Bewitching the Forbidden Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Scarlett Osborne

  Melissa was shaking her head for at least half of his speech. “It doesn’t matter how well you love me, Patrick. We are not meant to be. How are we to live without our families’ approval?”

  Patrick threw his hands out wide. “We shall sail to the New World. Migrate to the South of France. Live in Scotland, I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”

  Melissa almost laughed at his dramatics. “Oh, are we to become a pair of plantation owners perhaps? Live in a chateau in Bordeaux? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Why? Why is it so mad to imagine us making a life together? Are you saying you don’t want to?”

  Melissa just stared at him, shaking her head.

  “Well? Answer me, Melissa. Have all your feelings disappeared? Do you not want me anymore?”

  Melissa was still shaking her head. “Why do you make it sound so easy?” she whispered. “It isn’t. It isn’t easy.”

  Patrick took a step toward her, his hands reaching out to grasp her arms as he looked her in the eye. “It’s as easy as we want it to be. Just say yes.”

  Melissa studied him for a long time without saying a word.

  Patrick lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 17

  Crossroads

  There was a door to the side of the largest, most exclusive brothel in London, not accessible to the public. Herbert Dutton, The Duke of Cheshmill, retrieved his key from his fob pocket and opened it, stealing up the stairs, out of sight of the patrons. He opened the door to his office, settling behind the large ornate desk. Behind him was a retractable peephole from which he could spy on the patrons below. He didn’t normally bother unless there was a person of interest making use of his facilities.

  Many men did not know that he owned this and many other brothels scattered along the major towns in England and Wales. Not even his family knew–especially not Patrick. Despite The Duke’s proclivities, Patrick had turned out to be a very morally-upright young man. Herbert blamed the boy’s mother; may she rest in peace.

  Patrick was under the impression that their wealth was derived from their import/export business but the truth was, prostitution was their bread and butter. With piracy on the seas, damage of goods and fickle supply, there was no way their business would have survived without help.

  Granted, ever since Patrick had taken over, things had improved and nobody was gladder than Herbert about that. However, he was not about to fling his cash cow to the side because of it, especially since it was the primary source of his power.

  Men forgot themselves when they were between a girl’s legs or even better, a boy. They might spill secrets that they would have done better to take to their graves–or be made to. Lord help the young men who fell under the spell of one of his girls. They could be made to do just about anything, betray just about anyone, to keep them.

  Sex was a powerful weapon.

  And Herbert Dutton controlled the sex trade.

  A few men, powerful, knowledgeable men, had an inkling about what he did. Some had tried to stop him; others had tried to use him. Even more lucrative than his trade in bodies, his trade in information. He knew quite a lot about many powerful men; too much to be dismissed or eliminated.

  He leaned back in his chair, thinking about his latest quandary. Most of his misdeeds were carried out in the dark and no one was the wiser. But these charges were bringing his activities into the light and he needed to do everything he could to mitigate it.

  Having Greyfield on his side was important. He did not understand why Patrick was so resistant to doing what he was told. He had always been an obedient boy, did as he was told. This new rebellious streak was a trifle inconvenient. He put his head in his hands, trying to think how he could force the situation. If it came down to it, he might have to expose The Duchess as well as her daughter. He would not hesitate to eliminate the girl if that is what it would take to get his way.

  The Duchess of Greyfield fidgeted a little, lost in thought while trying to seem to still be paying attention to her gossiping companions. This tea was becoming tedious and she would much rather have been in her cottage in St. John’s Wood where she could entertain her current lover in peace. Instead, here she was, enduring the company of these tedious women, all in the name of fitting in. Even an influential woman such as herself had to have allies.

  She sighed, thinking back to her interview with Patrick Dutton. He clearly had no inkling of his father’s dealings. This insistence he had of courting Melissa; it was just so misguided.

  She did not know what to do. If she didn’t do as Cheshmill wanted, he would expose her. Aside from the censure of her present company who would no doubt delight in giving her the cut direct, she had plenty more to lose. There was only so much she could do to make the silly boy do as he was told.

  She sighed again wondering how soon she could leave without being rude.

  “How are we going to do this?” Melissa asked, drifting toward the window.

  “Just say the word and I shall get us on a ship. We can be in the South of France before you know it.”

  Melissa giggled, “I just can’t believe you’re serious.”

  “I am, My Lady. Are you?”

  Melissa turned to find him regarding her solemnly. She nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know.”

  Patrick took a step toward her, reaching out to run his palm up and down her arm. He peered into her eyes, his own wide and intent. “I’ll give you time to think about it, shall I?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I admit that it all seems very surreal at the moment. But I have no doubt about my feelings for you. I have had a taste of what life is like without you in it. With the prospect of you in it as nothing more than my brother-in-law. I don’t like it. Perhaps we are making a grievous error in attempting to run away like some tragic characters in a Shakespeare story but...” she shrugged helplessly.

