The Duke’s Twin

by Lauren Smith

  “I’m fine, darling. The best lovers know when to give pleasure without expecting it in return.” He caressed the back of her neck with one hand, massaging her muscles. It felt so wonderful to be cared for like that.

  “Becca?” Her mother’s shout dragged her from the depths of quiet joy.

  “Becca, where are you?” Her father’s voice joined in. They sounded nearby.

  The duke sighed, fisting his hands in the hair at the nape of her neck, frustration lining his face. He rested his forehead against hers, his dark lashes fanning down as he closed his eyes.

  “I wish I didn’t have to let you go.” The way he said it sounded as though he meant more than just this moment. As though he didn’t ever want to let her leave him. But that had to be wishful thinking on her part. A man like the Duke of Wiltshire would not feel that way about someone like her. Not when he could have whomever he wanted.

  “We ought to go back, I suppose,” he said glumly, helping her smooth her clothes back into place. When she tried to give him his coat, he shook his head.

  “Keep it on. I want to know you’re warm until we return to the manor.” He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek and tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

  Almost numb with disappointment at the interruption of the best moment of her life, she touched her kiss-swollen lips and allowed Wiltshire to lead her through the misting rain back toward the manor house. The brief flare of wondrous passion was over, but she clung to the memory of it and the warmth it could provide. It might be the only such experience she’d ever have.

  5

  Rebecca had to fight to contain her excitement as she followed the Duke of Wiltshire out of the stables. His groom led the two beautiful geldings they’d chosen, one a red roan color and the other a snowy white with gray legs and a dappled mane. Rebecca straightened her riding habit, glad to see the white gelding was wearing a standard saddle.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have a sidesaddle,” Wiltshire said. “Is that all right?”

  “Oh yes, of course, quite fine,” she assured him. “Papa lets me ride astride when we are in the country. I much prefer it. So long as you don’t mind the scandal should anyone see us.”

  Wiltshire shot her that cocky grin. “Scandals are my specialty.” He winked, and she laughed.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard. You are considered the picture of respectability back in London.”

  “Not everything reaches the ears of society in London, my dear.”

  They rode for a few miles, stopping at the top of a hill that faced a lovely gray-stoned house surrounded by a field of wildflowers. It was the most beautiful view she’d ever seen, somehow even more beautiful than the impressive sight of Wiltshire Manor. Whoever lived here, Rebecca decided, was blessed. The house was by no means small, except when compared to the duke’s home, but it seemed cozier and more intimate. The wild and colorful surroundings of the fields of flowers and the distant gardens beyond were both bewitching and inviting.

  “Who lives there? Is that one of your neighbors?” she asked.

  “That…that is Beresford House. Miles lives there. Quaint little place compared to the manor house, don’t you think?”

  “I rather like quaint little places when possible. I don’t mean to say that your place isn’t wonderful, Your Grace. It’s just all that extra space must hardly ever get used unless you are entertaining.” She didn’t want him to think she didn’t like the manor house, but a place like this, Miles’s home, seemed to be perfect.

  “I agree with you. Miles strives to makes his home most warm and welcoming,” the duke said softly.

  But if the duke truly wishes to court me, and if we marry, this would never be my home…

  “Let’s ride on. Race you to the end of the meadow!” the duke challenged.

  She followed behind, laughing, lying low over her mount so she could try to beat him. For a moment, her worries were forgotten as she fell completely and irrevocably in love with the duke. For that moment, anything felt possible.

  Miles had to see Rebecca again. After their afternoon alone where they’d spent at least an hour kissing and holding one another in a meadow, he was desperate to have a moment alone to talk with her. Justin had said that he was ready to propose to Lydia, and both brothers had decided to tell their respective ladies the truth privately after dinner.

  Dinner hadn’t been as intimate as he’d wished, however. Not with Mrs. Livingston trying to shove Lydia at him all evening, hoping to distract him from Rebecca, a fact that Rebecca could hardly miss. It was time to end the charade and reveal the truth.

