wanted to see the best of people, but sometimes it just isn’t there. And I for one did not escape a marriage, a husband who treated me like a piece of dirt beneath his hessian boots, to merely marry another who would do the same. God forbid that my gown be a little too low cut, or that if I sat before a fire my ankles showed. The duke would have an apoplectic fit! I couldn’t stand it, and you know father would never survive seeing me married to another uptight prig.”
Fran laughed just as her husband walked toward them, the grin on his face foretelling that he was here to claim his wife for the waltz that was due to start.
He bowed to Darcy and then Fran, taking his wife’s hand before kissing it softly. “I believe the next dance is mine to claim, my dear.”
Fran blushed. “I do believe you’re right, my lord.” Fran grinned over her shoulder as she walked away. “I will be back soon, my dear.”
They walked off and joined the other couples that were congregating on the dance floor. Darcy watched them, and others as they started to glide through the graceful movements of the waltz. It was a dance she herself loved, but in her current situation, it was probably best that she hadn’t been asked to engage in it. No one wanted to see a woman fall over due to her decidedly unstable foxed feet.
“I see you’ve consumed too much wine this evening,” the Duke of Athelby said, startling Darcy.
She smiled up at him, knowing just how well that would annoy him no end. “I have, and how liberating it is. And you should probably consider yourself fortunate that I am a little foxed.”
“And why is that, Lady de Wolfe…if that is what you’re calling yourself these days.”
“Why yes, it is. And you do know Duke that you’re standing next to a widowed woman, someone who had been used, and is not perfect as we all know you’re fond of. Maybe it wouldn’t be wise for a man with such stellar manners and an impeccable reputation to be doing such a scandalous thing.”
“I’m sure I shall survive, even though your vulgar ball which is being held exactly twelve months to the day since your husband’s funeral is far from appropriate. I fear such a move will limit the time my grandmother may spend with you in the foreseeable future. I cannot have her reputation tarnished in such a way.”
Darcy narrowed her eyes. “‘Tarnished’ you are trying to make me laugh, yes? How absurd that a woman of your grandmother's age would even be worried about her reputation. Are you sure that the real reason you don’t want her around me is due to your narrowed views of life?”
The muscle in his jaw worked. Always a sign he was fighting to remain civil. Keeping his temper was not something the Duke of Athelby was famous for. Darcy studied his profile, his strong jaw, and straight nose. The man was devastatingly handsome, his features were severe and powerful. There was a time when they were both still children that she had been determined to marry him. He’d been carefree then, as wild and boisterous as herself and for the month-long house party that their parents had attended, to which they had been brought along, they had been inseparable. It was years before they met again, and by then Cameron had come into the title and the fun-loving, incorrigible laughing boy that she’d known was gone.
“It is my wish for the connection to be severed somewhat, it is for the best. Y
ou must see that,” he said with an arrogant lift of his head.
Darcy spotted Athelby’s grandmother strolling their way and smiled in welcome. “Ah, I see Lady Ainsworth is here. Maybe we can ask her about your new rules.”
Athelby sputtered but didn’t have time to divert his grandmother before Darcy took the older woman’s arm and led her over to a settee near an unlit hearth. The duke followed, and Darcy did her best to ignore his black scowl. The Viscountess kissed Darcy on the cheek and kept her hands firmly clasped in her own.
“How is my dear, dear goddaughter. I hope you’re enjoying yourself this evening?”
“I am, my lady, very much so, but I’ve just had the most distressing news.” Darcy looked up at Athelby, his steely gaze locked on her. It did odd things to her stomach having his attention in such a way. She turned her attention back to Lady Ainsworth to escape it.
“Your grandson has just informed me tonight that our association must come to an end.”
“Now, those were not my exact words…”
Her ladyship held up her hand, halting her grandson’s explanation. “What did he say, my dear? You have my full attention,” she said, casting an irritated glance at Athelby.
“Due to my husband’s death, and I holding this ball twelve months to the day since we laid Terrance to rest, the duke believes that I would only bring shame and ruination to your family should we be seen together. This ball is a garish act and one that puts me into the light of a woman who did not love her husband.” Not that she did at all, but her ladyship didn’t need to know that. “And so, we must part from this night on. Never to be seen together again I’m afraid.”