- Book info
- Sample
- Media
- Author updates
- Lists
Synopsis
WILL A FEW FLIRTATIOUS STEPS Harry Norcliffe never wanted to inherit his beloved uncle's title. The rigidity of the ton, the incessant reminders from his marriage-minded mama that he must settle down with a highborn lady and produce an heir and a spare: it's all such a dreadful bore. So when his mother asks him to take part in a dancing competition, he patently refuses. The last thing he needs is another chore . . . until a beautiful, brilliant, delightfully tempting maid makes him rethink his position. LEAD TO A SCANDALOUS SEDUCTION? Most women would be over the moon to be pursued by a wickedly handsome-not to mention wealthy-duke like Norcliffe. But Lucy will not be any man's trophy. She could use a friend, though, and what begins innocently soon ignites into desire. As Lucy tries to resist Harry's scorching kisses, he makes an utterly irresistible offer. Enter the dance contest with him, and win a prize that could change her life forever . . . if falling in love doesn't change it first.
Release date: February 24, 2015
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 400
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Reader buzz
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
Author updates
Close
What a Devilish Duke Desires
Vicky Dreiling
Chapter One
London 1822
Harry Norcliffe, the Duke of Granfield, descended the hackney and shivered a bit from the cold breeze. A glowing gas lamp lit the pavement and made a fine display of the bow window at White’s.
He could hardly believe three months had passed since Uncle Hugh’s unexpected death. Nothing would ever be the same again. The loss of Hugh often hit him when he least expected it. It still seemed like a bad dream, but it was all too real.
The world he’d known would never be the same, but tonight he was meeting his closest friends and hoped to find comfort in the life he’d left behind three months ago.
A servant appeared at the door and bowed. The scent of beeswax candles was an instant familiarity.
“Welcome back, Your Grace.”
Your Grace. The words pummeled him like a fist. By now, he ought to be accustomed to his new address, but he still felt as if he were an imposter.
The servant shifted his weight. “Your Grace, may I take your greatcoat?”
The awkward moment eased. “Thank you.”
As he divested himself of his hat, greatcoat, and gloves, he remembered thinking there would be changes, but he’d not been prepared for so many.
The sight of the betting book drew him. Here was a part of his old life. He’d always made it a ritual to read the latest wagers. For the first time in what seemed an age, he smiled as he read a wager written this evening. Apparently Aubery had bet Rollins ten guineas that it would rain on Thursday. Harry turned back the pages to read the bets he’d missed while he’d been gone. When he saw his name mentioned three months ago, he paused.
Mr. Brockton bet Mr. Norcliffe two shillings that he would eat no bacon when he visits his uncle’s pig farm.
His chest felt as if a shard of glass had pierced his heart. He gritted his teeth, determined to overcome these unguarded moments. He must go forward and reclaim his old life. But blast it all, he missed Hugh.
“I’ll be damned. It’s the devil come to London again.”
His spirits rose at the familiar voice. Harry swiveled his gaze toward his friend, and relief poured over him at the sight of Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham. “I suppose you’ve been stoking the fires of hell,” Harry said.
Bell clapped him on the shoulder. “My former rakehell days are long over.”
Harry laughed. “You are the last person I’d ever expect to reform.”
“No one is more surprised than me.”
There was a subtle difference in Bellingham’s demeanor. When they’d first met, Bell had been restless and prone to pacing. Now he seemed relaxed and at peace.
“Enough about me,” Bell said. “My friend, you look a bit careworn.”
“Yes, but I’m glad to see you.”
“I hope you’re ready for a good beefsteak and a bottle or two,” Bell said.
“I am.” It was the first step to returning to his old life, though there would always be an empty place inside now that his uncle was gone.
Bell grinned. “How does it feel to be the last bachelor among us?”
“I thought for certain you would be a bachelor for life,” Harry said, “but you fooled us all.”
“Laura made an honest man out of me. Come, our old table is waiting, and there is someone you must see.”
They had almost reached the stairs when Lord Fitzhugh and Mr. Castelle intercepted them. “Congratulations on the dukedom,” Fitzhugh said, clapping his back.
“You’re a lucky man,” Castelle added.