  When he felt the time was right, he went in search of her bedchamber. The door was slightly ajar, and strains of a conversation trickled out into the hallway.

  “You must cease this nonsense, Becca. Stop throwing yourself at the duke. He mustn’t be distracted if he’s to marry Lydia. You’ve been underfoot so often that the duke’s brother has been paying court to your sister instead of the duke. We cannot allow this to continue.”

  “Mama, it’s clear Lydia prefers Mr. Beresford to his lordship. Why can’t she—?” Rebecca began.

  Mrs. Livingston scoffed. “Lydia does not know what she prefers. Becca, dear. I love you, but you and I both know you are not suited to be a duchess. The balls and parties and responsibilities? You’ve never wanted that life. Lydia was born for it.”

  The words burned him. Rebecca’s own mother valued her so little? No one should suffer hearing that, especially not a woman like Rebecca. What did her mother know of beauty? She had the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen and a smile that made his heart turn over. She was kind, amusing, and genuine.

  “I like him, Mama, and I believe he likes me.” Rebecca’s voice was so soft Miles wondered if he’d even heard it.

  “Oh, Becca, dear, how could he? I know it might appear that way, but he doesn’t. You are intelligent and educated, my dear, but a man like the duke requires someone beautiful, outgoing, and witty.”

  Miles’s stomach twisted. Mrs. Livingston truly believed her daughter wasn’t good enough. And the worst part was she wasn’t even being cruel, but rather pitying Rebecca for her perceived failings. It took every ounce of his will to stay hidden as Mrs. Livingston exited the room. He shrouded himself in the shadows as he watched her leave.

  Once she was gone, he crept to the door and peered inside. Rebecca was lying across her bed, her face buried in a pillow. Her unbound chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders. A quiet little sob escaped her, and whatever invisible barrier that had been keeping him at bay crumbled. He slid inside and locked the door. She shifted on the bed and raised her tearstained face.

  In that instant he knew he was in love with her. This quiet, unassuming woman who was not as blessed as her sister in parental love, despite the size of her own heart. In the few short days he’d been around her, he’d become her secret champion. And somehow along the way she’d won him over without even trying.

  He moved to the bed. “Becca, love, you are killing me.”

  She wiped at her eyes and turned her face away, a deep blush coloring her cheeks.

  “My lord, you mustn’t be here. It isn’t proper. I know you cannot wish to be bound to me, so we should not continue this any longer. Please go.” The despair in her voice sent bolts of pain through him.

  “No,” he growled. “I told you that I wished to court you. I meant it.”

  She gazed up at him as he stalked over to her. “No?”

  “I’m not leaving. Hell, woman, I mean to marry you.” He cupped her chin and tilted her face up to his.

  Her eyes were twin pools, churning like seas shattered by storms. “What?”

  “I know your hearing is better than that, Becca. I love you and want to marry you.” He softened his gaze. “But before you give me your answer, I first have a confession to make. Please promise me that you will hear me out. And know that my feelings for you will not change. And I hope that what you feel for me will not change eith
er.”

  She nodded slowly and licked her lips.

  “I’m not…Justin. I’m Miles. My brother and I switched places before your family arrived. The real duke has been courting your sister all along.”

  Rebecca swayed. Dizziness swamped her. She’d fallen in love with the second brother, not the first? Deep confusion flooded her along with another confusing feeling—relief. She had never wanted to be a duchess; she only knew she wanted to be with this man, not the title attached to him. All that mattered was that he loved her.

  But she did have questions.

  “Why? Why would you switch places with Lord Wiltshire?” she asked as she wiped at her cheeks, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears her mother had caused her. A horrible thought occurred to her. “This wasn’t part of some sort of joke, was it?”

