How to Marry a Duke

by Vicky Dreiling

  “I took a risk, one that left the dukedom unsecured for a number of years.” His tone and his expression held a challenge. “I have no heir, Miss Mansfield.”

  She could not help but admire him. His decision must have been a difficult one, and yet he’d taken the rocky path rather than the smooth one. “You made the right choice.”

  His eyes registered surprise, but he quickly hid it. “Have I answered to your satisfaction?”

  “Well, I am curious why you have not sought your mother’s advice.”

  A cynical expression crossed his face. “She refused to help.”

  Tessa’s lips parted.

  “My mother and I do not agree on the subject of my bride.” He paused and added, “She has rather decided opinions.”

  Tessa nodded. She’d met more than a few strong-willed mothers and knew the havoc they could wreak. Obviously the duchess had tried to impose her will on her son. Tessa believed ladies and gentlemen should choose with their hearts. “I always listen to those who seek my aid and try to meet their needs.”

  “Your professionalism is precisely what I am seeking.”

  Thus far, he’d reassured her, but she could not forget he was a rake. “If I am to make this match, you must agree to one condition.” Even as she spoke, she knew he would balk.

  “What is the condition?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “In order for there to be marital accord, you must agree to honor your wedding vows.”

  Mischief lurked in his blue eyes. “If I recall correctly, there are several parts to the vows. Is there one in particular that concerns you?”

  Warmth crept into her cheeks. “You must agree to forsake all others.”

  He leaned forward, looked over his right shoulder and then his left. “Where are they?”

  She frowned. “Who?”

  “The ones I’m supposed to forsake.” He gave her a roguish grin. “I assume you require proof.”

  “You mock me, but your reputation precedes you.”

  “Is that why you ran away last night?” he said, his voice rumbling with sensual overtones.

  Her face flamed. “I did not run. I hurried back to my friends.”

  His knowing smile incited her temper. “Unlike you, I take the matter very seriously,” she said, “and I have it on the best of authority that you are an infamous rake.”

  “I’m thirty years old, a bachelor, not a monk,” he said.

  “I saw you flirting with Lady Endicott last night,” she bit out. “Do you deny seducing a respectable lady?”

  “While I owe you no explanation, I will deny your unfounded accusation,” he said in a deceptively mild yet dangerous tone. “I’ve never seduced anyone. All of my paramours consented freely. All were worldly widows. I make no apologies for my past liaisons.”

  Oh, he was unrepentant, every bit as bad as Anne had said. “Your past is an indicator of your future conduct. I can only conclude you see nothing wrong with taking a mistress after your marriage, and I do not condone infidelity.”

  “Neither do I,” he said in a solemn voice.

  Her lips parted. She could hardly believe her ears.

  “You’ve made an assumption when you do not know me,” he said. “I expect marital fidelity from my wife, and I will remain faithful to her in return.”

  She regarded him with suspicion. A man of his lusty appetites would yield to temptation. “How am I to know you will keep your word?”

  His eyes glinted with a devilish expression. “Perhaps a record of my attendance at church would satisfy you. Or maybe a character witness? My friend Hawk is a disreputable fellow, but I’m sure he’d vouch for me.”

  She sniffed. “I ought to make you do it.”

  “Upon my honor, then.”

  Well, she could not express her doubts without besmirching his honor. Gentlemen were touchy about such things.

  His blue eyes twinkled. “Did I pass the test?”

  “So far,” she said. Once again, he’d tried to charm her. She’d best watch out.

  “You would make a formidable barrister,” he said.

  “No, but I believe I have developed some talent at matchmaking.”

  “Apparently Broughton agrees, and I respect his opinion.”

  No one had ever spoken of her career with such esteem. Excitement coursed through her veins. Finding a bride for the Duke of Shelbourne would be the ultimate feather in her matchmaking cap. Why, she would have no trouble at all making a match for him. He was handsome, honorable, and agreeable. And he’d promised to be true to his wife. What woman would not fall in love with him?

  The potential benefits crashed in her head like the waves at Brighton. If she successfully married off the duke, other gentlemen might seek her services. Then she could match them with all the unfortunate young ladies who tearfully sought her help. At long last, she would earn the respect she deserved for her career. She imagined the whispers of the ton as she strolled through a ballroom. There she is, the Duke of Shelbourne’s matchmaker.

  “Do you require a contract?” he asked.

  She blinked. “No, that is unnecessary.”

  “Ah, so you operate on the basis of a gentleman’s agreement?”

  “Um, I suppose one could call it that.” Instinct told her something was awry. She weighed her vague misgivings against the advantages to her matchmaking career. How could she possibly turn down the opportunity to make the match of the decade? The century!

  Elated at the prospect, she rose and beamed at the duke. “Yes, I will be happy to assist you.”

  He unfolded from his chair, crossed the room, and held out his palm. “Will you shake hands to seal our agreement?”

  “Very well.” When their palms met, a giddy sensation, like champagne bubbles, raced to her head. His hand, so much larger than her own, engulfed hers, making her feel strangely possessed. The warmth of his long fingers contrasted with the cool metal of a ring. As if she were dreaming, she slowly lifted her gaze past his imposing chest and tipped her head back, only to find herself drowning in his vivid blue eyes.

