The Duke’s Improper Bride

by Paula, Rebecca

  “Hmm?” His words tied up somewhere in his chest. Perhaps his waistcoat was too tight, because he couldn’t breathe well either.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  Such big words for such a small event. The Duke of Ashbornham fancied himself a painter, and now the fashionable set of London were to lay witness to what, if any, talent he possessed. But Isaac wasn’t the one hosting the ball tonight. He wasn’t the one who had worked hard at establishing them in London and gaining favor in the right households. He might have been the duke, but Nora might as well have been the queen, with how she took over town when they returned from Liverpool.

  “Not as much as I am of you.” He leaned down and kissed her. She tried to break apart, laughing when he tugged her closer. He walked her backward through the gallery.

  “I won’t be distracted by kissing this time.”

  “I’m up for a challenge.”

  “Isaac,” she said with another laugh. She swatted at his chest just as their corgi puppy burst through the drawn curtains of the drawing room, a maid not far behind. Buttons jumped, weaving around their feet, nearly knocking them over as they both fell into a fit of laughter.

  “Sorry, Your Grace. For such short legs, he’s an excellent runner.”

  The clock struck midnight, chiming in a new day. The noise reverberated through Isaac and his pulse quickened. He scooped up Buttons and deposited him with a pat on the head to the maid’s arms, then turned to Nora.

  “Ready, sweet?”

  She smiled up at him, a soft blush on her cheeks. “Ready, husband mine.”

  They entered their crowded ballroom as they were announced for the first time as the Duke and Duchess of Ashbornham, ready to take London by storm.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading THE DUKE’S IMPROPER BRIDE! I hope you loved Isaac and Nora.

  Not ready to say goodbye to the Ravensdale family? Find out what happens next when Minnie runs away from finishing school to team up with the charming Irish pickpocket, Alex Marwick in A PROPER SCANDAL. And read on for a sneak peek.

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  A Proper Scandal

  Ravensdale series, Book 3

  They were faster than they looked—much.

  Alex peeked over his shoulder, swatting away the line of laundry as he dashed through the alleyway. A petticoat stuck to his front, nearly taking off his cap as he tried to fling it off. His lungs burned as he took another corner, waiting for the sound of the chase to fade away. They were persistent, he’d give them that.

  “Marwick!”

  He’d come to hate the name he’d given himself. Though if he hadn’t stolen that silver platter from the shopkeeper this morning, maybe he wouldn’t be running blindly through the chaotic traffic of Whitechapel Street right now.

  A carriage narrowly missed barreling into him, threatening to flatten him in the street. He missed one and barely escaped a second.

  “Marwick! You filthy mick bastard. Mr. Davoren will hear of this, you’ll be sure of that, you will.” The man’s voice got lost in the street noise, carried only to Alex over the fetid air of factories and tenements.

  Alex stumbled backward, scrambling for footing. The world was loud today, everything out of order, and yet he felt as though he could knock the city on its feet given the chance. He coyly jumped around the rear of a meat wagon and held on to its rails as it continued on its way.

  His breathing even though his heart still raced, Alex jumped off at the next intersection, finding a corner to lean against and gather himself. The trouble would have been worth it if he hadn’t been caught. Instead the silver platter had been taken back and his pockets were all the more empty for it. That’s what happened when he caved to his hunger. His eyes became greedy. He wiped the blood from his lip and cheek, peering down the street. Little spoke of life this early spring day. The city was drab, the colors of his childhood. They spoke of the same misery. Almost.

  And then there was a sight that nearly knocked him on his arse.

  It was as if Heaven opened its gates and an angel had descended to walk among the filthy sinners of Whitechapel. A well-dressed angel who could put food in Alex’s stomach.

  He pressed tighter against the brick façade of a butcher shop, his cap pulled low as he studied the girl. The fancy feathers on her hat stood tall, waving to passersby as if to declare: I have deep pockets. Her silk dress, livelier than the half-dead blooms of the flower sellers, was far too fine for an unaccompanied girl in this part of the city. Her boots were well-polished, free of holes and not worn from work. No doubt, she was a lady through and through.

