To Ruin the Duke

by Debra Mullins

  “How terrible.” The glance she sent him held compassion, but resolve as well. “But I have seen men carousing with tavern maids while their wives lay abed birthing children. A duke seeking the comfort of a woman after the death of his wife is hardly a stretch of the imagination.”

  He pushed out of the chair. “And where did you see such sights, Miss Fontaine? You profess to be a woman of sound moral character. How could a female with such delicate sensibilities be in a position to witness such things?”

  “My beginnings were humble.”

  “I sense a mystery.” He came closer, scrutinizing her face. Just when he thought he understood her, another layer of secrecy unfurled. “Who is your family, Miranda Fontaine? Where did you come from?”

  “We were talking about James.”

  “Yes, and now we are talking about you.” He came close enough to disturb the dangling tendrils of her hair as he exhaled. “You are a fierce champion, Miss Fontaine. James is very lucky to have you. But why would an unmarried woman of your exquisite looks burden herself with another woman’s child?”

  “There was no one else.” She glanced at the sleeping baby, then back at him. “Lettie died, abandoned by the man who fathered her child. She asked only that I look after James and fight for him to take his rightful place in society.”

  “You certainly have fought,” he acknowledged. “A veritable Boadicea.”

  “You mock me.”

  “I do not. I simply want to understand you.” The delicate scent of rose water lingered on her skin, in her attractively coiled tresses, and he filled his lungs with it. Wanted to fill his hands with her. How could so innocent an aroma incite such hunger? “So brave you are, battling with me sword-to-sword for a child who is not even yours.”

  “He feels like mine,” she whispered.

  Her valiant heart intrigued him. Was she the selfless young woman she appeared to be, or a clever opportunist set on bettering her own lifestyle? “Do you want children?” he asked, tracing a finger down the back of her arm.

  “Most women do.” She edged aside, putting inches between them.

  “Some women do,” he corrected. He swept his gaze over her simple muslin dress, admiring the graceful form beneath the pale green folds. The modestly scooped neckline only hinted at the magnificent breasts he knew were there. “It seems a natural thing, something a female would crave. Yet for some reason there are those who cringe from it.”

  “I do not know anything of that. I can only speak for myself.”

  “We are only speaking of you. Where do you come from? Who are your parents?”

  “My parents are dead. I am alone in the world, Your Grace, so you will see why I am cautious.”

  “You would be foolish not to be. An unscrupulous man might try to take advantage of a woman of your beauty.”

  Yes.” She met his gaze boldly. “He might.”

  Rather than be offended, he found himself amused. “Very well, little hedgehog. I suggest you collect your charge and come with me to your new home. The servants will bring your belongings in the other coach.”

  “You are very certain of yourself.”

  “I am providing for the child—and for you as well. Is this not what you wanted?”

  “There was never any discussion about providing for me, Your Grace. I wanted you to take James into your care.” Her tone was defiant, but he did not miss the longing glance she flicked toward the baby.

  “You wanted me to simply take the child from you and raise him? You are able to part from him so easily?”

  “It would be best for him.” She raised her chin, green eyes defiant, but for the first time he caught a flash of vulnerability.

  He took her chin in his hand. “No, Boadicea, you are what is best for him. He needs his fierce warrior queen for a while longer.”

  Her eyes misted with tears, and her lush lower lip quivered. He knew what he did was unwise even as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers.

  For one dulcet moment, she responded. Her mouth slackened beneath his and she leaned closer to him as he slid his arms around her. It had been so long since he had held a woman against him, and passion flared to life within him almost instantly. Her soft curves pressed against his chest, female to male. He wanted to lose himself in her, to ease the hunger and soothe the loneliness. Her sweetness ensnared him, lured him like honey. But she could not disguise the innocence of her kiss.

  She was untried. Probably a virgin.

  He knew he should stop. He should act the gentleman and step away. But from the moment she barged into his life, she captured his attention, made him notice a woman for the first time in more than a year. And he found he was not ready to let her go so easily.

  Then she pushed him away, her small hands fisting against his chest. She looked at him with those exotic eyes, her mouth moist from his kiss. “Stop. I am not part of the household belongings to be packed up and carted away to your house, to your protection.”

  The words stung and shook him from the nearly romantic spell he had been under. But he would not let her see that her protest had pricked him.

  He took a step back, adjusted his coat sleeves. “What is wrong with protection? As a woman alone in London, you should be glad to have me watching over you.”

  “I will not share your bed, Wyldehaven.”

  He raised his brows and gave her a cool smile. “Who asked you to?”

  She was not cowed and crossed her arms over her chest, hedgehog prickles rippling. He should have been irritated; instead he was charmed.

  “If that kiss was an invitation,” she said, “consider it declined.”

  “It was a kiss, Miss Fontaine, not a proposition.”

  “Better if it is said, Your Grace. I will have no misconceptions between us.”

  “As you wish.”

  “I am here for James, nothing more.”

  “Understood.”

  “Not to be a companion for your convenience.”

  “You have made your point.”

  “And—”

  “Miss Fontaine, I believe you protest too much.”