  The thick fan of his black lashes lowered just a little, and the sultry expression in his eyes ensnared her. The subtle scent of sandalwood invaded her senses, making her dizzy with forbidden longing.

  When he released her hand, she exhaled, though tension still vibrated all along her limbs. What was the matter with her? She decided it was only the excitement of knowing she would make one of the most prestigious matches in society.

  When he reached inside his coat, she glimpsed a heraldic shield on his gold band. Then he pulled out a folded piece of parchment from his coat and offered it to her. “Here is a description of the bride I am seeking.”

  A twinge of unease skittered down the back of her neck as she unfolded the paper and read the page.

  My bride should be at least twenty-one years of age, never married, and of noble birth. The candidate must have training in planning social entertainments and managing servants. Her conversation should be of an intelligent nature, extending beyond balls and bonnets. Sound judgment based on rationality rather than emotion is a requirement. Other desired traits include gracefulness, dutifulness, modesty, and decorum. Above all, she must be virtuous and have an unassailable reputation.

  A great clanging, like the bells at St. Paul’s, echoed in her ears. He’d written the description as if it were an advertisement for a servant.

  “There is one important quality I neglected to include.” He paused a moment as if assessing her. “I should be able to detect a hint of… passion in the lady’s nature.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  He looked amused. “Have I shocked you?”

  She tapped his paper. “You said you want a respectable bride.”

  “I do, but I plan to remain faithful and want a wife who will abandon her inhibitions,” he said.

  She huffed. “No, you want the impossible—a virtuous courtesan.”

  “I want an angel in the ballroom and a temptress
in… private.”

  Heat scorched her face. “You cannot taste the wine and decide it is not to your liking. There is no way for you to know such a thing.”

  His gaze dipped to her mouth. With agonizing slowness, he lifted his lashes. “I’ll know,” he said.

  His low, velvety voice stirred heat low in her belly. Fearing she would melt in a puddle at his feet, she returned to the settee, set his paper aside, and applied her fan.

  When he settled in his chair, she glanced at him. At the knowing look in his eyes, she snapped her fan closed. “You’ve forgotten the most important ingredient to a happy marriage.”

  “Oh, and what is that?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “Love.”

  His eyes filled with cynicism. “I think people often mistake love for something baser.”

  Lust. The unspoken word hovered in the air. A lady should blush at his scandalous meaning, but if she did, he would only enjoy his triumph over her. And she took greater offense at his cavalier disregard of the heart. “I believe love is what sets us apart from the animal kingdom,” she said.

  “I think reason and rationality set us apart from the beasts,” he said.

  “I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding,” she said. “I only make love matches.”

  “Miss Mansfield, in the matter of tender words or gestures, I’ve nothing to recommend me. But I take my responsibilities seriously. All who depend on me know safety and security. I cannot promise to marry for love, but I will promise to treat my wife with respect and dignity.”

  Tessa hesitated. There were plenty of single ladies of little fortune and no marriage prospects who would leap at his offer in order to secure their uncertain futures. Yet everything inside her rebelled at promoting a cold marriage of convenience. She had spoken at length with many of these desperate girls, and in every instance, all had admitted a yearning to marry for love.

  She recalled her uncle’s words spoken that day eight years ago that had changed her life forever. I would never allow you to spend a lifetime of misery with a man who does not love you.

  As an ignorant girl, she’d not realized her uncle’s beliefs were so different from those of society. Since then, she’d heard of far too many young women forced into arranged marriages. Most parents of the ton cared only about noble titles and wealth. Those parents wielded a great deal of power over their daughters and sons.

  Tessa shivered. She could not make a match where there was not even a prayer of love developing.

  She drew in her breath, prepared to refuse him. His jaw hardened, an indication he knew. No doubt he was accustomed to everyone complying with his wishes, but she would not sacrifice her principles, not even for a duke.

  And yet, if she refused him, he would make a loveless marriage. But if she helped him, she might succeed in convincing him to marry for love.

  She recalled something her uncle George had told her on his deathbed. Things happen for a reason.

  Pins pricked the backs of her hands. That was the moment she knew it was her destiny to open the duke’s heart to love. “Very well, Your Grace. I will assist you.”

  He looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “Excellent. Shall we agree on one week?”

  She blinked. “For what?”

  “For you to introduce me to my future bride,” he said with a shrug.

  Did he plan to propose on the spot? She cleared her throat. “Usually there is a courtship involved.”

  His chest shook with unsuppressed laughter. “Ah, yes, of course. A brief courtship will allow me to verify the candidate is suitable.”

  “You delight in teasing me,” she said.

  “All teasing aside, I expect you to commence immediately. I’ve already wasted a month and have no wish to delay further. Once I make a decision, I will act quickly.”

  Apparently the man didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Once again, doubts plagued her, but if she did not help the duke, he probably would find someone willing to do his bidding. Someone who would not care whether he made a happy marriage or not.

