Four Dukes and a Devil

by Cathy Maxwell

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s fine by me. Hate chatter. Now, are you going to invite me to breakfast or not?”

  “Of course.” John continued without a hint of irony. “I’m delighted you’ve come.”

  “Well,” the earl said discomfited, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not inclined to have to face her again without a signed agreement. Oh, and by the by, she said to tell you that she has removed to the cottage near the abbey, and…”

  “Yes?”

  Wymith licked his lips. “She said to give you this by way of a token of her appreciation and a formal good-bye.” He tendered her battered volume of the Canterbury Tales.

  John gripped the book, his eyes challenging the earl to say another blasted word. After a decade of silence, John bowed, his eyes so tired it felt as if an ocean’s worth of salt and sand resided under his lids, “I’m honored by your visit, Wymith. Do you know the Duke and Dowager Duchess of Helston? Or the Countess of Sheffield and her fiancé, the Earl of Wallace? No? Gentle folk…You shall enjoy their company. This way, now. Fancy kippers?”

  Would she always know how to work on him? A part of him melted at what she had so brazenly accomplished. All that bad luck, all those horrid words…erased with such heaven-sent goodness and devil-made assurance.

  He had tried to go without them, but that blasted herd of Victoria’s acquaintances would not be put off. The tension in the first of two carriages was as tight as the noose on a dead man. And they would not leave off of the subject of the snakebite once the physician had let it slip when he had come to call.

  The Earl of Wallace’s baritone rumbled within the close confines of the barouche. “British vipers are very rarely fatal, especially if you administer snakeroot or clivers. You didn’t try to suck the poison out, did you? Only a fool would employ that barbaric practice.”

  John nearly lunged at the earl. The only thing that kept him in his seat was the fact that the cottage was around the next bend in the road.

  “Your lips were on her ankle, Your Grace?” Ata’s eyebrows lifted. “How very…intimate of you.”

  “I’ve already told you, Victoria and I are to be married.”

  Her Grace harrumphed. “Yes, well, it’s obvious she refused you.” She smiled knowingly. “Perhaps you didn’t ask her in the correct fashion. Did you tell her she was the most beautiful creature alive? Did you tell her you couldn’t live without her? Did you tell her you lo—”

  “Ata,” Helston said with a sigh. “Leave the poor sod be. I agreed to prop up his spirits and bear witness to his future responsib—ahem, happiness,” he continued dryly, “but I did not agree to listen to more romantic folderol.”

  “Well, so few men know how to go about proposals properly. ’Tis the reason there are so many spinsters. Everyone knows unmarried ladies have a superior life over married females. Gentlemen have to use every last ounce of false charm to lull a lady’s senses into acceptance.”

  “Ata,” Luc growled louder.

  “Not that we ever thought that in your case, dearest. I’ve always suspected you blackmailed or tricked Rosamunde into having you. You probably locked her in a room with naught but bread and broth until she promised to have you. Beaufort, on the other hand, would never…” She batted her eyelashes.

  John groaned at the same moment the carriage lurched to a full stop.

  Victoria rubbed at a spot on the large table in the refurbished kitchen of the cottage, grateful she finally had a moment to herself. She really only had to find two last servants for this house of men and boys. A man and his wife had arrived without notice this morning, both in search of employment. Their letters of recommendation were exemplary, and Victoria had engaged them as manservant and housekeeper. There was only the cook to find, and a maid-of-all-work. The boys were now off with the architect’s men, to the abbey.

  Lost in her never-ending stream of thoughts regarding a certain not-to-be-borne duke, she looked up only to find the man who occupied her every thought standing before her.

  She cleared her throat awkwardly. “You’ve come.”

  “Did you doubt I would?”

  She tried to adopt an air of indifference to hide her ill ease. “What took you so long?”

  “Your friends. And benefactor.”

  She frowned. “Did they come in person? Oh, I’m sorry I caused them such trouble.”

  “Well, at least you are capable of feeling regret for something, Victoria.”

  She glanced away. “I have no regrets, Your Grace.”

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Yes, but you’ve ordered me to do so many things that I cannot be blamed for not always remembering all your wishes.”

  He advanced toward her. “No? Well then I shall have to remind you of my wishes.”

  She bit her lip.

  “But, first, I must thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For coercing the Earl of Wymith into an agreement.”

  “Phifft. That was child’s play. I assure you it’s far harder to get two hungry boys to share a slice of bread. You two were stuffed full of—”

  “Victoria.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve known you long enough to see through your methods. I will not be put off. Now, you are not to say another word until you accept my compliments and more. If not, beware. The Earl of Wallace possesses an interesting device, which he has invited me to use if you will not hear me through.”

  She felt nearly ill at the thought that the duke could so easily see through her.

  “Do you love him so very much?” he asked gruffly. “So much you cannot see your way to one day caring for someone else?”

  Her gaze wavered the merest bit before she replied. “Yes.”

  He broke into a grin. “I adore that about you.”

  “Adore what?” she replied, irritated beyond measure.

  “The fact that you lie about as well as a poacher plump with partridge in his pockets.”