Harry felt as if hot coals were burning a path to his temples. His fingers curled into his palms, but he tamped down the misplaced anger that sometimes struck out of nowhere, even when he knew the person meant well. “Thank you.” What else could he say?
When Bell mentioned their party was waiting, Harry was grateful.
As they continued on, Bell glanced at him thoughtfully. “After my family perished, I grew cross when others made thoughtless comments. While I knew they meant well, I treated them coldly. My refusal to deal with my grief made matters far worse. Castelle and Fitzhugh know that an inheritance can never replace your loss, but like most people, they’re uncomfortable speaking of death.”
Harry nodded. It helped to have a friend who understood. Over the past three months, he’d learned that grief came in many forms. Tonight, however, all he wanted was to relax with his trusted friends.
As they climbed the stairs, the clink of glasses and silverware echoed from the dining room. The rumble of masculine voices grew louder as they reached the second floor. The distinctive aroma of beefsteak teased his senses.
When they reached the table, Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, his oldest friend from boyhood, stood and pounded him on the back. “Harry, it’s good to see you.”
“And you. How is married life?”
“Well, Angeline hasn’t thrown me out on my arse yet,” Colin said.
“Oh, ho!” Harry said, laughing.
Bell motioned to a young man. “Do you remember this fellow?”
Harry frowned. When recognition dawned, he was stunned. “Is that Justin?”
Justin Davenport, the Earl of Chesfield and Bell’s stepson, grinned as he extended his hand. “Pleased to see you, Harry.”
“Good Lord.” Harry turned his attention to Bell. “He was a skinny cub the last time I saw him.”
“He’s twenty-one now,” Bell said, “and six feet, three inches tall.”
“What are you feeding him?” Harry said. “He’s as big as an oak.”
Bell laughed. “A great deal of beef. He’s gained a few muscles fencing as well.”
Harry signaled the waiter to bring a bottle of brandy. When it arrived, he poured and looked at Bell. “I can’t believe you’re letting the sprig drink spirits.”
“He’s of age and knows his limits. I wouldn’t have met his mother if not for that flask of brandy Justin hid very poorly,” Bell said.
Justin laughed. “It wasn’t my brightest idea, Father.”
“Fortunately, you’re past sowing wild oats.” Bell narrowed his eyes. “Correct?”
Justin’s smile slanted to one side. “Am I supposed to answer that?”
Colin guffawed, and Harry nearly spewed brandy.
Three years ago, Colin and Harry had met Bellingham. Bell had fallen hard for Laura Davenport and her son. All of them had been fond of the recalcitrant lad, but he was a grown man now. How had time flown by so quickly?
Colin proposed a toast. “To Bell, for saving our sorry hides that night in the Thames.”
Justin frowned. “What?”
“It’s where we met Bell,” Colin said.
“In the Thames?” Justin said with an astounded expression.
Harry’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Lord, what a caper. I was so foxed I managed to lose the fare for the waterman and somehow fell in the stinking river.”
“Hah,” Colin said. “A trollop robbed you blind.”
“Of two shillings—my total worth at the time,” Harry said.
“Yes, and we had to pull you out before you drowned,” Bell said. “When you came to, you looked at me and said, ‘Lord, it’s my savior.’”
They all laughed.
“My clothes smelled so bad my valet actually gagged,” Bell said. “I had to throw them in the rubbish.”
“Those were the good old days,” Harry said.
Justin pulled a face. “I really hope you’re jesting.”
Bell mussed his son’s hair. “It’s much better viewed from afar.”
Harry set his brandy aside and regarded Colin. “I was glad to receive your letter. Congratulations on your impending fatherhood.”
“Harry, Bellingham has already agreed to be one of the male godparents. Would you consider being the other godparent?”
“I would be honored.” Then, because he wasn’t comfortable with the unexpected emotion for his friend and himself, he said, “I promise not to drop the babe.”
Everyone laughed.
Colin shrugged. “I’m more worried that one of my twin sisters will drop the babe if it’s a girl. My wife insists the twins have matured and should be the female godparents, but I’ve got my doubts.”
“Maybe you’ll have twins,” Harry said.
“God forbid,” Colin said. “We’ll never get a moment’s peace.”
Listening to his friends, Harry had a moment of clarity. There was a greater purpose in his life, one that would see Havenwood, his uncle’s legacy, continue in a direct descent long after he was gone from this world.
