His Wallflower White: The Dark Duke’s Legacy

by Andresen, Tammy

  “You would never hurt me.”

  “There is a pain,” he answered. “The first time.”

  “That is different than real hurt. I’m ready for you.”

  Her words stunned him. This beautiful woman was so much more than he ever could have imagined. And as he sunk into her, breaking her maidenhead, he tried to tell her again, the depth of his emotion but it overwhelmed him.

  All he could manage was, “I love you,” over and over.

  And all she said in return was the single word, “Yes.”

  But that was enough.

  And as he slowly moved within her, he could feel her pain diminish and her pleasure build until her hips met his.

  They moved together, in perfect unison, until finally, he felt her shudder, her pleasure breaking. And then he let go of the stiff control he’d been using to hold on, his own orgasm crashing over him.

  It was more than he’d ever imagined, more than he’d ever experienced.

  No one would hurt his love. Ever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Millie looked out at the road, the dust kicking up behind them. They’d left London before the sun had risen and now, at close to noon, they’d made their way out of the city and onto the North Road.

  She knew they’d stop soon to change horses and her legs screamed for a stretch. Justice rode with them. Ben, Chloe, Dez and Fleur were in the carriage just behind.

  “How close to Dover will we travel?” Justice asked scratching his chin.

  Patrick held her hand, his fingers flexing against hers. “You know better than me, I would imagine. But based on the route that Ben showed me, not that close.”

  Justice grimaced. “Damn.”

  “Why?” she asked, leaning forward to look at her brother.

  He shrugged. “I’ve got unfinished business there.”

  “Is it with the shipping company or with Cliffside?” Their mother’s home had been granted in equal shares to all of them.

  Justice shook his head. “I don’t give a damn about Cliffside. Dez already gave Ben his share in exchange for the ships. If Ben wants to sell, I’ll take my part and use it to start our next venture.”

  “Which is?” Millie asked. It was an interesting idea. Perhaps her brother would rather have her share of the seaside home instead of the ring.

  Justice shrugged. “Not sure yet but I’ll know it when I find it and, if we’ve sold, I’ll be ready.”

  “So, if you’re not going to Dover for Cliffside that means that the business is the reason for your visit?”

  Justice shrugged. “Not really. If the treaty is signed, then the war will be over, which means we’ll be out of a job.”

  Millie shook her head. “If the war is over then won’t the borders open back up? Why is Parricide still fighting us if the smuggling business is about to disappear?”

  Justice scratched at his chin. “I’m not certain.” Then his gaze grew distant. “You know, that night we went to the ball, Parricide was there, along with the Russian diplomat.”

  Millie blinked. “You don’t think he’d try to stop the treaty so that he could keep smuggling, do you?”

  “I’ll ask Dez, but my impression is that the man is capable of anything.”

  A chill ran down her spine and she pressed closer to Patrick. Then another thought occurred to her. “If you’re not going to Dover because of the business and you’re not going because of the house, then why are you going?”

  To her complete amazement, the slightest touch of pink tinged her brother’s cheeks. “That’s not your concern,” he said with a decided harrumph.

  Millie dipped her chin, assessing her brother. What was going on with him? But as she opened her mouth to ask more, the carriage began to slow.

  Patrick sat up straighter.

  “Move out the way,” the driver called.

  “What’s happening?” Justice asked, twisting forward in his seat.

  A gunshot was his answer.

  Followed by a loud thump.

  Millie screamed, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. Justice tossed open the carriage door, hopping out into a crouch.

  “Driver’s all right!” he called into them as he pulled a pistol from his belt, beginning to load.

  Patrick turned to her. “Get down on the floor, love,” he whispered and then he hopped out, too.

  Millie did as he bid, crouching as low as she could on her hands and knees.

  “What do you want, Parricide?” Patrick yelled.

  Millie stifled another scream her arms tucking over her head. It was him. Will Parricide.

  “You must know by now,” Parricide called back. “I want the sister, of course.”

  She hated the coldness in his voice.

  Patrick had finished loading his pistol. “Might I ask why?”

  “Not that it’s your business, but Destrian and I have unfinished business. And as he loves his sister, she’ll help me ensure that it all gets done in an easy manner.”

  Justice had finished loading, too, and both men crouched behind the open carriage door, each leveling their pistols.

  But it was Patrick who answered. “As Destrian’s sister is now my wife, I’m afraid it is my business, and you’ll have to find another way to work things out with the Whites.”

  Another deafening blast filled the air, Millie covered her ears against the noise as the lead ball hit the carriage. Wood splintered, raining down on her as she ducked her head lower a gasping sob wrenching from her lips.

  The sound of another carriage filled her ears and she slumped in relief. Dez and Ben were almost here.

  But even as she thought it, another shot rang out and she heard the distant cry of a man.

  “By God, you got him,” Justice yelled as he started to stand.

  “He got back up, stay down,” Patrick snarled as he pulled Justice back down just before a shower of bullets hit the carriage.

  Millie covered her head with her arms, squeezing her eyes shut.

  She heard the scuffling of men, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and metal clashing, but she did as Patrick had said, and she remained crouched with her head covered. Truth be told, she was afraid to look.