  Patrick laughed. “I object to the use of the word tragic to describe us.”

  “Do you now?” Melissa gave him a small smile before turning back toward the window.

  “I think we are the very opposite of tragic,” his voice was low and flirtatious and she felt the warmth of his hands circling her waist. She stiffened slightly, surprised that he would touch her so intimately. Her eyes cut to her lady's maid who was making herself invisible in the dressing room. Their eyes met, and she found that Brynn’s were lit up with mirth.

  “You should go,” she told Patrick.

  “I should. But I don’t want to.”

  “Ah, you see, tragic.”

  Patrick threw back his head and guffawed making Melissa leap toward him, finger over his lips. “Shhh. Someone will hear you,” she whispered. They were so close together, almost flush against each other from toe to forehead. The sound of Patrick’s laughter abruptly cut off, replaced by a sort of choking sound, his storm-grey eyes wide as saucers, locked on Melissa’s.

  Time seemed to freeze as their gazes spoke to each other in hot, concupiscent, vehemence. Brynn loudly cleared her throat but even that reminder didn’t make them so much as twitch. Patrick’s eyes dropped to Melissa’s soft, wet, slightly parted lips and his eyes darkened.

  Melissa whimpered, listing unconsciously toward him and his head seemed to drop of the same volition. Brynn dropped the empty pitcher of water she was holding and it hit the floor with a loud clang. Patrick’s lips fused onto Melissa’s, seemingly helpless to resist. Melissa wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in, savoring the tangy taste of pork pie, seared with a bitter aftertaste of beer on his tongue.

  She sucked his tongue into her mouth, arching her body into his, reveling in his strength and ardor as his own arms closed around her waist. The groan that rumbled from his throat had her jerking forward with desire. Whatever it was between them, love, passion, desire, Melisa knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was not willing to live without him anymore. If she ha
d to elope, if she had to abandon her family, well it was not as if they had ever made her feel like she belonged. Kissing Patrick was like coming home and she reveled in that feeling, never having experienced anything like it before.

  He slowly let go of her and she swallowed her disappointment as he took a step back, his lips glimmering with her saliva. She stared at them, feeling in equal parts smug and embarrassment, her face showing its colors.

  “I should go,” he sounded as reluctant as she felt and that heartened Melissa.

  “Yes!” she said, staring into his eyes darkened by desire from the storm grey of rain clouds to a thunderous dome of cloudy night.

  His skin tightened with disappointment. “You seem quite eager for me to leave.”

  “No! I mean yes, I will elope with you.” All her teeth were on display as she gazed up at him with starry happiness.

  His own face lightened in response. “You will?”

  “Yes, yes, I will. Make the arrangements.”

  “Melissa!” Brynn’s cry brought her back to herself and she looked around at her lady’s maid as if just remembering she existed.

  “Oh, and make arrangements for Brynn to come too,” she turned to her friend, eyes intent. “You do want to come with me, don’t you?”

  Brynn looked torn; her eyes dark with indecision. “Well, I suppose I am your lady’s maid. Where you go, I go.”

  Melissa practically skipped toward her, clutching Brynn’s arm earnestly. “I promise you; we’ll write to your mother all the time and you can come and see her any time you want.”

  Brynn gave her a tense smile, “I know.”

  “It’s going to be good. I promise.”

  Patrick walked slowly to the docks, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief and joy. Wanting Melissa to marry him and knowing she agreed to elope were two entirely different creatures. The former was a wellspring of hope while the latter was an explosion of bubbly incredulity. His feet barely touched the ground as he strode into the office, intent on finding them a ship.

  The last person he expected to see in there, was his father.

  He froze, staring in confusion. Ever since Patrick had taken over the day-to-day running of the business, his father had barely shown his face near the dockyards. He had once declared to Patrick that dealing with the bureaucracy was one of the most tedious ordeals to be endured in their business. He had all too happily ceded that aspect to Patrick.

  So to see him here at the docks, in earnest conversation with the commissioner was a shock. He stopped, watching them speak, wondering what they could possibly be saying.

  His father looked up and saw him. “Ah, there you are, Patrick. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Patrick walked slowly right up to them. “Indeed father? Did we have a meeting I was unaware of?”

  “No, no. I just wanted to introduce you to Lord Nordham, the new commissioner.”

  The man turned to face Patrick, a strained smile on his face. He seemed a trifle pale. Patrick almost asked him if everything was fine but refrained. It would have been too familiar and the man did not even know his name.