  If she was an angel, then Alex was the devil himself, pushing off the wall to trail behind. She was an easy target, a lamb in the company of prowling wolves. He hadn’t been the only one to notice, either. A stout man elbowed through the crowd, shouting after her.

  The girl startled, dropping the handkerchief clutched in her hand. She bent to retrieve it, jostled by the others around her on the busy street. Alex shouldered through the crowd until he was near enough to fetch it for her, his hand ready to snatch the chatelaine at her dress’s waist, before her eyes met his.

  He sucked in a breath, struck. Men like Alex were meant for the shadows, not to be seen, certainly not to be studied as she did now. Two hazel orbs remained fixed on him, wide with fear and comprehension. She blinked and broke the moment, sprinting for a narrow alleyway in search of an escape. The bird wouldn’t find a way out, only empty pockets and torn petticoats. Cries for help had a way of falling upon deaf ears in this part of the city.

  Feckin’ eejit. She’d get herself killed.

  It’d be best to turn around. He had a mission here in London and he’d get nowhere if he went and landed himself in more trouble. But with her retreating figure and the last glimpse of that bright dress of hers, he followed. It was easy to keep pace with a drunk and a girl weighed down with heavy skirts. To her credit, she was handling the situation brilliantly, if not for the last turn into a dead end.

  Alex skidded to a stop and peeked around the corner as the girl drew back a blue bag and struck her assailant. The stout man faltered a step, but it was no use. A taller man emerged from the shadowed doorway holding a rag. The men hadn’t seen Alex. He could slip away, search for another to pickpocket. He was a bastard for thinking so, especially when the rag was likely covered in ether.

  “Let her go,” he said, stepping out from the around the corner. He clenched his sore fists as the shorter man drew a knife. Today was not going in Alex’s favor, not that they often ever did.

  She struggled in the taller man’s firm grasp, fighting against the rag meant to knock her out, until she spotted Alex. Her body went slack. He hoped she was holding her breath or she’d be down like a bag of bricks soon, none the wiser to the rest of the world.

  The taller man dropped the rag, stepped forward, wiping his arm across his face, and then spat. “Bugger off.” He pulled the bag from her hand and a blade from his boot, waving it toward Alex.

  He pushed up the worn sleeves of his coat and flexed his dirty fingers. “You’re in the company of a lady. Mind your tongue. And your hands.” Alex edged forward, raising his arms and eying the girl’s bag. It would be nice to have money lining his pockets for once. Maybe a warm meal, too.

  “Back off,” the drunk threatened, his words slurred. “We found her. She’s ours.”

  “All of her.” The taller man circled her with a keen eye.

  She tilted her head and mumbled to the men, her words too quiet. Whatever they were, they weren’t appreciated. The drunk dragged her into a tight hold and drew a blade against her throat. A small stream of blood trickled down the column of her neck, staining the lace collar of her dress.

  Alex charged forward, catching the taller man by surprise with a fist under his chin. The man’s head snapped back, he wavered, then crumpled to the ground. Alex reached around and pried the blade from the oth
ers man’s hand, saving the girl from having her neck slit open, then shoved her aside.

  She scurried over to her bag, as Alex circled the second man. For a drunk, he had a stubborn hold of the ground.

  “Well, hit him!” She flung her hands out into the air, flapping like a bird about to take flight. The weight of the bag almost toppled her as it swung back and knocked against her small waist.

  He never saw the drunk barreling forward until he slammed Alex to the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as he collided against the cobbled alleyway. The man was saying something above him, but the words weren’t registering over the ringing in his ears.

  The man settled above him, snarling, his face as red as a tart’s lips. Jagged metal scraped against his neck. Alex’s stomach churned at the man’s foul breath, trying to work out how best to escape with his head still attached. Then the man’s eyes widened and he collapsed onto Alex, as the blue bag swung overhead.

