My Darling Duke

by Stacy Reid

  Alexander couldn’t say she was beautiful in the conventional sense, but she was arresting.

  He’d not lied when he mentioned the powerful force of curiosity that had compelled him to travel to London. Each newspaper mention had been a taunt, a beckoning lure, an artfully worded invitation, a curse, and Alexander had almost driven himself mad with the need to confront the charlatan impudently using his name and arousing his long-dead soul in such a manner.

  Yet here he was, and his curiosity had not abated. It had multiplied, infinitely, with no possibility of it ever ending, with so many confounding needs and wants desperately seeking to be assuaged.

  How terribly droll yet fascinating.

  This encounter had already revealed much about Miss Danvers.

  She’d never been kissed. No young buck or seasoned rake had ever tried to seduce her, or if they had attempted to, they had abysmally failed.

  She seemed to approach life with grace and humor. More than once she’d attempted to introduce levity into their unexpected encounter, despite the frantic fluttering of her pulse at the base of her throat.

  And the most astonishing revelation: He’d truly expected a hardened lady used to deceiving the world to get ahead. Yet Miss Danvers glowered with a unique innocence and appeared too soft and sweet to be real.

  Alexander caught a glimpse of vulnerability in Miss Danvers’s unguarded expression before she lowered her eyes. And his admiration for her mettle soared. Few ladies would deal with his appearance without descending into hysterics. But then her outrageous exploits as his supposed fiancée had already informed him of her daring nature and spine of steel for someone so young.

  She was gentle and proud, and in her eyes, he saw shame she’d had to lower herself to such deceptive manners to support her family. But a stubbornness borne from adversity let him know she would do it all over again.

  Though Alexander’s body remained unmoved, she aroused his mind. He wanted to know more…everything about her until this perplexing hunger was sated. And suddenly he needed to possess her more than his next breath.

  Foolish, of course, as he had nothing to offer her, certainly not pleasures of the flesh. His title, perhaps, but nothing more. There would never be a babe to fill her arms, he would never see her soft and replete with pleasure, and eventually, the cold loneliness would chain her—as it had imprisoned him for so long.

  Her gaze flicked behind him, then settled once more on his face. She lifted her chin, clearly attempting to be brave. “I believe it is time for me to return to the ballroom, Your Grace.”

  “Then go,” he murmured.

  Her lids lowered, shadowing her expressive eyes. She dipped into a curtsy. “I bid you good evening…Alexander.”

  How soft and curious and achingly tender she sounded.

  And that bit of sweetly offered intimacy when she had been so reluctant before sealed her fate. “I believe I shall enjoy the duration of our attachment, Miss Danvers. I shall call upon you tomorrow at Portman Square by noon. I will be received with all cordiality.”

  She stumbled slightly, her hand darting out to grip the padded armrest of a chair for balance. “Your Grace…I…”

  “We will discuss the terms of our engagement then.”

  Miss Danvers gave him an agitated look and seemingly could make no reply.

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. What a pity she had replaced her gloves. Alexander turned around and opened the door to his waiting servant and bath chair. With a silent groan of relief, he settled into the chair and was pushed away.

  The travel hadn’t been easy, for he had spent days alternating between being in the carriage and on horseback traveling from Perthshire to London. The few times he had stayed overnights at inns, his sleep had been restless and pain filled.

  “To the carriage, Your Grace?” his manservant Hoyt asked, clearly sensing his master’s need for privacy.

  “Yes.” Alexander would send a note to Sanderson in the morning. The man had been a friend in the past, and it was he who had closed himself from Sanderson while Alexander healed in Scotland.

  “Was the meeting all that you expected, Your Grace?”

  Alexander swore his servants were too interested in his private life. Their excitement as he’d packed for the journey had been appalling, and they had made no effort to contain their hopes of a duchess at last. He’d even discovered the damn butler in the servants’ parlor, reading the scandal sheets to all fifty servants of his castle, who had appeared to be listening with rapt attention and bated breath.

  Curse them, he thought with amusement.

  “It went better than I expected,” he allowed, blaming himself for their impudence, which he’d permitted to go unchecked over the years.

  He felt his manservant’s satisfaction as he replied, “Very well, Your Grace.”

  As his man pushed his chair along the hallway, he could feel Miss Danvers’s stare boring into them. Alexander had no earthly idea why the visceral need to be in her presence had flourished and bloomed through his heart. Nothing good could come of it. She could be neither his mistress nor his duchess. The notion of friendship had sprung from a well of confusion over the feelings she roused. No doubt he had frightened her immensely, and she had no notion of what to make of his demands.

  That makes two of us, Miss Danvers…

  …

  The next morning, Kitty reposed by the windows facing the small side garden of their town house, waiting for the arrival of the Duke of Thornton with admirable equanimity. And upon a new plush rose-colored armchair, Kitty sat, the small notebook with the sum of all she owed the duke opened on her lap.

  Almost a thousand pounds. A fortune she had no hope of repaying soon.