  “Yes, well, it worked well enough on you at key moments.”

  His deep blue eyes scrutinized her, fraying her nerves. “Why did you run away? It’s not like you.”

  A scratching sound came from the direction of the pantry. Victoria ignored it. “I did not run away. If I’d meant to run away I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

  He took a step toward her. “Victoria, we must marry. You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life.”

  “This only proves you do not know me at all. I’ve been afraid my entire life.”

  In a moment, he had trapped her in his embrace, forcing her to accept the protection and comfort of his arms. “You were probably only afraid of being denied important things—food, shelter. Do not try and tell me you’re afraid of facing down a ballroom full of puffed-up aristocrats bent on mischievous gossip. Having endured a lifetime of it, I assure you it’s all meaningless chatter. Just think how you’ll relish forcing them to feel guilty about their excesses and how you shall also coerce them into helping the less fortunate, just as you did the Earl of Wymith.”

  “And you.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, and me. And you shall have the pleasure of reminding me daily that I was too thickheaded to think of the solution first.”

  “I won’t marry you no matter how hard you try to charm me,” she said abruptly, and pushed against his broad, warm chest.

  He shook his head. “You know, I finally find the most beautiful lady on earth—the one woman I cannot live without—the lady I was destined to—”

  “Ata has been working on you, hasn’t she?”

  “Blast it, Victoria.” He rocked his forehead in his hands. “Do not say another word, or Lord help me, I will—”

  “What?” she interrupted.

  “I will love you. Love you for the rest of my life without pause. Love you until you forget to be afraid.” He paused and continued quietly, “I shall love you enough for the both of us.”

  She felt the burn of tears behind h
er eyes, the ache of holding back in her throat.

  “Now do you think you could possibly accept my offer? Accept me?”

  Her heart soared. “Yes. Actually it’s quite convenient because—”

  He rushed to gather her back into his arms. “Oh, darling…promise you will never, ever cause me as much worry as you did yesterday when you disappeared.”

  “Your know, John, you’re going to have to stop asking for so many favors and promises. I already warned you how those sorts of things spoil a person. And as I recall, you said I would never have to do anything else you ever asked again…when the snake bit me.”

  “Yes, well, that was when I was sure it was a viper, and I thought you’d be dead within a day.”

  “That is the poorest excuse I’ve ever heard.” Another scratching sound came from the pantry, and Victoria looked about her for the broom with a jot of fear. “What is that?”

  He appeared completely unconcerned by the odd noise. “Darling, there are two things we must do before your dear friends descend upon us. They’re waiting outside.”

  “Yes?” He was nuzzling her neck, making it very hard to concentrate.

  “I must kiss you, and you must answer one last question.”

  His lips nibbled the edge of her jaw, leaving her unable to form a coherent sentence. “Hmmm…”

  He whispered, “Who gave you those delectable little boots of yours? The Countess of Sheffield?”

  “No,” she murmured.

  His lips were closing fast. “Don’t you dare tell me it was that heathen Wallace.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Well?” He brushed his firm lips across the top of her nose and paused. Waiting…

  “It was the Dowager Duchess of Helston. Said they would drive men to distraction…And she was absolutely spot o—”

  He growled and swooped in to claim his kiss…To claim her, as she had always hoped. It was the way of all the best Canterbury Tales after all, was it not?

  When she felt her knees weaken, she forced her lips from his and rested her forehead against the snowy folds of his neckcloth. He towered a good six inches above her, making a very comfortable, rock-solid support. “You know, this was much easier than I thought,” she murmured.

  “What was much easier?”

  “Snaring the Catch of the Century.”

  He chuckled. “Really?”

  “Yes. Everyone knows the way to engage a man’s interest is to insist you’ll have none of him.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s not the way of it a’tall. I fell in love with you when I somehow found myself taking you sixty miles instead of sixty yards.”

  “No. That’s the reason I fell in love with you, John.”

  It was as if she had struck him, he went so still. Christ, he hadn’t dared to hope until now. He then crushed her to him, his arms like two iron bands about her. Until…

  The faintest flapping or scratching noise pierced their dream. “John…Have I mentioned how little I like the countryside? And all the dangers one finds in nature?” Victoria revealed, haltingly.

  “Come closer. I’ll protect you.” He kissed her worried brow gently. “It’s probably just a little, harmless mouse.”

  She reluctantly pushed away from his arms. “You should know better given my history. The carpenter warned there were bats here when they came to rebuild.”

  “Well, Victoria, I sucked the snakebite. Escort the bat outside, if you please.” He grasped the broom and extended it to her. “If you face down your fear, my love, I shall reward you with a very long honeymoon in Beaufort House in Mayfair.”

  She strode over to a window and threw open the sash.

  “Inviting more in are you?” He smiled that impossibly irresistible smile at her.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  He went to the table, efficiently lit a candle, and gathered an empty jar from the washboard.

  “I didn’t know that bats dislike candlelight.”

  “Everyone knows bats are night creatures.”

  “Is this sort of like how you knew vipers prefer wooded, shady areas?”

