The Duke: A Standalone Royal Billionaire Novel

by Laurence, Selena

  He holds up a tea cup, asking if I want any. I shake my head. I’d forgotten how much tea we drink here. I’ve lost my taste for it. What I’d really like is a nice strong cup of coffee from Starbucks. The Americans are rubbing off on me.

  He sips from his own tea cup before leaning back in the chair at the cherry wood conference table.

  “Honestly, I don’t think he had illusions that you wouldn’t enter into a marriage of convenience. After all, he didn’t give you enough time to fall in love and do things the traditional way. He wanted you to be tied to England, so you’d have to stay here and manage the company.”

  “He assumed I’d grab a British bride, I guess,” I say, shaking my head at my grandfather’s machinations. He took a big gamble with his final requirement.

  “I believe he did, and so, by marrying an American, it could be argued that his wishes are already moot. You fulfilled the requirement in a way he hadn’t foreseen, so it’s really nonsense to debate the validity of the marriage.”

  “Well, there’s a symmetry in that,” I tell him as I stand and gather my belongings. “I spent most of my life trying to fulfill my grandfather’s requirements and failing to do it the way he’d wished.”

  The lawyer stands and reaches a hand across the table to me. I shake it and then turn toward the door.

  “Your Grace,” he says before I can walk out.

  I turn to look at him.

  “Your grandfather was a difficult man, but one of the last things he ever said to me was at the same time he had that provision added to his will, a few weeks before his death.”

  I’m somewhat shocked, I hadn’t realized he’d changed the will that recently.

  “And what did he say?” I ask.

  “He told me that his greatest fear was that the company would end up in hands other than yours. He wanted you here in England because he felt, without a doubt, you were the man who should inherit the company.” He pauses, a small smile on his face. “His methods may have been distasteful, but his ends were often honorable.”

  I swallow hard to dissolve the hint of something deeper than I’ve ever wanted to acknowledge about my grandfather, and just nod at the lawyer. Then I walk out the door and turn my mind to the lovely redhead waiting at home, because I may never understand my grandfather, but I understand the way Kat feels in my arms and, right now, that’s enough.

  37

  Kat

  “I want to go to the offices with you,” I tell Winston as we lie in bed on a rainy morning a few days after the funeral.

  “Why in the world would you want to do that?” he asks, running a palm over my breast, trying to distract me because he’s a distracting bastard.

  “You’ve gone every day this week,” I remind him.

  “Yes, because I have a ridiculous number of things to do there, and David to keep an eye on since the challenge he’s filed forbids me from firing him until the court decides if it will hear the case.”

  “You told me there was a Duchess’s Foundation that was run out of the office.”

  “Yes…” He levers up on one elbow to gaze down at me. His blue eyes are so pretty I do almost get distracted, but then I bite the inside of my cheek to snap out of the daze.

  “Don’t you think people will find it odd that the new Duchess never comes in to see the work being done in her name?”

  He tugs the sheet down, baring me to his gaze. Then, looking like a punch-drunk sailor, he skims a finger down my torso. “Maybe the new Duchess isn’t interested in philanthropy,” he murmurs.

  I grab his finger and remove it from my skin, even though I was very interested to see where it was going next. “Maybe she is,” I reply firmly.

  He looks me in the eyes then, his brow somewhat furrowed. “You’re serious?”

  “Completely,” I tell him.

  He seems to consider it and I remember the way he dismissed my questions about it when we first arrived in London. If he does that again, I’m not sure who I’ll hire to kick his ass, but I feel certain Samuel can find me someone. I’ve made serious inroads with the old guy.

  “I guess it would be fine for you to come in and learn about the Foundation,” he finally answers.

  I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “Really?”

  He laughs and kisses me on the nose. “Yes, really. The current slate of grants is underway, and the next selection cycle doesn’t happen for ten months, but if you’d like to understand how it all works and make suggestions about something, feel free.” He pauses, and when he speaks again my whole heart just skips one long, painful beat. “You are the Duchess, after all.”

  The Duchess. Me. I really am, and each day that goes by I find myself wanting to be the Duchess more and more. I want to be here to help Win, I want to sleep in his bed, and share in his life. Over the last week we’ve talked about so many things—his family, their businesses, the Norsemen and ideas he has for the team. And he’s listened. Listened to stories about my brothers and my grandmother. He’s listened to my plans for my DJ business, and he’s even gotten on Skype with me to call Darnell.

  Winston can still be stuffy and intolerant and annoying. But I’ve learned he can also be kind, and thoughtful, and really funny sometimes. He’s so much more complicated than I would have guessed.

  And he’s been through a lot more than anyone knows. From the outside, he seems like the poster boy for privilege—handsome, wealthy, intelligent. But now that I’ve met his family and heard about his childhood, I’ve come to realize that if anyone needs a Duchess, it’s him. He’s never been anything but alone, never done anything but his duty. Never once in his whole life has Winston had someone on his side. Someone who is there for him, not his money or his power or his fame. I want to be that someone.