  A careful economy and a well-situated post as a governess should allow her to repay him half in several years. With a scowl, she slammed the notebook closed. How foolish she had been to allow that solicitor to convince her to let the town house, have it furnished, and to hire more staff than her family had been accustomed to. She’d feared her refusal would be suspicious, but all that careful plotting, and the duke had still come for her.

  And had alarmingly declared, in a no-nonsense fashion, that they would be friends. How preposterous. How frightening…and how thrilling. Surely a friendship of sorts would be quite beneficial to her family. The tentative connections they’d been slowly forming would strengthen, and the future for her sisters seemed infinitely brighter.

  Yet Kitty was beside herself.

  That was an understatement. She felt ridiculously vulnerable and out of sorts and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep since returning from the ball. News would circulate of the duke in town for the first time in years, and his arrival portended only trouble.

  Her mother had accompanied Judith and Henrietta to the park on a picnic, and Anna had taken a ride with the baron in his Landeau with their lady’s maid as chaperone. Kitty had not informed anyone the duke was to call, sensing all plans for the day would have been canceled. It had taken some finessing on her part, but Anna had promised to keep her confidence about the duke’s arrival at the ball. Of course, by the time her mother and sisters returned home, they would be fully aware, for the news was certainly already about town.

  Kitty hadn’t wanted her family to meet the duke until she was much more confident of their arrangement. Friends indeed. Kissing friends? As if she were a light-skirts or someone easily persuaded to act wantonly.

  Kitty scowled. Her ruse might have been outrageous, but she would disabuse the notion that he was allowed any sort of liberties for his silence and participation.

  In anticipation of his call, she had dressed in her prettiest day gown and had artfully arranged her hair in a style of fashion. The best of refreshments had been ordered, the already spotless drawing room had been aired, and fresh flowers—roses and tulips—graced the room
. When the butler came to announce His Grace, the Duke of Thornton had come to call, she almost cried her relief.

  She surged to her feet when he strolled in, the epitome of masculine grace and confidence. The duke did not walk with a cane of assistance, and for someone who had been missing from society for so long, he appeared a man of fashion immaculately garbed in fawn-colored breeches and waistcoat, knee-high walking boots, a dark blue jacket, and an exquisitely tied cravat.

  He stopped, almost in the arch entrance, and their gazes met across the expanse of the room. There was no mask, and the severity of his scars in the daylight were more pronounced and hinted at a painful past and perhaps a lonely road to healing.

  What had happened? The questions tumbled in her mind, desperate to be voiced, but she held them back. According to the rules of etiquette, it would be distasteful to intrude upon his privacy in such a brash manner when they had no familiarity between them.

  He had a presence that was both intimidating and devilish. Kitty’s breath hitched at the flash of emotions in his eyes, a hint of a shadow, perhaps uncertainty. She stared at him, quite astonished.

  Was it that he, too, was nervous?

  It seemed so improbable, yet…

  She inhaled softly to steady her nerves, then dipped into a deep curtsy before rising. Kitty thought it prudent to keep her gaze discreetly lowered. “Your Grace, how delightful to see you again.”

  “I do not believe it for a moment.”

  “Believe what, Your Grace?” she asked without removing her eyes from the elegance of his tied cravat.

  “This sweet, contrite, submissive act, my impudent minx.”

  That shocking, outrageous description had her snapping her gaze to his in undisguised alarm. The dictates of civility forbade her from uttering a scathing retort, and she did not know the manner of this man. They assessed each other in a silent duel of sorts, and it befuddled her to see the crafty humor in his gaze.

  The duke strolled farther into the room. “So, we are delighted, then, and not apprehensive to see me?”

  Clearly the duke wasn’t one for polite subterfuge. “Of course not. Are we not to be friends of sorts?” She forced out the words as if such a thing could ever be a reasonable proposition.

  “I can fairly see that you are biting your tongue, Miss Danvers. I’ve roused your ire.”

  “A lady should never be uncivil, you know,” Kitty said with a small, self-conscious laugh.

  His eyes were sharp and assessing upon her person. “I wonder, can one be crafty and delightfully wicked and still pretend quaint gentility and a soft heart, which define ladylike qualities?”

  She gasped softly at this effrontery and could only gaze at him open-mouthed. “You’ve visited to cross wits with me, Your Grace? Or to discuss the terms of our…attachment?”

  He smiled, and her heart trembled.

  She looked at him with misgiving and said, “Please, won’t you be seated? I will ring for refreshments.”

  He lowered himself to the single sofa opposite her. The housekeeper, who’d been on alert of his arrival and possibly just as anxious as Kitty, bustled in with a tea service.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hedgepole,” Kitty murmured, preparing tea for the duke.

  She felt the weight of his stare, the way his gaze seemed to trace every visible inch of her.

  Kitty handed him a cup with a saucer, which seemed to be swallowed between his large yet surprisingly elegant hands. Fine networks of scars slashed ragged over the back of his left hand. Her gaze lingered a moment there before snapping up to his face.

  He regarded her over the rim of his cup as he took several sips. The cup was then lowered to the small walnut table between them. “I passed an overly enthusiastic journalist lingering by your front door. He tried to engage me in a conversation, but I did not oblige the man.”