  Of course she must dissuade him from choosing a wife based on his ridiculous description, but she would address that issue when he was ready to listen. “There may be more than one young lady who meets with your approval.” Given his finicky requirements, she suspected he would object to one candidate after another.

  “Do you have more than one lady in mind?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I wish to give the matter careful study first.”

  He looked skeptical.

  She rushed in before he could object. “Would you be willing to consider more than one? I would hate to rule out a young lady you might find agreeable.”

  “I suppose so, although I think it highly unlikely you will find more than one. Still, it speaks well of you to be prepared.”

  She smiled. If all went well, her career would soar as a result of this match.

  “I have one other requirement—of you,” he said. “I prefer we keep our arrangement a secret.”

  She averted her gaze, so he would not see her disappointment. He didn’t want anyone to know because he didn’t really respect her career.

  “I want to keep our dealings quiet. I’m weary of all the notoriety,” he said. “The papers have made a jest of my honorable intentions.”

  “I understand,” she said, “but I cannot promise secrecy when everyone is watching you.”

  He let out a gusty sigh. “No matter what I do I cannot avoid drawing attention.”

  “I can make one promise to you,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I will never reveal our conversations to another soul.”

  “Thank you. Do you have any questions before I leave?”

  “Not at this time.” When she rose, he came to his feet and bowed. Then he regarded her with a perplexed expression. “If it is not too impertinent, perhaps you might satisfy my curiosity. Why did you become a matchmaker? Obviously, it is not for money.”

  She shrugged. “It just happened. One evening at a ball, I saw the poor ignored girls sitting miserably by the wall, and I decided to help them.” She did not tell him that her own shattered dreams had led her to make love matches for the girls whose prospects were grim.

  The clock chimed five times. “I must leave,” he said. “Is one week sufficient for you?”

  She hid her crossed fingers behind her skirt. “Yes, I believe so.”

  Chapter Three

  Tristan felt like a foreigner in a feminine country.

  The babble of voices and laughter died the minute he stepped inside Miss Mansfield’s spacious drawing room. In the silence, the clink of teacups and saucers boomed like cannon. He stood there, dazed, gazing at a crowd of young chits and matrons. They perched upon chairs set in a wide semicircle. He recognized a number of his mother’s fellow she-dragons. They stared at him as if he were the last morsel of food on earth.

  Clearly Miss Mansfield had made a mistake in her invitation.

  The rustle of fabric drew his gaze to her. She wore an elegant yellow gown that billowed round her voluptuous figure as she came forward and curtseyed. When she rose, her serene smile was the portrait of feminine poise.

  He respected her for maintaining her composure. “My apologies, Miss Mansfield,” he said. “Obviously there has been a mistake.”

  “No apology is necessary, Your Grace. We’ve been expecting you.”

  What the devil? Shock reverberated throughout his body. The little witch had tricked him.

  “Come now, Miss Mansfield,” Lady Verstan called out. “You’ve kept us in suspense long enough. What can you mean, inviting Shelbourne and our daughters to call?”

  “Have no fear, Lady Verstan,” Miss Mansfield said. “I intend to enlighten everyone.” She glanced at him. “Will you follow me, Your Grace?”

  The temptation to walk out the door gripped him, but doing so would only create a scene. “Allow me to escort you,” he said, offering his arm. Her lips twitched, but she complied. The light
touch of her hand on his sleeve stirred an odd, tight feeling in his chest. Probably a digestive disorder.

  She slid her hand away when they reached the hearth. “Could I have your attention, please?” The buzz of voices quieted. After a moment’s silence, she spoke. “I know you are all curious. It is no coincidence that I invited England’s most eligible bachelor and twenty-four single young ladies.”

  That pronouncement brought about a flurry of whispers. Tristan kept his stony gaze on Miss Mansfield. What mischief was she brewing?

  “Before I explain,” Miss Mansfield continued, “it is important to consider a little background. This may surprise many of you, but rank and power can sometimes be a burden.”

  Lady Durmont snorted.

  Miss Mansfield’s lips thinned, but she recovered her poise. “Imagine if you will,” she said, “what it is like to be a man of Shelbourne’s consequence. Everyone around you sees only the prestige of your title. Such an exalted position has many advantages, but the disadvantage is that no one sees you for who you really are.”

  He arched his brows, wondering how long she’d practiced her pretty little speech.

  Miss Mansfield walked a few paces with her hands behind her back, gazing at the rich carpet as if pondering some great philosophical question. Suddenly, she halted, scanning the rapt faces before her. “What must it be like to find a wife in such circumstances? Any eligible single girl would naturally feel constrained in the duke’s presence. She would feel awed and would confine her conversation to topics deemed suitable by society.”

  No, she would simper, giggle, and drop her fan.

  Miss Mansfield’s eyes glowed with fervor. “How, then, can the duke possibly find the duchess of his dreams?”

  Several young ladies sighed. Damn and blast, they’d actually fallen for her sentimental drivel.

  After a lengthy pause, Miss Mansfield eyed him. “When the duke sought my help a week ago, he was quite clear about the qualities he sought in a duchess. After due consideration, I made a list of single ladies who might qualify, but I encountered a problem.”