Compromising the Duke's Daughter

by Mary Brendan

  ‘There is nothing for Papa to fret over,’ Joan calmly reassured, trying to ignore the rueful expression spreading on the rugged features of the man at her side. ‘I’m quite sure my father will be happy to see Mr Rockleigh.’ She sent Drew a twinkling smile, inwardly praying her optimism was not misplaced.

  ‘Your parents are partaking of their usual nightcap in the rose salon,’ Tobias informed. ‘When the Duchess got up from the table she mentioned popping in on you before retiring for the night.’

  Joan realised that Maude had thankfully not yet gone upstairs as all was calm and peaceful. ‘We shall join them, Tobias; I expect Mr Rockleigh might like a tot of something.’

  ‘For Dutch courage?’ Drew suggested ironically as Joan slipped her hand on to his arm, urging him on.

  As they walked to meet their fate a surge of mingling excitement and apprehensiveness made Joan feel light-headed and she tightened her fingers on the arm supporting her. ‘I think I can guess how those poor French people must have felt when approaching the guillotine.’ She gave her unofficial fiancé a wan smile.

  ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Drew asked, seriousness beneath his light question as he drew them both to a halt.

  ‘Are you?’ Joan turned towards him, searching his hawkish eyes for regrets.

  ‘I’m ready...I’ve always been ready and willing to do battle on your behalf, my love, even on the first night that I met you. But there’s time for you to change your mind about throwing your lot in with mine,’ Drew concluded softly. ‘Your stepmother believed I’d come earlier today to see how her husband did. I can explain away my presence in a convincing way again and find a reason for your absence, too, if need be.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Joan exclaimed, covering the long fingers cupping her face with her own small digits. ‘Are you frightened of my papa?’ she demanded.

  ‘Terrified,’ Drew admitted with a half-smile. ‘If he banishes me from your life I don’t know whether I’m capable of retreating gracefully...yet do it, I must.’

  ‘He will not send you away!’ Joan hugged Drew fiercely about the waist, her cheek pressed to his broad shoulder. ‘But if he should do so, then he loses me, too, for I’ll not let you go.’

  ‘You know I can’t allow you to do that, Joan.’ Drew’s face lowered so his lips could rush over a silky crown of chestnut hair. ‘I must tell your father everything about myself. He has a right to know. If my suit is then rejected, I have only one choice because I’ll never let you face scandal or be estranged from your family for my sake.’

  ‘Well...that’s a blessing...’ a croaky voice said. ‘But would you stick to it, I wonder, if put to the test?’

  Joan gasped and sprang away from Drew as her father shuffled slowly towards them along the corridor.

  ‘I...we...we thought you were inside the room, Papa,’ Joan stuttered.

  ‘I imagined that was the case,’ the Duke said in the same dry tone. ‘And indeed I was sitting in there a few minutes earlier.’ Alfred indicated the scrap of silk in his hands. ‘The Duchess felt chilly and wanted her shawl. I’ve been cooped up for so long on that wretched sickbed that I’ll take any excuse to stretch my legs, so offered to fetch it.’

  Joan was still in shock from her father having caught her locked in an embrace with a gentleman. ‘You look to be recovering well, Papa,’ she blurted, clasping her hands in confusion.

  ‘And long may I do so for it seems there are pressing matters afoot to be dealt with...’ Alfred cast a long and deliberate look on his daughter’s companion. ‘I take it you and I have a serious conversation in front of us, sir.’

  Drew took Joan’s hand, drawing her possessively closer to him.

  ‘Indeed... I have come here to beg a private audience with you, your Grace.’ Drew gave the older man a polite nod.

  The Duke had slowly come to a stop and swung a glance between the couple; his daughter’s wide dewy eyes were vivid with pleading, but Alfred noticed the defiance there, too, and it made him inwardly smile. Joan was her mother’s daughter and once she had her heart set on something she’d see it through to the bitter end. But she’d no need to fret.

  Alfred’s brush with death had made him more determined than ever to see his daughter protected by a husband’s strength and love before he curled up his toes. Never before had he seen his little Joan look so happy and comfortable as he had a moment ago on rounding the corner and catching her in Drew Rockleigh’s embrace. But there was more to say, so he’d not let on about his inner peacefulness just yet.

  ‘I recall my daughter slipped out once before to see you on the sly and when you returned her I was angry enough to raise my hand to her.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten it.’ Drew took a step forward, placing himself between father and daughter.

  ‘If you had both listened to me then, you’d have been wed these past two years or more and I’d not have needlessly worried over likely betrayals.’

  Joan’s eyes darted to Drew, joy and optimism in their shining depths. But he seemed less pleased by what the Duke had said.

  ‘In what way might I have betrayed you, your Grace?’ Drew asked. ‘If you believe me capable of hurting Joan, or any of those people she holds dear, then I suspect I already have the answer to my question.’

  ‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ The Duke flicked some fingers. ‘How was I to know you still loved her? A lot of fellows higher up the pecking order than a boxer would have turned what they knew to their advantage, y’know.’

  ‘I’m not one of those fellows.’

  ‘No...you’re not...’ Alfred said in a tone of humble admiration.

  ‘Might I take that as a sign that you will grant me an audience?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need for all that now.’ The Duke almost smiled. ‘I know the procedure; you want to bore me to death telling me you’re unworthy of her, but beg me to listen to your pleas all the same.’

  ‘In my case it would be no false modesty, but the truth.’ Drew’s voice held a note of sombre irony.