  She cleared her throat. “Your resurrection is noteworthy and will add fuel to the flames that had already been dancing around me. You…you have been away for years. I am still in disbelief you are actually sitting before me.”

  A brief smile touched his lips, but he made no reply, seemingly content with staring at her. Surely he knew such an unabashed regard was rude and provoking.

  “Miss Danvers—”

  “Your Grace—”

  She detected laughter in his steady gaze and was disconcerted by it.

  “It seems we are both eager to get to the heart of our compromise.”

  Kitty laughed, a trifle nervously. “I do admit I have been baffled as to how a…friendship with me is beneficial to you, Your Grace.”

  There it was again, a flash of haunting shadows in his eyes.

  “I haven’t found much to fascinate me in recent years. When I do find such a treasure, I explore it thoroughly until I am satisfied.”

  Dear God. And she was that treasure? “And then?”

  “Then I move on to the next interesting one,” he said with mild surprise, as if that thought should be evident.

  An odd chill of warning kissed down her spine. Whatever transaction she entered into with this man, she would have to be infinitely careful, lest her heart become tangled only to be casually discarded later.

  “I see,” she said softly, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “Firstly, I would like to point out that no one encouraged me in this folly. My family is ignorant of the matter, entirely blameless, and I would like to keep it that way.”

  “Very well.”

  “And to be clear…you will not reveal to anyone within society that our engagement is a farce?”

  “For a price, of course,” he smoothly replied with such arrogant self-assurance, it set her teeth on edge.

  It seemed he would exact his pound of flesh for her audacity. “The price of friendship,” she reiterated carefully.

  “Hmm.”

  “What will you require of me?” she murmured.

  “We shall spend time together.” His manner was very much that of a man accustomed to command. “I’ve never had a friend of the opposite sex…or one as frightfully interesting as yourself, Miss Danvers.”

  She stared at him, thinking surely that could not be it. The benefits of this arrangement were far greater for her. Why would he want to be friends with her, someone who had shamelessly used his title and connections?

  Her breath hitched softly as an improbable idea caught at the edges of her thoughts.

  He is lonely.

  The awareness pierced her, and she stared at him helplessly.

  Who are you? An inexplicable need to know what his life had been like for the past several years filled her. “How will we be friends, Your Grace? Surely you see how odd such a notion is.”

  “Ah…let that be my concern.”

  She wondered if now was the time to point out that they would never be kissing friends. “There will be no impropriety.” She dared to sniff derisively.

  A faint glint of humor appeared in his eyes. “You’ll attend Lady Carnforth’s ball tomorrow. We’ll start from there. Then perhaps the theater. I haven’t seen the stage in years.” There was a hint of surprised yearning in his tone. “Perhaps an outing to the museum. It shall be whatever interests me, and I’ll require your company for it.”

  A peculiar jolt darted through her, with an unknown sensation that disappeared too fast for her to give it name. “You’ve been away from society,” she said. “Lady Carnforth is a fearsome dragon and is known for her sarcastic wit and outrageous, cutting tongue. Her yearly summer ball is legendary among society. Only the who’s who were invited. I assure you I am not on that list despite my recent popularity.”

  He made a noncommittal sound, as if thoroughly unsure of how to relate to that bit of information.

  “You’ll receive an invitation.” How confident he sounded.

  She realized for him to be aware of the ball, afte
r just newly returned to town, he would have gotten a belated invitation. Kitty supposed every hostess would be clamoring to have the elusive duke at their balls, literary saloons, and drawing rooms. Had he missed the elegancies of life the ton had to offer? “The ball is tomorrow. If I receive an invitation, I would attend with my sister and mamma.”

  The duke smiled, which made his forbidding countenance appear very much more pleasing. It also tugged her gaze to the rope of scars marring his face. Why had he worn a mask last night but not today?

  “You honor me, Miss Danvers,” he said with a smooth charm that belied the cool watchfulness of his gaze.

  It was as if he wanted to court her. Preposterous, of course. They were to simply act as if they had an attachment with all the intimacies and expectations of a real engagement.

  The notion was frightening and exquisite all at once. Anna’s chance of securing a well-connected match was even more possible.

  But after such public outings, the end of their engagement would ruin all chances for Kitty of any respectable alliance. Society would remember for years that the Duke of Thornton had jilted her, and questions of her virtue and faults would linger in their minds. This was a deeper ruination than she’d imagined, but she was willing to pay whatever price, within respectable reason.

  Kitty owned that the advantages of such an alliance would outweigh the drawbacks. If they could have a six-month engagement, that would be perfect. Perhaps even Judith could be engaged by the end of the season. In one fell swoop both her sisters could have their futures secured.

  Oh, it would be worth it in every way. For when it would come time for Henrietta to have her season, Kitty’s scandal would be old, and Anna and Judith would be perfectly positioned to sponsor her.

  She smiled at him tentatively.

  He then said, “And your presence at my estate in Scotland for a week or two is required. Without chaperone.”

  She was for the moment unable to find words to express her bewilderment. “I beg your pardon!” she finally cried, quite taken aback.