  And she’d never appreciated her husband or her brothers more.

  “Millie,” Patrick said close to her ear. “Millie, are you all right?”

  And then a gentle hand came to her back.

  She tried to move her arms from around her head but they’d locked up, they refused to work. “Patrick,” she said a second before he was lifting her from the carriage floor.

  “Are you hit? Hurt?”

  He crushed her against his body and then lowered them both to the grass, his hands running all over her.

  “No, I don’t think so. Just…” she gasped in a breath. “Just frightened.”

  And then her eyes finally focused her gaze on his face. His battered and bruised face. “Patrick!”

  He glanced at her, an easy tenderness crinkling his eyes despite his haggard appearance. “I’m fine, too. Nothing that hasn’t happened to me a thousand times before.”

  She reached up and touched a bruise already forming on his cheekbone. “But...”

  “You should see what he did to the other men,” Justice called from his spot against the carriage wheel. “And he shot Parricide, too. Maybe he’ll die from the wound.” He’d slid down to sit in the dirt of the road, Ben and Dez on either side of him.

  “Men?” she trembled, attempting to sit up.

  Patrick shifted to help her gain her purchase. “Parricide attacked with about ten men. Apparently, he was tired of the solo effort.”

  She covered her mouth as she looked at her brothers, all battered and bruised. Her gaze darted from one to the other until they rested on Justice, a red stain growing on Justice’s breeches. “Justice,” she said, trying to scramble up.

  He looked down at his wound. “Bloody sword. But I’ll be fine. It’s not that deep.”

  Her gaze collided with Ben
’s. “How much closer is Dover?”

  Ben’s brows went up. “It’s only a day and a half ride from here.”

  She looked at Justice. As much as he’d irritated her, he’d also put himself at risk to keep her safe. “Meet us when you’re recovered.”

  “But what if Parricide attacks again?” Patrick asked.

  “For all we know, he’ll die,” Ben added even as Patrick held her closer. “From what I could see, Patrick shot him straight through the shoulder.”

  Justice gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Millie,” he said as he slowly started to rise. “For now, let’s find the nearest village and put ourselves back together. Then we can plan what to do next.”

  Patrick gave her another squeeze. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Thanks to you.”

  And even though her brothers were right there, he leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. “I told you, Millie. I love you. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

  “I love you, too,” she replied. She’d found her place. Her purpose and her life, here in this man’s arms.

  Her Wanton White

  The Dark’s Duke Legacy

  April 1815, Dover, England…

  Lord Justice White stood on the outskirts of a fucking ball, a crush of people crowding the large room as conversation and laughter filled the air. Justice participated in neither. Instead, he lamented the fates that had brought him to this exact moment.

  Justice hated society and nearly everyone in it. As the third son of a duke, he’d grown up around the opulence of England’s elite. He’d seen all the glitter and a fair bit of the gold that surrounded the upper crust and its participants. And he’d decided a long time ago that the shiny veneer only hid dirty darkness.

  Give him a back alley and a group of criminals any day.

  At least in that set, a man knew he was in the midst of trouble.

  Here at this ball, stuffed into clothes that caged his ability to move, everyone smiling and pretending to be happy, who could tell friend from foe?

  And there were enemies here. That’s the reason he’d come after years of quitting his former life with the ton. Because, though he hated society, Justice loved a good fight, and one was brewing.

  He glanced over to his two older brothers, each with a woman on his arm. Ben, the Duke of Whitehaven, was newly engaged while Dez, Lord Destrian White, was well on his way.

  He quirked a grin at that. The larger they were or however the saying went. His brothers had fallen hard.

  Fools, he thought as his grin spread wider.

  Perhaps it was the death of their father, the former duke and still a major asshole, that had convinced his brothers to finally succumb to the lure of marriage. Justice couldn’t be certain. All he knew was that he would never be that man. He’d never be standing on the edge of a party with a woman he was about to wed perched on his arm.

  It wasn’t just that his childhood had been a sham. Like society, the Duke of Whitehaven had looked picture perfect. He was rich and held a position power and prestige, surpassed by only the prince regent. But underneath he’d been ugly and mean, preferring to beat his children rather than hug them.

  Justice had hated his father with every ounce of his being, but once he’d made the decision to leave that life, leave his family, he’d been…happier.

  The rookeries of London were where he’d made a real home amongst fighters and brawlers. He’d found not only a profession as a bareknuckle boxer, but a place to live. A place where he’d been happy. Reasonably so. He’d found a way to channel his anger.

  Not that the dark parts of London didn’t have their pitfalls.

  But all the same, that life had felt real to him and not just some allusion. Men entered the ring with the intent of hitting. It was known. Unlike his father who masked his abuse as love.

  Still, when his brother Destrian had come to Justice and their brother Sayden with a proposition for a business, he’d been openminded.

  As long as he didn’t need to join the ranks of gentleman, he was game.

  Dez had set his two brothers up to manufacture gunpowder. Justice might have preferred if they’d actually been breaking the law but at least the job involved a solid element of danger.