  Miles looked suddenly bashful and apologetic. “No. No joke. It wasn’t my idea, I assure you. Nor was it done for your benefit. Justin wanted to make sure Lydia could love a man like him without his having a title. Neither of us expected a consequence of this deception to be for me to fall in love with you. I never expected to love anyone.”

  “You love me?” She had to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  He sat down on the bed and peeled off his boots. “Yes.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get in this bed and compromise you so thoroughly that we’ll have to be married as soon as possible. I want there to be no doubts that I want you.” He flashed her a grin that was all sweetness and devilish charm. She couldn’t resist teasing him back.

  “Are you certain I love you back?”

  Miles chuckled. “If you didn’t, you’d have tossed me out of your bedchamber by now.”

  She laughed. “True. I admit, I’m relieved you are not the duke. I never wanted to be a duchess. When I saw Beresford House today on our ride, I remember thinking it was the home I’d always longed for. Perhaps fate was trying to tell me something.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling as what was happening finally sank in. Miles was in love with her, Lydia would become a duchess, and Rebecca would have a happily ever after all on her own.

  Her heart jumped into her throat, and she grabbed the nearest pillow, using it as a shield as Miles began to undress. His naked body was a thing of beauty, with slopes and contours of muscles and that most masculine part of him she’d never seen before except on statues. He pried the pillow from her hands and tossed it to the floor. They both laughed, and her nerves eased a little as she tilted her head up and gazed deep into his eyes. This man had unlocked her heart and soul, and she couldn’t imagine anything more splendid than sharing the rest of her life with him. And she would start by sharing her bed tonight.

  “My darling. My sweet. My wonderful Becca.” He dropped his head and kissed her.

  His words gave her the courage to allow him to undress her. Once she was stripped bare of gown, stockings, boots, and underclothes, she sat on the bed, trembling beside him. He removed the pins from her hair and then ran his fingers through the strands before he kissed her shoulder and then her mouth as she turned to face him.

  He swept her up in his arms and laid her back on the bed, pulling the bedclothes away so she could crawl beneath them. He joined her there, lying beside her, kissing her, their bare legs twined together. Feeling his hard body against her softer curves was an aphrodisiac she’d never expected, and she shivered with desire.

  Instincts took over. Her hands stroked his back, exploring his muscles. He reveled in her breasts and the groove of her neck and shoulder, taking his time exploring her. His hands and mouth left her burning in the wake of each touch and kiss. He slid a hand down her body, parting her thighs, and she arched and hissed as he sank a finger into her wet folds, just like at the gazebo.

  “I’ll go slowly. It may hurt, but only for a moment.”

  “Please, Miles. I want you.” Saying his true name was strange. She’d thought of him as the duke, but now she had to remind herself it was Miles in her arms, Miles in her bed.

  Miles in my heart.

  He settled deep into the cradle of her open thighs, and they shared a slow, drugging kiss before he nudged his way inside her. With a quick thrust, he entered her fully. She bit down on his shoulder to muffle her cry, but the pain soon faded. He held perfectly still as she regained her breath.

  “Is that all?” she whispered, oddly disappointed. She’d hoped to experience that pleasure from the day in the gardens when he’d given her such physical joy she’d thought she might die.

  “Not even the beginning, my love.” He circled his hips, and sensations began to explode inside her as he withdrew and thrust back in. Miles bent his head to trail kisses along her collarbone, and then he started to thrust into her in a slow and steady rhythm. The bed frame struck against the wall, and for some reason the repetitive thump made Rebecca laugh.

  “I love the way you laugh.” He chuckled with a wolfish grin. Then he silenced her with a kiss as he drove into her harder and faster.

  Her body was wound tighter than a harp’s strings, tighter and tighter, until with a cry she came undone. Miles’s eyes locked with hers, and then his face transformed to wonder, his features softening as he joined her in bliss.

  “Christ, Becca, I didn’t know it could be like this.”

  She saw her heart reflected in his tender gaze. He pressed his lips to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, her chin, and finally her mouth. The kiss was as sweet as whispered words of love, and it seemed to go on forever.