  The only problem is, I’m not sure he feels the same. While we spend all night wrapped in each other’s arms, Winston hasn’t had any more talks with me about what all this means or where it’s going. We don’t even know when we’ll be going back home, much less if we’ll continue this once we get there. But every day that goes by, I’m getting more and more attached, not just to the idea of Winston, but the reality of him. And now I’m afraid he’s going to break my heart.

  I blink and look back up at this beautiful man who is actually, legally, my husband, and I know that soon it’s going to be too late. Soon, I won’t be able to go back to who I was because he will have changed me forever. I just can’t seem to make it stop.

  “So, can you be ready to go to the office in an hour?” he asks, sitting up and stretching those long, muscular arms of his.

  “Um, yeah.” My voice sounds breathless. I totally blame his ass. “An hour sounds great.”

  “Good, I’ll phone ahead to tell them you’re coming, then I’ll have Deena make up a breakfast tray and bring it up for you. Why don’t you take the first shower?”

  I nod and he climbs out of bed, while my eyes linger on his powerful, lean body. He picks up the sweats and t-shirt he left draped over a chair last night and pulls them on, then walks back to the bed.

  “Come on and get up, Your Grace,” he whispers as he leans down and kisses me on the lips. “Otherwise, we’ll never make it to the office at all.”

  Then he winks and cracks my heart wide open.

  * * *

  “We’re so happy to have you here, Your Grace,” the perky blonde who runs the Duchess’s Foundation tells me after Winston’s office manager has introduced us.

  “Thank you. Can I ask you a question before we get into the Foundation business?”

  “Of course.”

  I glance around at all the busy worker bees in their cubicles and conference rooms. Then, I lean forward a bit. “Do you have to call me Your Grace?” I finally ask quietly.

  She bursts into laughter, and I feel a flush cover my cheeks. The truth is, it was fun at first, and when Winston says it, it’s sexy, but I’m starting to wish someone would just call me plain old Kat. Maybe I’m getting homesick or something, but the ti
tle gets a little old.

  “I’m sorry,” Deirdra says after she stops laughing. “It’s just that we were specifically told to call you that because your husband thought you liked it. Being American and all.” She raises an eyebrow at me, and then we both laugh.

  “I’ll admit it was fun the first couple of days, and I do love it from people I don’t like—” My mind races to David, who ought to be made to call me Your Grace forever and ever—“but I’m still Kat, and I’d love it if you’d call me that instead.”

  She smiles and puts out her hand to shake mine. “It’s nice to meet you, Kat.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I answer.

  Deirdra takes me into one of the conference rooms where there are several stacks of brochures and paperwork laid out. She gestures for me to take the seat at the head of the table, and she sits to my right.

  “We really are thrilled to have you here, Kat,” she begins. “The last Duchess passed away several years ago, and I believe the late Duke felt that this foundation was more of a…” She pauses, and I can tell she’s looking for a diplomatic way to phrase something. “A hobby or a diversion.”

  I nod. After everything I’ve heard about the old man, it doesn’t surprise me that he’d dismiss his wife’s foundation as unimportant. “But it isn’t, right?” I ask.

  Deirdra smiles. I can tell already we’re going to get along well. “This foundation manages fifty million pounds in assets and distributes the proceeds to nearly a dozen different organizations in the greater London area each year.”

  She goes on to explain their funding cycle, application process, and which organizations have been funded repeatedly for the last several years.

  “I’m wondering something,” I say as she pauses for a moment in her briefing. “You said the groups that receive funding have to be related to literacy, homelessness, or prenatal health. Why those topics? Who decided that?”

  She nods, reaching into her seemingly bottomless stack of papers before extracting one and handing it to me.

  “This is the official letter the late Duchess wrote providing those parameters.”

  I skim over it. “So, this is the only reason? Just because she thought those were things she wanted to fund?”

  “Yes,” Deirdra says. “The entire point of the Foundation was for the Duchess to have her own funds and staff to manage, and then she could do philanthropic work however she wanted.”

  Huh. In other words, the Duke handed her $50 million pounds so she’d quit harping on him about needing something to do.

  “If I were to write a letter like this, could I change the types of organizations we’re funding?” I ask.

  Deirdra smiles. “Of course. You’re the Duchess and it’s your fund.”

  I try to suppress the grin that wants to slide across my face. Because this is a project I can really get into.

  “Good,” I tell my very own foundation manager. “Because I have some ideas.”

  Then we dig in and get to work.

  38

  Winston

  It’s past four in the afternoon when I finally find a moment to peek in the conference room where I’m told Kat has been holed up all afternoon. I crack open the door and find her leaning her beautiful behind on the top of my conference table while she talks, and Deirdra, the Foundation director, frantically types notes. They’re surrounded by stacks of papers, brochures, and leftover takeaway boxes.

  “Oh!” Kat squeaks when I step into the room. “Is it time to go already?” Her brown eyes are shining like dark jewels and her hair that she’d put up to coordinate with her slim blue dress, has begun to do what it does—spring free. I’ve never spent time with a woman with curly hair, but I’m learning that it’s as impossible to tame as Kat herself.