  Outrage flickered across her face, and though she did not rise to his bait, the battle was there in her eyes. He almost wished she would let go of that control of hers, let her passion lead her back into his arms.

  “Indeed,” she said finally. “Please watch James while I fetch my things.”

  And without waiting for a reply, she marched from the room, leaving him alone with his unquenched desires and a slumbering infant.

  She must be mad to even consider such a situation.

  Miranda tucked her meager belongings into her satchel, annoyance causing her to take less care than she might otherwise have. She had never once asked the duke to provide any sort of living for her; it was James she’d wanted him to shelter. James she wanted him to support. She had known there was a slim chance she would be able to stay with the baby, but hoped to do so in the capacity of nursemaid—valid employment for which she would earn a wage. She had never expected the duke to scoop her up like so much furniture and remove her to a residence for which he paid the rent. The fact that he had not discussed the details of this arrangement did not escape her—nor did the memory of his kiss.

  By God, had she learned nothing from watching her mother? From watching Lettie? She knew how men could so easily take advantage of women, especially women without prospects, like herself. Thaddeus had managed to save some money for her, but half of it was already gone for a wardrobe for the contessa. If she was going to somehow manage on her own, she would need to continue performing and save up enough so she could retire to a quiet cottage somewhere. The only way to do that was to stay in London, at least for a while.

  To stay with James.

  She could not deny that the idea of spending more time with that precious child filled her with joy. However, the only way to accomplish that was to accept the offer of the duke to live in a house he paid for, on his terms. But what did that make her?


  Beholden.

  She longed to stay with James, to make certain he received the loving care he deserved. But what if the duke pressed the matter, tried to coax her into his bed? Would he be so heartless as to toss them both into the street if she refused him? He had already abandoned Lettie, and for that she should already hate him.

  But she didn’t. And that scared her more than anything else.

  The situation was intolerable. If she went with him and lived in a house that he paid for, she was implying he had rights that she had no intention of granting him. But if she refused to move, he might well take James—despite his bold words about the baby needing her—and she would never see the child again. Never know what happened to him or if her promise to Lettie had come to pass.

  She closed up the satchel. She would have to be strong. Yes, the duke was attractive. Yes, for some reason her traitorous body flared to life when he was near. But in the end it was James who held her heart. James who needed her. And she would stay with him until his future was decided, the Duke of Wyldehaven be damned.

  Waiting in the parlor, Wyldehaven cast a wary glance at the dozing babe. “You are quite lucky to be sleeping through all of this,” he said. “Miss Fontaine is more prickly than usual.”

  The child did not so much as twitch. Relieved, Wylde seated himself. When a woman went to pack her things, a man could expect to wait indefinitely.

  He supposed he hadn’t needed to go through all this trouble. He could probably have simply provided money for the babe, but something inside him wanted to assure that they had a decent place to live—and he didn’t want Miranda to continue to think he was an ogre. Naturally, he had every intention of leaving her to her own business and not lurking around, watching over her like an obsessed bedlamite.

  She had made a valid point when she informed him that while he was indeed paying her rent, her person was off limits to any advances. They were entering into this agreement to find the best solution for James and for no other reason.

  But he could not deny to himself that he had come along today mostly to be certain she accepted his offer of assistance, and not just because his grandmother insisted that he help her. Miranda was apparently telling the truth about the baby as she understood it, so he was willing to entertain the thought that she might not be the opportunist he had originally thought her. She truly believed that he had fathered James. But there was more to his interest than just handling a potential scandal. She stirred something in him he had not felt in a long time, and he wanted to investigate these feelings. He wanted to know if she felt the same connection he did.

  Until today, he knew he had not conducted himself well with her. He had never given the least indication that he would take the baby from her, but still she apparently feared it. So he had decided to show her he was not a monster; he was just a man seeking the same answers as she.

  And if they ended up lovers, so be it.

  One of his servants came to the door of the parlor. “Thaddeus LeGrande is at the door, Your Grace. Shall I allow him entrance?”

  “Yes, send him in.”

  Moments later LeGrande stormed into the parlor. “Your Grace, might I inquire why I was stopped at the door of my own home by one of your servants? What the devil are you are doing here?”

  “I am waiting for Miss Fontaine.”

  “For what purpose? And why is there an army of servants loading the carriages outside?”

  “Miss Fontaine has asked for my assistance regarding young James. I am therefore providing a house and servants for her and the baby until we can sort out this matter.” Wylde waved a hand at the armchair. “Do sit, Mr. LeGrande.”

  “Fine thing, being invited to sit down in my own parlor!” LeGrande flopped into the chair with a huff. “You take much upon yourself, Wyldehaven, duke or no.”

  “I find it is often most expedient to take the reins to make certain things are done correctly.”

  “You apparently did not consider that when you abandoned Lettie, did you?”

  Wylde stiffened. “Is that what you think?”

  “That is what I know.” LeGrande held Wylde’s gaze. “Unlike Miranda, I was a witness to your affair with Lettie. I saw you come for her at the theatre at least three times that spring. I tried to tell her to be careful, that a man of your status would never consider her more than a plaything. But she would never listen to me. She believed that you loved her.”