  Not that Justice did much of the actual work. His end was more worksite safety. Meaning he made sure no workers stole their product and no outsiders sabotaged them. All in all, it was work he was good at. Enjoyed. It didn’t have quite the same satisfaction as being a fighter, but his face thanked him daily for remaining intact.

  Justice still did a fair bit of brawling. He found the act relieved the tension always brewing under the surface.

  Which led him back to tonight. And why he’d voluntarily attended this hellish soiree.

  Dez used his small fleet of ships to bring the gun powder to the front lines of the war. But one of those ships had been destroyed in a fire a fortnight ago and as Dez investigated, it became apparent that his second in command, William Parricide, had set the blaze.

  Worse yet, Parricide had done so because he was using Dez’s ship to import illegal wine from France. And he was in league with French spies.

  As the man in charge of security, Parricide posed a major threat to their business. And while Sayden took a great many risks in manufacturing, and Dez in shipping, it was time for Justice to do right and see this threat eliminated.

  But Justice would have inserted himself in the fight regardless of his obligations to his brothers. It’s what he did best.

  He looked around the ballroom, his arms crossed over his chest.

  A treaty was being negotiated by the powers of Europe to try and put a stop to the war, and a Russian delegate had come to England as part of those talks.

  In fact, he was here tonight.

  And while Dez had no proof, he worried that the delegate was in danger from the same men who’d blown up their ship. Parricide had a vested interest in the war’s continuation.

  Which meant there might be trouble tonight.

  And that was just what Justice liked.

  He drew in a breath as he scanned the room again. Up on the balcony, the delegate stood with a general. If Justice wasn’t mistaken, a third man he knew to be the Viscount of Smithfield.

  He did a sweep of the other guests around them, seeing no one of interest.

  And then someone caught his eye.

  Justice drew in a long slow gulp of air as his body tightened in response. He didn’t know if she was suspicious or just so stunning, he couldn’t look away. Her strawberry blonde hair was piled atop her head, the glints of red catching in the candlelight. Her gown had a shimmer of silver sparkled in the dim light and cinched her tiny waist. And the way she moved. Others walked but she glided up the stairs, her gloved hand skimming along the rail.

  He stared, watching the effortless sway of her hips, the lush curve of her ass as she ascended the stairs and started toward the delegate, the viscount, and the general.

  The crowd seemed to part for her and in moments she reached the three men he’d been watching. She greeted both the delegates and the general, then slipped her hand into the viscount’s arm. Her husband?

  It shouldn’t matter.

  But Justice took a few steps forward as he continued to stare. Was she perhaps a young wife married to a much older man? One who might be interested in the delights a certain fighter might be able to provide? Finding out would also mean meeting the Russian delegate. Which might be key in keeping him safe and catching Parricide.

  He took three more steps toward the stairs.

  He started up the grand stair, growing more enamored with his plan with each step. A tinkle of laughter filtered down to dance along his ear and down the skin of neck. Was it her? He glanced up again to check when he stopped halfway up the curved staircase.

  He’d been so entranced by the woman that he missed the man trailing behind her. Average height and medium brown hair, he looked as unrema
rkable as a man could. And yet, Justice knew for a fact, he was far from nondescript.

  Justice’s gut clenched. William Parricide. A criminal. A likely spy. And a possible murderer.

  And as Parricide approached the woman Justice had been eyeing, she let go of the viscount’s arm.

  Parricide reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

  Justice let out a growl.

  How was she connected to Parricide?

  There was only one way to find out. Cracking his neck, he finished the climb up the stairs.

  * * *

  Miss Violet Wright attempted to suppress the shiver of revulsion as Mr. Erwin Macklemeyer brought her hand to his lips.

  Next to her, her father beamed at her, his smile partially hidden by his large grey mustache. Resting his left arm on his stomach, he reached out his other hand to shake with the Macklemeyer. “Mr. Macklemeyer. Good of you to come.”

  “Glad to be here,” he replied, his gaze sweeping down Violet’s body and then back to her face. “It’s always a pleasure to spend time with your family, my lord.”

  Her father chuckled. “And you, son.” He did not use the term just as an endearment. Mr. Macklemeyer had come courting and her father had graciously accepted his overtures on behalf of his daughter.

  Because she didn’t have a choice.

  Violet had objected at first.

  It wasn’t Mr. Macklemeyer’s position as a merchant or even his rather generic appearance she didn’t like. He had the sort of face that blended into a crowd. Brown hair, brown eyes, regular nose, narrow shoulders, and average height. But she could have accepted all of that considering their position.

  Genteel poverty.

  Her uncle, a general and currently in command at the Dover Castle shoring up England’s home defenses, had kept her father from being sent to debtor’s prison. She might not have known this detail, it wasn’t usual for a lady or a daughter to be so aware of the family finances, but when she’d tried to reject Mr. Macklemeyer’s suit, her father had insisted.

  He’d informed Violet that she had no dowry and no prospects. Her clothing would be furnished by her uncle for the express purpose of finding a husband in the very near future, a rich one who would pay for the privilege and relieve her uncle of the burden of supporting them.