  The girl rolled the man off Alex with a shove, standing there with a smug smile. “Well,” she said, offering a hand to help him up.

  He stared at the dark blood dripping down the flawless, clean skin of her neck. This was no place for a girl like her. He ignored her hand and stood on his own. “Come on,” Alex said, walking to the brick wall at the end of the alley, side-stepping the fetid puddles. If he saw her to safety, then he could try nicking her purse as reward for his efforts without having to behave like a complete cad.

  “I’m not lost,” she said, staring steadfast into his eyes.

  Alex pulled his cap lower and stepped back. “They’re going to wake up soon,” he said, scaling the drain pipe. “I wouldn’t be around when they do.”

  The girl paused, considering him.

  “They’ll strip you bare and leave you dead in the gutter.” He rubbed at the ache throbbing at the back of his head.

  “I’m not daft.” She walked closer, her eyes fixed on the fallen men, her lips curled in disgust. “I’m—”

  “—Stubborn.”

  She kicked one of the men in the gut with her polished boot. “No. I’m finished now.” The girl clapped her hands together as if she were dismissing the whole mess. “If you would show me a way to escape, I’d be thankful.”

  * * *

  The man waved for her to scale the wall and follow. Minnie took no caution in guarding her annoyed glare. She didn’t appreciate his herding her around like a wayward sheep.

  “Give that to me,” he said, reaching down for her bag as she struggled with the weight of her skirts to shimmy up the drain pipe.

  “You could run off with it and leave me with nothing.”

  “It’s possible.” He leaned closer, his weight divided over the narrow brick wall. “Except I just saved you from those brutes. Have a bit of faith, yeah?”

  “I don’t need rescuing,” she bristled back, holding the bag out of his reach. Let him lean forward and fall if he wished to wrestle it free. Minnie hadn’t run away to be ordered around by a complete stranger. She was ordered around by every other person in her life all ready.

  “I thought you’d say something to that effect.”

  She swiped her gloved hand over her throat, feeling the fresh sting of a scratch. Her hand returned red, stained with enough blood to signify it more than a scratch. When she started this morning, everything seemed possible. She had London in her hands and her dream of dancing finally within her grasp. Except the day was growing late and what she thought had been a few wrong turns had turned into her being thoroughly lost and nearly mugged.

  For the niece of an adventurer, she should be better with directions.

  The man lifted an eyebrow as if to declare: you’re foolish and need me. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of carrying on like the rest of the girls her age. Minnie Ravensdale was made of stronger stock. So instead, she lowered her hand and smiled back at the man, defiant.

  “There he is! Marwick!” a man shouted from the opposite end of the alley. “And look, he’s got that chit with him.” Behind him, a pack of hooligans gathered, their eyes hungry as if she were a Sunday roast.

  With a nervous swallow, Minnie shoved her bag into the stranger’s hand. “We can go now.” She scrambled up the drain pipe without an ounce of grace, looking over her shoulder as the group climbed to their feet and rushed forward. With a wave of her bloodied glove, she smiled, laughing as her taunt provoked them closer.

  Her rescuer, if he proved himself as such, tugged hard on her boot and cut her taunting short. Minnie lost her balance and toppled over the wall.

  He tensed as she landed into his arms. “Do you want to die?” he asked, holding her tight against his rough coat.

  She gazed up at him, the world swirling around her. “No.” She thought to say more, but she was lost at repeating his words, the lulling cadence causing a smile as they passed over her lips.

  He stared down at her, blue eyes dark and burning as if she had just attacked him in the alley. “You’re well on your way today.” As quickly as they settled into the quiet moment, he dropped her feet and righted her. “Right, let’s go.” Before she could answer, he grabbed her bag and wrist, then led them forward into the maze of dark alleys ahead. They weaved in and out of the crowds, dodged behind lines of drying laundry, ducked into shops—anything to put distance between themselves and the thugs.