Harry figured his friends would likely be astounded if they knew his thoughts. A year ago, he would have never thought about marriage, but Uncle Hugh’s death had changed everything.
“My wife insists the babe is a boy,” Colin said. “To be honest, I’m hoping for a girl.”
“Take my advice,” Bell said. “Just agree with whatever your wife says, even if she contradicts it five minutes later.”
Colin shook his head. “I have no say in the matter. Her mother and my stepmother declare it’s a boy because she’s carrying the babe high. It’s all nonsense to me, but I’m not about to naysay them.”
“Harry, do you still keep rooms at the Albany?” Colin asked.
“Yes,” he said. He’d found his old rooms rather comforting. “I even kept the shabby furnishings.”
“Lord, I’ve never forgotten that lumpy sofa,” Colin said, “and the dog fur everywhere.”
“What have I missed while I was gone?” Harry asked.
“Pembroke lost more hair,” Bell said. “Old Lord Leighton is in love with the widowed Lady Atherton, but she swears she prefers her sherry to him.” He paused. “I almost forgot. Justin’s former friend George wrecked the second curricle his father unwisely purchased for him.”
“Some things never change, I suppose.” He paused and said, “Thank you for the letter, Bell. It was good to hear your news about the birth of your daughter, Sarah. I imagine Stephen is growing.”
“Oh yes. He turned two last week and celebrated by manfully using the water closet. I must say his aim needs improvement.”
Harry laughed. “Well, I suppose you can’t blame the little fellow for trying.” He poured two fingers of brandy for everyone. Of all of them, Bell had changed the most. When they had first met, he’d been rather guarded. Over the course of one season, he’d become an indispensable friend to both Harry and Colin. Bellingham was the sort of fellow a man could count on.
The food arrived. Now that he was relaxing with friends, Harry wolfed down the beef, potatoes, and cheesecake. “I’m stuffed.”
“Me too,” Colin said.
After the waiter brought the port, Justin rose. “Please, excuse me. Paul just arrived, and I’m planning to trounce him at the billiards table.”
“Go on, then,” Bell said. “Hail a hackney and don’t make a lot of racket when you come home. You do not want to face your mother’s wrath.”
When Justin retreated, Harry said, “You’ve certainly tamed his rebelliousness. Well done.”
“He only needed guidance. I suppose we’ll keep him after all.”
Harry laughed. It felt like old times again.
“What about your family, Harry?” Bell asked.
“My girl cousins haven’t changed much.”
Bell’s brows rose. “I’m surprised your family isn’t pressing you to marry now that you’ve inherited.”
He shrugged, unsure if he was ready to confess his intentions.
Bell frowned. “You’re aware that I was prepared to let my property go back to the Crown—or so I thought. Then Laura asked why I hadn’t sold it.”
“I took Havenwood for granted over the years, but I owe much to my late uncle.”
“He was a good man,” Colin said. “The best.”
“After Uncle Hugh passed, I realized how much the property means to me,” Harry said. “There are so many memories. I know he would want me to ensure his legacy thrived for many generations in a direct line of descent.” One day, God willing, it would pass to his own son.
“Does this mean you will join the old married men’s club?” Colin said.
He was a little embarrassed, so he resorted to a joke. “Not tonight.”
His friends chortled.
“Harry, that reminds me,” Bell said. “Laura invited you to dinner in a sennight.”
“Let me guess. I will be seated next to a single lady that your countess has chosen especially for me.”
Bell’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Laura will be heartbroken if you do not attend, but don’t feel the least bit obligated.”
Harry smiled. “Maybe another time.” He’d never thought much about having a family before. His own father had died when he was eight. It had been hard on him at school until Colin had befriended him. They had been like brothers ever since.
“Your uncle was an exceptional man,” Colin said. “I have fond memories of spending summers with you at his farm.”
Harry’s spirits rose. “Remember the time Uncle Hugh caught us having a pissing contest out the window?”
Colin grinned. “Oh, Lord, you pissed on the gardener.”
“Uncle Hugh made us muck pig shit out of the pen. There are reasons I don’t eat bacon.”