  “Patrick Dutton, Marquess Bergon, at your service,” he said since his father seemed to be in no hurry to complete the introduction. The man reached out and shook his hand but clearly, his mind was elsewhere. Patrick turned to his father with a strained smile. “You didn’t say if we had a meeting I forgot.”

  “Oh no, no, no. I just so happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I would call upon the new commissioner and issue him with an invitation. I mean to organize a hunt soon, and the Earl has agreed to join us.” The Duke smiled at Lord Nordham and the man returned it, albeit with considerable strain. Patrick looked from one to the other, wondering what the tense undercurrents were about.

  “A hunt you say?” he asked just to see if his father would be forthcoming with more information. He was quickly coming to realize that his father had depths he previously had not imagined and that perhaps Patrick did not know The Duke half as well as he thought.

  “Yes. You’re a newly-engaged man and I thought it would be an excellent way to acquaint ourselves with your future in-laws.”

  Patrick opened his mouth to tell his father that he was no longer engaged to Lady Rose but then his eyes cut to the Earl and he closed it again. There was no need to air their dirty laundry in public. He would tell his father of the change in status later.

  “As a matter of fact, I am just on my way to issue an invitation to Greyfield,” The Duke was saying.

  Patrick wondered if The Duke of Greyfield was aware that he had broken his engagement to one daughter only to ask the other to elope with him. He highly doubted it and wondered if he should be the one to apprise him of it all.

  The whole purpose of elopement was that one rather did it in secret which then eliminated the need to announce things to one’s parents. He did not know how to tell his father that the hunt was unnecessary, however. It would be a tad awkward when he turned up married to the wrong daughter.

  On second thought, Patrick thought that their parents getting better acquainted might actually ease whatever angst might result, for they would be able to commiserate with each other on what a disappointment their children had turned out to be. That should also give his father his wish of getting close to The Duke of Greyfield, especially when they both realized that their children had not only eloped but also left the country!

  Patrick almost tittered with amusement at the thought. He could just imagine his father’s embarrassment and discomfiture. His new wife would probably say something inappropriate while The Duchess of Greyfield fanned her pale skin and The Duke of Greyfield blustered.

  Yes, perhaps a hunt was exactly what they needed to give them all sufficient familiarity that they could bemoan this oncoming twist of fate without too much suspicion on either side. He knew for a fact that any father of a daughter in such a situation would be inclined to blame the groom’s entire family. But no doubt his father would make sure to communicate his desire for Patrick to join his life to Lady Rose’s. The Alfords would be left in no doubt that his father had had no idea of his elopement plans.

  That was at least something he could do, to help his father out and make the transition easier. The Duke of Cheshmill was still his dear father and if he could reduce the damage this elopement would cause him, he was all too willing to try.

  He sighed inwardly, his heart twisting with sadness at having to disappoint his father and move away from his family. He hoped that it would not be a permanent separation and he would be able to return home in a year or two. It was hopefully not too farfetched a dream. Melissa might be willing to follow him into the unknown but she did not know how lonely it could get when one was out in the world by oneself. He hoped she would never learn.

  Turning back to his father, he offered him a breezy smile. “A hunt seems like a splendid idea.”

  Chapter 18

  Complications

  Melissa ventured out of her room for the first time in days, peering down the corridor to see if anyone was about. She could not help the guilty leap of her heart as she saw the upstairs maid carrying a chamber pot down the stairs.

  Did she see Patrick leave?

  She minced down the corridor, alert for the sound of anyone approaching. She was still surprised when she bumped into her sister at the stairs. She froze, waiting for accusations to start flying. Her sister glared at her and then stepped past her without another word. Melissa watched her stomp to her chambers, a frown marring her forehead.

  She continued on downstairs in search of her mother and bumped into her, at the front door.

  “Mother!” her heart was pounding and she feared that all her secrets were apparent on her face.

  “Melissa! Did you finally decide to rejoin the living?”

  “Uh…” Melissa’s face colored as she stared guiltily at her mother.

  “Hmm, I see you haven’t recovered your powers of speech.”

  “Uh…”
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br />   The Duchess sighed, rolling her eyes and stepping past her daughter. Melissa watched her sway down the hall, toward the parlor. She sighed, looking toward the door. What she needed was some time to herself. Perhaps a walk would do her some good, she decided, and so she ran back upstairs to change her shoes and retrieve her lady’s maid.

  As they came downstairs, they were surprised to find that The Duke of Cheshmill had come to call. Melissa froze, staring as he was ushered into the parlor to see Melissa’s mother.

  “What do you think that is about?” she whispered to Brynn. Her lady’s maid shrugged unconcernedly.