  “No, this is sort of like how I knew you might come to love me as I love you.”

  She looked at him, and his eyes softened. He put down the articles he had collected and pulled her back into his arms. “Actually, I have a much better idea. The Duke of Helston and the Earl of Wallace are just the sort who relish offering a friendly hand.”

  A commotion of voices drifted from the front of the cottage, and John winked, grasped her hand, and pulled her outside, through the kitchen door. Rounding the side of the house, he urged her on. “Come, darling, it’s only a little farther.”

  “Said the devil to the innocent.”

  He led them to the now-empty carriage and helped her inside. “Now kiss me again,” he insisted. “You know we’ll not have another chance of being alone as soon as they run us to the ground. And there is plenty of room in the second carriage…if they don’t breathe.”

  “Ah, finally—your finesse—your infamous skills of diplomacy and negotiation—makes an appearance.” She grasped his neckcloth and urged him closer.

  John tapped three times on the ceiling of the carriage, and the barouche moved forward. “Precisely. You have your methods, and I have mine. We shall do very well together, darling.” He encircled her with his arms and lowered his lips to hers, until she finally, blessedly, allowed herself to grasp the happiness she had always deserved. Victoria kissed the man she loved with all her heart and soul and allowed the anxiety of a lifetime to flow from her breast into his, only to learn the extraordinary joy of shared dreams realized.

  She whispered such words of love in his ear combined with that throaty low laughter of hers designed to melt butter and all lesser men. Holding her, kissing her, John suddenly envisioned it all. The gaggle of Helstons and Wallaces, and all the other mysterious members of the dowager duchess’s secret club, regularly invading their residences for the rest of his life. Above all, he envisioned Victoria…and children. So very many children—some his, many not. They were crowding the empty halls of his childhood, of his past. In front of him, crowds of happiness beckoned, and he answered their call by opening his heart to the woman before him and caressing her beautiful face until she fell back into his warm embrace.

  Epilogue

  My dear Mr. Brown,

  This is an amendment of sorts to my last letter to you—of which I have not received the pleasure of a reply. Everyone here says holding a grudge for so long is not attractive in a gentleman, but if this idea irritates you further, let it be known that I did not necessarily agree with them.

  It now appears there are to be two weddings in the near future. In addition to the marriage of the Countess of Sheffield and the Earl of Wallace, Miss Victoria Givan is to be the new Duke of Beaufort’s bride shortly. Very shortly, if the duke has his way. And as we well know, dukes always have their way. It is amazing how hard, and how fast these great men are falling as of late. Very unlike, ahem, resentful Scots.

  I am happy to report that the new Duke of Beaufort does not possess the vile, bloodthirsty nature of his predecessors. Nor does my dear new friend, the Earl of Wymith, a man I plan to introduce to the last two widows in my club. My grandson is lukewarm on the idea. Indeed, he says he would rather settle my Elizabeth and Sarah with a small fortune instead of enduring the travails of friendship and love again.

  Oh, John…please hurry back to town. The center aisle of St. George’s is a very long one, and I shall twice require your arm to lean against. You know how frail I am these days. I do hope you are not laughing. I should not have to warn you that Attila the Dog does not take kindly to gentlemen who are unkind to me.

  Do come. I shall be forced to desperate measures if you do not, and I promise you will like it even less than all that has come before—if that is possible.

  Your devoted, Ata

  About Sophia N
ash

  Want to read more about the characters in this novella and the entire secret widows club? RITA® Award-winning author SOPHIA NASH’s latest series for Avon Books is on shelves now! Meet Rosamunde Baird, the lady capable of taking on the austere Duke of Helston in A Dangerous Beauty, named Best Regency-set Historical of the Year by Romantic Times BOOK reviews magazine. The Chicago Tribune called Georgiana Wilde’s and the Marquis of Ellesmere’s love story in The Kiss “a dazzling combination of subtly complex charact ers, simmering sensuality, and writing that gleams with sharp wit.” Or fall in love with the Countess of Sheffield and a rugged stranger in Sophia’s latest story, Love with the Perfect Scoundrel. To learn more about the author and her books, visit www.SophiaNash.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Charmed By Her Smile

  Tracy Anne Warren

  Chapter One

  London, England

  Early August 1809

  India Byron raised a glass of champagne punch to her lips, then choked when she caught sight of a tawny-haired young man standing in the drawing-room doorway, scanning the crowd.

  How did he get in here? she thought in alarm.

  It was bad enough her older brother, Spence, had brought the simpleton home for the summer along with a gaggle of first-years from Oxford. But now to find him in London at a family wedding—to which he quite clearly had not been invited—well, it was really beyond the pale.

  She knew without conceit that he was here because of her. Ever since their introduction at her father’s country estate last month, he’d been mooning over her—making calves’ eyes and penning dozens of truly dreadful poems written in her honor. One more ode to my “dewy emerald eyes,” she thought, and I’ll surely be sick!

  Taking a few steps back, she maneuvered herself so she was half-hidden behind a pair of her cousins, Jack and Drake—both men too deep in conversation to notice her skulking.