Harry’s smile faded. He would have to return to the farm in late summer. He didn’t know how he would bear his uncle’s absence. After the funeral, he’d kept expecting his uncle to walk into the room. But he knew his duty, and he loved Havenwood for all it represented for his uncle and now him.
“Harry, I assume you are confident in your uncle’s advisors and solicitors,” Bell said.
“Yes, they’re capable men.” He’d never admit it, but he was woefully ignorant about many of his uncle’s affairs. In hindsight, he ought to have insisted upon helping with the estate business while his uncle was alive, but regrets were useless.
Bell picked up his glass and swirled his port. “When I returned from the Continent all those years ago, I made the steward, solicitors, and bankers explain everything in detail.”
Harry nodded, knowing it was Bell’s way of making a suggestion.
Bell retrieved his watch. “Ah, damn, it’s getting late.”
“I must be going, too,” Colin said. “My wife and I have an early appointment with an architect. Pity me. Angeline is determined to tear down half the town house I just bought.”
Harry laughed, but truthfully, he was a bit disappointed. In the old days, they would smoke cheroots and drink well past midnight, but his friends had responsibilities to their families.
Bell rose. “Gentlemen, same time next week?”
“Absolutely,” Colin said. “Harry, are you in?”
His spirits rose. “Definitely.”
Harry followed them downstairs. They donned their outerwear and walked out of the club. His breath frosted and the cold air chafed his face as he shook hands with his friends.
“Can I give you a lift?” Bell said.
“No, it’s only a few blocks.” Harry wrapped the woolen scarf around his neck. “The streetlamps are lighted and a walk will clear my head of the brandy.”
Lucy Longmore finished sweeping the scraps of material and thread from the floor of the dress shop. She’d been searching for a new second job that paid better, but without a letter of character, she faced difficult odds. After she stacked bolts of fabric on a shelf, she glanced at her friends. Evelyn and Mary were still sorting their sewing notions.
“Evelyn, did you have many customers this morning?” Lucy asked.
“Yes, a number of lofty ladies and their daughters came. Most of ’em too particular.”
“Or couldn’t make up their minds.” Mary mimicked them: “Mama, I simply cannot wear primrose, for it makes me look sallow.”
“My favorite story is the mama and the biscuit jar,” Lucy said.
Evelyn grinned and mimicked the girl’s fretful voice. “Mama, why is the seamstress having trouble with the hooks?”
All three of them said in unison, “Because you cannot keep your hand out of the biscuit jar.”
They all laughed.
Evelyn sighed. “There’s nothing more irritating than a spoiled aristo.”
“I sort of felt sorry for Biscuit Jar Girl,” Lucy said.
“That’s because you have a soft heart,” Evelyn said, “but you misplace your sympathy with the spoiled rich girls.”
“Well, if I were rich,” Lucy said, “I would have no trouble at all making a decision on a gown.”
Mary closed her sewing box. “If you had lots of choices, you might.”
“No,” Lucy said, grinning. “I would choose them all.”
Evelyn eyed Mary with a smile. “Leave it to Lucy.”
Lucy wished she had dozens of choices, but one day, she intended to make her dreams of owning a dance studio come true. She might not have much more than her dreams, but she would do everything possible to make them come true.
Ida, the new girl, sidled past them. She’d started working for Madame Delanger two days ago and didn’t look a day over fourteen. Lucy and her friends had tried to befriend her, but Ida had regarded them with suspicion and rebuffed their attempts to include her. The only thing they knew about the girl was that Madame allowed her to sleep on the floor in the sewing room at night. Lucy felt sorry for Ida, as she obviously had no home.
At the sound of footsteps, Mary cleared her throat, a signal to mind one’s words. Moments later, the temperamental shop owner, Madame Delanger, entered the main floor. “Ida, do not forget to check behind the dressing screens for missing items. I check the inventory every day.”
“Yes, Madame,” Ida mumbled as she walked behind one of the screens.
“Je suis fatigué.” Madame Delanger groaned as she leaned against the arm of a red chaise longue where the illustrious customers often rested while waiting to be fitted for a gown. “The beginning of the season is always hectic, but I commissioned four new gowns and sold ten pairs of stockings and six pairs of gloves today.” Then she frowned and crossed over to Mary. “Are you checking for dust? If there is even a speck on the fabric, I will deduct the cost from your wages.”