  Wylde came to attention. “You saw this fellow yourself?”

  “I saw you.”

  He shook his head. “Never me, LeGrande. I was cloistered at my country estate until two weeks ago. For some time now some blackguard has been going about town using my name to wreak havoc.”

  “I saw you,” LeGrande repeated.

  “Apparently this fellow resembles me quite closely.”

  LeGrande snorted. “A likely tale. Just so you are aware, Your Grace, Society may bow down to you, but Miranda and I do not. In our eyes, you are the worst kind of cad who sent our beloved Lettie to her death.”

  Wylde clenched his jaw. “I have been tracing this fellow’s movements, LeGrande, since I was made aware of him, and I have engaged Bow Street to assist with the matter. Would I do that if I were the guilty party?”

  “Since money means nothing to you, I would not put it past you to engage in such subterfuge just to draw attention away from yourself.”

  “You really do dislike me, don’t you?”

  LeGrande glared with the certainty of the righteous. “I dislike any man who abandons a woman he has gotten with child.”

  “In that, we are in complete agreement.”

  LeGrande gave a disbelieving hoot. “You are a bold one, Your Grace.”

  Wylde steepled his fingers. “Since we are speaking of blackguards, personally, I truly dislike those who cannot control their tendencies for gaming. Especially if they borrow money and then lose it at the tables. Don’t you agree?”

  The triumph faded from LeGrande’s expression. “Of course. A most inexcusable transgression.”

  “Indeed. But if that is your belief, why did two ruffians—known to work for a certain businessman who loans funds to gamesters—come here yesterday and force their way into the house?”

  “What?” LeGrande jerked straight up in his chair. “They were here?”

  “Yes.” Wylde gave him a grim look of censure. “And so was Miss Fontaine.”

  “Dear God.” LeGrande swiped a hand over his face and sagged back in his seat. “Why did she not tell me? And how the devil do you know about it?”

  “I had a man watching the house. Miss Fontaine appears unharmed, but I believe you will agree that if such incidents continue to occur, the safety of both her and the baby may be at risk.”

  “Yes, yes.” LeGrande withdrew a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Dear God, they were here. Anything could have happened. I cannot believe my own foolishness!”

  “You will see now why I believe Miss Fontaine and the child will be safer under my protection.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “She is somewhat uncooperative regarding the matter, so I expect your support, LeGrande. If you can convince her to move to the house I have procured for her, then she will be safe from any further unsavory encounters.”

  “I understand.” LeGrande shoved his handkerchief back into his sleeve, then met Wylde’s gaze, his own firm with resolve. “I will concede that I have made a muddle of things regarding my own affairs, and in doing so have endangered Miranda’s safety, but I still contend that you are only the lesser of two evils, Wyldehaven. As far as I am concerned, you murdered Lettie with your abandonment of her. Do not think to seduce Miranda as well. One dead woman on your conscience should be enough.”

  Wylde gave a stiff nod, though it chafed that even this reprobate would question his innocence. “Her honor is safe with me.”

  “It had better be, Your Grace, or not even your towering consequence will be enough to save you.”

/>   Chapter 8

  When Miranda came downstairs, Wyldehaven’s servants bustled through the floors of the house like ants at a picnic. One of them relieved her of her satchel, leaving her no choice but to return to the parlor. There, she found Thaddeus sitting on the settee across from the duke, the baby slumbering away in the basket between them.

  “Miranda, good morning!” Thaddeus called out, standing. The duke also rose from his chair. Though he said nothing, his dark eyes gleamed with a certain male satisfaction that immediately got her hackles up.

  Ignoring Wyldehaven, she turned her attention to the aging actor. She had not forgotten the unpleasant visitors who shoved their way into the house the day before, but she had yet to mention the incident to Thaddeus. “Good morning, Thaddeus. I have been wondering when you would come to call.”

  Something in her tone must have alerted him because his smile dimmed somewhat as he rose to his feet. “Is everything all right?”

  “Quite,” she answered, conscious of the very astute gaze of Wyldehaven upon them. She took a seat on the settee, and Thaddeus sat back down a few feet away, as did the duke, across from them. “Some friends of yours paid a call yesterday, but we will not bore the duke with such trivialities. Has he told you that he has come to remove me and James to a house of his choosing?”

  “He has.”

  “I have informed His Grace that we are quite comfortable here, but he insists.” She arched her brows at the duke.

  “And I have informed Miss Fontaine that she will have no worries as long as she is under my care,” Wylde said.

  “I have made it a moral standard that I will never be beholden to another person,” Miranda replied. “I do wish you would respect my wishes.”

  The duke gave her a charming smile that affected her more than she liked. “As admirable as that may be, Miss Fontaine, it is also somewhat unrealistic. You requested my help, and this is the aid I have chosen to give.”

  “And you make me sound quite churlish for attempting to refuse your offer.”

  “If you will recall, we have already set the parameters of our arrangement, have we not?”