  “There’s no rush,” I tell her, leaning against the doorframe and smiling. Her cheeks are flushed, and I can tell she’s been having much more fun than I have. “I just thought I’d see if you were still here or had gotten bored and gone home.”

  Deirdra spins her chair to face me, her eyes also alight with excitement. “You wouldn’t believe what amazing ideas your wife has, Sir.”

  I raise an eyebrow and smile. I’m sure she has ideas for miles. I’m a little concerned about how appropriate they might be. Although, even I have to admit that shaking up the Ducal holdings a bit is probably in order.

  “She’s definitely not without ideas,” I hedge, winking at Kat.

  “No, she’s not, but they’re some of the best ideas we’ve heard in years. Really, you’re going to be blown away by what we’re drafting up.”

  I grin. “Good, I’m looking forward to it.”

  “But you can’t hear until we have everything perfect,” Kat scolds. “So no harassing the staff to leak the information.”

  “All right. I solemnly swear not to force anyone to spill the secret. How’s that?”

  Kat’s gaze narrows as she considers it. “That’ll do.”

  Deirdra laughs and Kat and I agree to finish up in the next hour so we can go to dinner.

  After I leave Kat and her new best friend, I make my way down the hall to the corner office that is now mine. I haven’t actually been in it yet today because I was roped into meetings the moment I entered the building. I open the door and am met with the sight of David sitting behind my desk, rifling through the drawers.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I ask, my voice deadly cold. As cold as his ethics apparently are when he’s after something.

  He startles and stands briskly from the chair.

  “Grandfather kept some files here that I need.” I can see in his eyes that he’s lying—or, at the very least, not being entirely truthful.

  I give him a look that clearly communicates he needs to get out of the room before I decide to toss him out the wall of glass behind him.

  He scurries out from around the desk, a file folder clutched in his oily paw.

  “If you need something in this office,” I tell him, “you will put a request in writing to my assistant, and either he or I will get you the item. Do you understand?”

  He sneers at me, but then I hold out my hand for the file.

  “You’re joking,” he sputters.

  I just wiggle my fingers impatiently.

  He huffs out a breath in anger before slapping the file into my waiting hand.

  “I can not wait to get you out of here,” he snarls, continuing to the door.

  “David?” I ask

  He pauses, hand on the door handle, his back to me.

  “I’m revoking your access to all files and records in the office, as well as to the building. I may not be able to fire you, but I don’t have to give you a free pass to sabotage the company. Consider yourself officially on leave with pay. Don’t set foot here again or I’ll have security escort you out.”

  I see the tension roll through him, his back and shoulders tightening as his neck turns red.

  “Fuck you, Winston,” he declares before slamming out of my office.

  I walk to the phone on the desk and pick it up, dialing my assistant, Mark. After I’ve given him directions to shut down all access David has to the office data, I call the security at the front desk.

  “Yes, Mr. Cauldwell,” the head of security for the building answers.

  “Good afternoon, Louis,” I say cheerfully. “I wanted to make sure you knew we have a name to add to the building’s blacklist.”

  “Yes, of course, Sir.”

  I give him David’s name, and I have to hand it to him, he doesn’t skip a beat. A consummate professional, that one. I make a mental note to have Mark send Louis and his staff a gift basket. Anyone who can help keep David out of my hair gets a bonus of some sort.

  After I hang up the phone, I finally take a look at the file folder I confiscated. The tab reads, Xavier Flats. It’s a London residential tower we’ve invested in. A mix of what are supposed to be affordable units and market-rate, although, in London, the definition of affor
dable is still pretty steep.

  I wonder why he was after this particular file, since the project finished with construction two years ago. David has been the company’s primary project manager for years. His job ends once the project is off the ground, whether that be implementing a new accounting system, or the design and construction of a building. I sit and begin to sift through the papers in the file, trying to suss out what about this particular file made him willing to risk my wrath.

  Most of the file is copies of contracts with the various entities that built the project—plumbing contractors, electrical contractors, structural engineers. But mixed in with all of that is the project budget—ten pages of expenses and revenues printed out from the electronic files.

  But the numbers seem…off somehow. I know the original investment in the project, and I feel certain if I were to total up these expenses, they would be much higher than the amount we invested. But there’s simply not enough information here, so I send an email to our chief financial officer requesting he get me the complete files on the project.

  I sit and look at those numbers a bit longer, but they don’t tell me anything else all by themselves. I’ll have to wait until I have all the information. But the rest of the afternoon, all I can wonder is what David’s been up to, and if it has anything to do with his hatred of me.

  * * *

  The next week flies by, and I have to admit that the pattern we’ve developed seems to suit Kat and me. In the mornings, we go into the office together, and she works on foundation business while I try to wrangle the rest of the company. My grandfather ran a pretty tight ship, but I can tell his age had begun to affect things. There are gaps in records, bits of missing information, procedures that weren’t being followed. It’s not anything that’s impacted the company’s bottom line, but if allowed to continue, it could eventually.