Mary adopted a blank mien. “Yes, Madame, I will check once more.”
Lucy glanced out the shop window and sighed inwardly. If she could hurry Madame along a bit, she and her friends could avoid walking the entire way in the dark. Regardless, she mustn’t allow her impatience to show. They all treaded lightly around Madame, for her moods were unpredictable. Lucy needed the work and must be respectful.
“Ida,” Madame Delanger said, raising her voice. “You will finish the lace on that gown tonight. I had better not find you asleep while the gown is unfinished.”
“Yes, Madame,” Ida mumbled.
Lucy shared a speaking look with her friends. Madame was taking advantage of Ida’s youth. Yet none of them dared to defend the girl, because it could cost them their jobs. It made Lucy feel wretched, but she had to think of her grandmother and herself first.
“Tomorrow, you must all arrive at six in the morning and be prepared to sew for the next twelve hours,” Madame said. “This is the busiest time of the year, and everything must be ready when the ladies come to shop.”
Lucy’s heart beat faster. Madame had never insisted upon such long hours before. When she’d hired Lucy three months ago, she’d been perfectly willing to let her leave to assist the dance instructor for two hours, but that had been before the height of the season.
Lucy drew in her breath. “Madame, I will gladly arrive at six o’clock tomorrow morning, but I have a dancing lesson in the afternoon. As before, I will return in two hours as I’ve done previously.”
Madame sighed. “Come with me.”
The back of Lucy’s neck prickled as she followed Madame to the tiny sewing room. With every step, she told herself that Madame would not sack her. She needed both of her jobs and hoped Madame would understand.
“Be seated,” Madame said.
After Lucy took a chair, she said, “Madame, when you hired me, you said I could take time off to teach my dance lessons. I have always returned promptly.”
“Matters have changed,” Madame said. “I need seamstresses who are able to work the required twelve hours.”
Fear gripped her hard. She didn’t want to give up her dance instruction, because she wanted to develop her own clients. How else would she open her own dance studio?
“Madame, with all due respect, I could sew during the weekends to make up for the time I’m out teaching dance.”
“I cannot afford to employ four seamstresses.”
She stared at Madame. “But…you just hired Ida two days ago.”
“Ida does not ask for special privileges.”
The realization slammed into Lucy like a fist to her belly. Madame had hired Ida to replace her—no doubt for much lower wages.
Desperation gripped her. She took a deep breath, prepared to agree to lower wages and longer hours—anything to avoid being out of work, but it wasn’t really a choice. She couldn’t leave her grandmother alone for up to twelve hours.
“Times are difficult,” Madame Delanger said. “Wait a moment, and I will settle up with you.”
Numbness set in. Everything seemed a little hazy, as if she were awakening from a bad dream. The denial didn’t last long. Her eyes welled, but she blinked back the tears. She might have little more than her pride, but she would hold her head high.
When Madame Delanger returned, she handed over her wages and a folded paper.
Lucy couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a twinge of guilt in Madame Delanger’s expression. When Lucy unfolded the paper, she inhaled. It was a letter of character. Dear God, it was the one thing she’d lacked that had held her back in her search for better employment. “Thank you,” she said. Then it occurred to her how absurd it was for her to thank Madame when she knew the woman had treated her unfairly.
“I wish I could do more, but you will prevail,” Madame said.
A spurt of anger rose up in her, and Lucy gritted her teeth. It was an insincere platitude that would never make up for Madame’s underhanded dismissal.
Lucy rose and walked out of the sewing room, holding her head high like a queen. She vowed to do everything in her power to find work, and she would let nothing stop her. Somehow, someway, she would open her own dance studio one day. She would be master of her own destiny.
Lucy put the precious coins in her small purse and tucked the letter of character in her apron pocket. She donned her cloak and gloves. Then she picked up her basket and waited for Evelyn and Mary to put on their wraps. She had never wanted to leave a place as badly as she did now.
As they walked out into the night, the jingle of the shop door sounded altogether too cheerful, given her bad news. Lucy pulled the hood of her cape over her head, because the night air was damp and chilly. The misty fog swirled all around them. It had become their habit to walk together until their paths divided. It had made her feel safer, for at least part of the walk.