  “I’m too heavy,” he said with a sigh and rolled off her. She instantly missed his warmth and the feel of him inside her. That point of connection had changed them forever. He settled under the covers next to her, covering her face with little kisses.

  “You truly love me?” she asked, still afraid to hope.

  He nodded. “Beyond rational thought, my heart. There’s no getting rid of me now. Your mother will have to accept you marrying the brother of the duke.”

  Rebecca was so blissfully happy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

  “And you?” He traced her lips.

  “As long as you love me, I don’t care who you are,” she whispered.

  “I’ve never been so bewitched by anyone before. But you’ve cast a spell, Becca. I am yours. Never doubt it.” He spoke with such deep solemnity that it brought fresh tears to her eyes. Tears of joy. She trusted him. There could be no doubt.

  “I don’t.” Love filled her so fully that her heart poured over with it.

  Miles kissed her again, and this time it was different than the others. Softer, sweeter. A promise of wonderful things to come.

  * * *

  Thank you so much for reading The Duke’s Twin!

  Keep reading below to start the first 3 chapters of Bewitching the Earl where an impoverished English lady is bought in a marriage auction by a vengeful Scottish lord.

  Bewitching the Earl

  Chapter 1

  Strange, how one’s future can hang upon a single moment. One can feel trapped, frozen, while the world spins wildly by. Daphne Westfall was caught in such a moment, unable to move forward now that her life had been turned upon its head. Ever since her father’s death, she dwelt in a nightmare that had no visible end.

  She shivered on the snowy sidewalk, hand extended toward passersby, praying someone would have mercy on her. They dodged her with lips curled in sneers of disgust. Another gust of wind blew in from the river and whipped her threadbare skirt about her legs. She stamped her feet and then pressed her legs tightly together, hoping to conserve warmth, but she still couldn’t feel her toes. Her hands were dry and cracked, her once clean nails layered with the grime of the streets.

  Tears stung her eyes. Just a few pennies before nightfall would keep her out of the White House Brothel in Soho. She bit her lip and mentally fled from that option. To go there would finally break her.

  Her aching stomach rumbled. But she had to be pragmatic if she hoped to
fill her aching stomach, warm her shivering body beside a fire and sleep in a warm bed.

  Daphne resisted the urge to touch the secret pocket in her dress, where she’d hidden her mother’s pearls. Another woman might have sold the pearls to eat, but Daphne couldn’t bring herself to do it. The single, elegant strand was all she had left of her mother, the only thing the courts of England hadn’t been able to pry from her fingertips as they carried her father to prison.

  When her father had been convicted of counterfeiting, Sir Richard Westfall’s estate had been seized by the Crown and his property sold to settle his debts to his victims. Daphne had been cast out into the cold with nothing but a single dress and her mother’s pearls tucked away in a hidden pocket.

  “Please—please, sir,” she whispered to a passerby. “A few pennies…”

  The man spat on her open, trembling palm. She shrank back with a wince and hastily wiped his spit off on her gown. More tears escaped as shame threatened to suffocate her.

  Sell the pearls and you won’t face this anymore… a dark voice whispered in her head. But she couldn’t.

  A man and a woman paused on the street a few feet away and stared. Hope surged. She knew that woman. Lady Esther Cornelius, a friend, once.

  Esther stared hard at her, then whispered something to her companion who, although a good distance away, tossed a small pouch of coins. In the past, she would have hidden from a familiar face, ashamed to be seen in such a state, but right now all she could think about was her hunger. To her shame, she leapt at the pouch, landing hard in the icy puddle along the alley. She caught the pouch and clutched it to her chest. When she looked up, Lady Esther and her companion were walking away.

  Daphne sniffed, her nose burning as she tried to keep her tears at bay. How she wished she could curse her father. He loved her, just as she loved him, yet he had destroyed her life, her future…everything.