  The stranger finally dragged them behind the cover of some towering crates.

  “We’ve lost them. For now.”

  Minnie peered around the crates, licking her lips as she struggled to catch her breath. Her hair had come unpinned and her hat was flopped to one side, the satin bow excelling at nearly choking her to death. She tried to right her hat with her shaking hand as the man stood from resting on his knees, but she stopped as he flashed her a smile. It was too bad the hair beneath his ratty cap was so unnaturally blond and dull. It ruined his rugged handsomeness.

  “We can’t stay out on the streets. How much have you got?”

  “I don’t even know your name.” She stopped untying the hat ribbon. “I’m not going to volunteer how much money I have.”

  “I didn’t steal your bag,” he pointed out, reaching into his pockets. He fished out a few pence. Not a promising amount.

  He made a fair point, but Minnie was far from convinced that the stranger had noble intentions. He didn’t appear like the reputable sort, not with his soot-stained hands and tatty clothes. And especially not with a split lip and a fresh bruise across his cheek. “I’m sure you’ll expect something because of your efforts.”

  He leaned one arm against the stack of crates, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “You could give me a kiss for my troubles.”

  “I knew it!” Minnie cried, picking up her bag and swinging it into his stomach.

  He fell forward, coughing at first before it turned to a deep guffaw. “I was only having a laugh,” he said, red-faced as he straightened.

  “Oh, to be sure.” Minnie drew up her hand to drum at her lips. She frowned when she noticed the red stains. Her best pair of gloves were perfectly ruined now. “What’s your name?” she asked, dropping her hands to her side.

  “Alex.” He rubbed his midsection with a scowl. “How much do you have?”

  “You’re a pushy fellow. I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

  “I don’t like being chased across London because of some silly runaway,” he countered, leaning forward with an arched brow. “We’re even.”

  “Fair enough.” She wasn’t so naive to admit that this man, however pushy and annoying, could help solve her temporary setback—a protector of sorts until she saw herself settled. Minnie opened her purse and counted quietly, then cut the tiny sum in half as a precaution. “Eight shillings.”

  “Eight...” he said, trailing off as his thick brows furrowed. He studied her for a moment, grabbing her arm once again with his rough hands. Minnie tried to shake him off, but his grasp was firm, even as he picked up her bag and peered around the crates. “Come on.”
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  “Where are we going now?” He ignored her question, his hand tightening on her wrist. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  He didn’t slow his pace as he flashed her another smile over his shoulder. “No. New to town myself.”

  They stopped in front of a blue clapboard building, the clapboard bulging with age and leaning toward the cobbled streets. A window opened across the way and a woman tossed out a bucket of foul smelling liquid, only just missing a cart rambling by on the street.

  Minnie scrunched her nose and surveyed the others passing by as Alex knocked on the door. “We don’t have enough for two rooms,” she protested, reading the sign above the door.

  He knocked again then straightened his coat’s lapels and removed his cap. “We aren’t getting two rooms.” He straightened as Minnie stood there, gaping like a fish out of water. “Mrs. Marwick,” he said, winking cheekily. “Close your mouth, darling.”

  Before Minnie could reply, the door opened revealing a gray-haired woman with a crooked tooth piercing her bottom lip. “What do you want?”

  “Me and my wife would like to rent a room.”

  * * *

  To find out what happens next, grab your copy today. A PROPER SCANDAL is available for purchase and is also available in Kindle Unlimited.

  Also by Rebecca Paula

  Historical Romance

  Ravensdale Series

  Etiquette with the Devil, Book 1

  The Duke’s Improper Bride, Book 2

  A Proper Scandal, Book 3

  The Lady’s Forbidden Desire, Spring 2020 Book 4

  Standalone Historical Romance

  A Spy to Call My Own - Spring 2020

  (Previously published in Her Majesty’s Scoundrels anthology)

  Winter Hearts

  Contemporary Romance

  Sutton College Series

  Between Everything and Us