  Joan glanced up at the proud profile of the man she adored. Her eyes swerved to her father, fiercely challenging.

  ‘You have already compromised my daughter the once and got off scot free. I wouldn’t allow it to happen a second time, you know. So I think you have my answer on the matter, sir, and that leaves just the details to go over in the morning.’

  ‘There is more you should know about me before giving me your consent,’ Drew said hoarsely. ‘I’m not worthy of Joan and thus it’s hard to make a joke of it.’

  ‘Not on a par with her, eh? Well, in that we have something in common then,’ the Duke said. ‘My first wife was a tea merchant’s daughter. I was already a duke at twenty-nine years old. It is a fallacy that the higher one climbs the nobler becomes the character. Joan’s mother’s family was in trade, but they were nicer people than us.’ The Duke rested his stooped back against the wall, gazing up at a portrait hanging opposite. He inclined his head at the arrogant features of a fellow sporting a wig and doublet. ‘He was the first of our black sheep. Plantations in the Indies brought the Morlands untold riches, all got from murder and mayhem. Cedric Morland returned triumphant to these shores to buy his pedigree and sit in Parliament, but at heart he was a bloody marauder.’

  ‘You’ve never told me that story, Papa!’ Joan declared on a shocked laugh. ‘You said the first Duke built a dynasty as an intrepid adventurer.’

  ‘A pretty description, my dear... I always planned to explain more to you when the time was right...when you were of an age to know.’ He gave Drew a long thorough look. ‘The time is right because I can tell you’ve grown up. You know from experience, as I do, that good and bad exists in every class of people, be they rich or poor.’

  Drew gave a small dip of his head, indicating he understood and was grateful for the Duke’s attitude.<
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  ‘Delirium is a curse.’ Alfred sighed. ‘It brings odd ideas vividly to life, but in the madness lies always a grain of truth.’ He shook his old head wearily. ‘I dwelled often on the time you had compromised my daughter in Devon and swore if ever you did so again you’d marry her or I’d have to shoot you.’ He consulted his pocket watch and clucked his tongue. ‘No time at all for a spinster to be abroad with a fellow she’s unrelated to...especially as they are in love...’

  Joan glanced at Drew, her eyes dancing with joyful amusement. ‘Please tell my father you will do the honourable thing and ask to marry me. I’ll not know who to second otherwise.’

  ‘Gladly will I do that,’ Drew vowed throatily.

  Alfred put up a freckled hand. ‘But not now, Mr Rockleigh, if you please. Tomorrow morning is soon enough. I’ll expect you by ten of the clock. Now I’d like to rest my weary bones and take another tot of brandy to help me sleep.’ He allowed his smiling daughter to take his arm, supporting him to the door of the rose salon. ‘In my lucid moments during that ague I swore I would forgo all I owned in exchange for my recovery. I would be content just to see my daughter wed to a man worthy of her and my son go up to Oxford.’ The Duke looked from his daughter to his future son-in-law with an expression of pure contentment. ‘Come, let us go inside and tell the Duchess that I have at least one of my dearest wishes granted.’

  * * * * *

  EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT

  Prince Rafiq must save his desert kingdom’s pride in a prestigious horse race. But he’s shocked when his new equine expert is introduced…as Miss Stephanie Darvill!

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  THE HARLOT AND THE SHEIKH

  by Marguerite Kaye

  Prince Rafiq could be wearing tattered rags, and still she would have been in no doubt of his status. It was in his eyes. Not arrogance but a sense of assurance, of entitlement, a confidence that he was master of all he surveyed. And it was there in his stance too, in the set of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his physique. Belatedly garnering the power to move, Stephanie dropped into a deep curtsy.

  ‘Arise.’

  She did as he asked, acutely conscious of her disheveled appearance, dusty clothes, and a face most likely liberally speckled with sand. Those hooded eyes traveled over her person, surveying her from head to foot with a dispassionate, inscrutable expression.

  ‘Who are you, and why are you here?’ Prince Rafiq asked, when the silence had begun to stretch her nerves to breaking point. He spoke in English, softly accented but perfectly pronounced.

  Distracted by the unsettling effect he was having on her while at the same time acutely aware of the need to impress him, Stephanie clasped her hands behind her back and forced herself to meet his eyes, answering in his own language. ‘I am here at your invitation, Your Highness.’

  ‘I issued no invitation to you, madam.’

  ‘Perhaps this will help clarify matters,’ Stephanie said, handing him her papers.

  The Prince glanced at the document briefly. ‘This is a royal warrant, issued by myself to Richard Darvill, the renowned Veterinary Surgeon attached to the Seventh Hussars. How do you come to have it in your possession?’

  Stephanie knitted her fingers more tightly together, as if doing so would stop her legs from trembling. ‘I am Stephanie Darvill, his daughter and assistant. My father could not, in all conscience, abandon his regiment with Napoleon on the loose and our army expected to go into battle at any moment.’

  ‘And so he saw fit to send his daughter in his place?’

  The Prince sounded almost as incredulous as she had been, when Papa suggested this as the perfect solution to her predicament. The enormity of the trust her father had placed in her struck her afresh. She would not let him down. Not again.

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  THE HARLOT AND THE SHEIKH

  by Marguerite Kaye

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  Copyright © 2016 by Christine Merrill

  ISBN: 978-1-474-05328-0

  COMPROMISING THE DUKE’S DAUGHTER

  © 2016 Mary Brendan

  Published in Great Britain 2016

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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