“Lucy, I know something is wrong,” Evelyn said. “Your face was very pale after Madame took you to the sewing room.”
“She sacked me, but I expected it. Madame cannot afford four seamstresses and needs someone who can work twelve hours—and for less pay in all likelihood.”
Mary exchanged a long look with Evelyn. “That explains why she hired Ida. No doubt the girl accepted a pittance for wages.”
“I suspect Ida is working in exchange for sleeping on the shop floor,” Evelyn said.
Lucy winced. “That is awful.”
Mary halted. “Lucy, I can loan you a bit of coin.”
“So can I,” Evelyn said.
“Oh no, I cannot allow it. I’ll earn wages tomorrow after my dance lesson. I’ll find a second position soon.” She must find it quickly. Her earnings as an assistant to Mr. Buckley, the dancing master, were barely sufficient, and more than once he’d shorted her based on some trumped up mistake she’d supposedly made.
Lucy held her basket closer as they approached a street vendor. She bought two meat pasties and a quarter loaf of bread for dinner. Then they resumed their walk.
“We will all persevere so that we can look forward to bright futures,” Lucy said. Her words were at odds with the fear gripping her, but she mustn’t give in to despair. She’d managed to pay for lodgings and food for herself and her grandmother these past six months, and she would manage again. A bit of pluck and a prayer would see her through this latest setback.
She hoped.
“I’m done up tonight,” Evelyn said.
Mary sighed. “I shall dream about the future tonight. Billy says we’ll marry when he saves up enough money.”
Lucy shared an inscrutable look with Evelyn. Billy made promises to Mary, but according to Evelyn, he spent most of his wages in the tavern. Privately, she’d told Lucy that Mary wasn’t the only woman in Billy’s life. Lucy had never met him, but she feared Billy would break Mary’s heart. Perhaps it would be best if he did. Mary deserved better treatment.
“We’ll miss you at the shop,” Mary said.
Lucy’s breath frosted. “We could meet at Green Park on Sunday afternoon if the weather is nice.”
Evelyn sighed. “Madame needs us to sew this Sunday, too.”
Lucy feared Madame would pressure them to work seven days a week.
The three stopped at the corner of Piccadilly and Regent, where their paths would split.
“Lucy, I know this is hard for you now,” Evelyn said, “but if you continued to work for Madame, you would not be able to teach dance.”
Mary nodded. “Do whatever you must to earn wages, but don’t give up your dream of having your own dance studio.”
She hugged her friends quickly. “Thank you for believing in me. Now I must go.”
“Be safe,” Evelyn said. “Remember the story we told you about the girl who disappeared forever after she let a man take her up in his carriage.”
Lucy shuddered. “I remember.”
“If a man offers to escort you, run,” Evelyn said.
“Remember, speak to no one, and make sure no one follows you,” Mary said.
She nodded, remembering her friends’ many warnings. Their tales of girls snatched off the street and sold into prostitution had made her skin crawl.
“I’ll not forget,” Lucy said. “Godspeed.”
Lucy shivered more from the frigid wind than the threat of danger. She stood beneath the lighted gas lamp, watching her friends walk away until they were no longer visible. Her chest tightened. It would be harder to meet them now that she’d lost her sewing job, but Lucy swore she would make it happen.
In that one unguarded moment, a filthy man grabbed hold of her basket and tugged hard.
The misty fog swirled around Harry as he strode along Piccadilly, but it wasn’t too dense tonight. Soon he must buy a carriage. He’d need one for inclement weather, and now that he was a bloody duke, he supposed he ought to have a decent vehicle for traveling. God knew he’d inherited an enormous fortune and could afford whatever caught his fancy. He’d always thought money would bring him happiness, but it hadn’t. Perhaps in time he would feel differently.
He was only a block away from his rooms at the Albany when he saw a thief tugging on a woman’s basket. When she screamed, Harry ran as fast as he could and shouted, “Stop, thief!” The ragged man took one look at him and ducked down an alley.
“Are you hurt?” Harry said as he reached the woman. Lord, his heart was hammering in his chest.
“No, but I thank you, kind sir,” she said, picking up the small loaf of bread and dusting it off.
He couldn’t help noticing her shabby glove as she set the bread beneath a cloth in her basket. Yet she spoke in a crisp, educated manner. The hood of her red, threadbare cloak fell back as she straightened her small frame. The lighted oil lamp nearby revealed her thick, red curls. She had the kind of hair that made a man want to take it down, but that only reminded him of her peril. “You ought not to be on the streets alone at night,” he said. “It’s dangerous for a woman.”
She pulled her hood up and scoffed. “Sir, I assure you, I would not set foot on these mean streets if I had any other choice.”
The woman’s plump lips and bright emerald eyes drew him. She was a rare beauty. “If you will allow it, I will escort you for your safety,” he said, smiling. “Surely you will not object to protection.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve done your good deed for the evening, Sir Galahad.” She reached in her basket and brandished a wicked-looking knife. “My trusty blade is protection enough.”
Holy hell. It was a large blade, but she held it too low. He also noticed her arm trembled. She clearly had no idea how to use the blade. One sharp blow to her arm would incapacitate her, and the knife would fall to the ground.
She looked him over and shook her head. “Perhaps I should escort you for your safety.”
He laughed. “That’s rich.”
“Evidently, so are you.”
She’d obviously taken stock of his clothing and deduced he was wealthy. “Come now, I’m a man and far stronger than you. I can defend myself.”
She angled her head. “Have a . . .
London 1822
Harry Norcliffe, the Duke of Granfield, descended the hackney and shivered a bit from the cold breeze. A glowing gas lamp lit the pavement and made a fine display of the bow window at White’s.
He could hardly believe three months had passed since Uncle Hugh’s unexpected death. Nothing would ever be the same again. The loss of Hugh often hit him when he least expected it. It still seemed like a bad dream, but it was all too real.
The world he’d known would never be the same, but tonight he was meeting his closest friends and hoped to find comfort in the life he’d left behind three months ago.
A servant appeared at the door and bowed. The scent of beeswax candles was an instant familiarity.
“Welcome back, Your Grace.”
Your Grace. The words pummeled him like a fist. By now, he ought to be accustomed to his new address, but he still felt as if he were an imposter.
The servant shifted his weight. “Your Grace, may I take your greatcoat?”
The awkward moment eased. “Thank you.”
As he divested himself of his hat, greatcoat, and gloves, he remembered thinking there would be changes, but he’d not been prepared for so many.
The sight of the betting book drew him. Here was a part of his old life. He’d always made it a ritual to read the latest wagers. For the first time in what seemed an age, he smiled as he read a wager written this evening. Apparently Aubery had bet Rollins ten guineas that it would rain on Thursday. Harry turned back the pages to read the bets he’d missed while he’d been gone. When he saw his name mentioned three months ago, he paused.
Mr. Brockton bet Mr. Norcliffe two shillings that he would eat no bacon when he visits his uncle’s pig farm.
His chest felt as if a shard of glass had pierced his heart. He gritted his teeth, determined to overcome these unguarded moments. He must go forward and reclaim his old life. But blast it all, he missed Hugh.
“I’ll be damned. It’s the devil come to London again.”
His spirits rose at the familiar voice. Harry swiveled his gaze toward his friend, and relief poured over him at the sight of Andrew Carrington, the Earl of Bellingham. “I suppose you’ve been stoking the fires of hell,” Harry said.
Bell clapped him on the shoulder. “My former rakehell days are long over.”
Harry laughed. “You are the last person I’d ever expect to reform.”
“No one is more surprised than me.”
There was a subtle difference in Bellingham’s demeanor. When they’d first met, Bell had been restless and prone to pacing. Now he seemed relaxed and at peace.
“Enough about me,” Bell said. “My friend, you look a bit careworn.”
“Yes, but I’m glad to see you.”
“I hope you’re ready for a good beefsteak and a bottle or two,” Bell said.
“I am.” It was the first step to returning to his old life, though there would always be an empty place inside now that his uncle was gone.
Bell grinned. “How does it feel to be the last bachelor among us?”
“I thought for certain you would be a bachelor for life,” Harry said, “but you fooled us all.”
“Laura made an honest man out of me. Come, our old table is waiting, and there is someone you must see.”
They had almost reached the stairs when Lord Fitzhugh and Mr. Castelle intercepted them. “Congratulations on the dukedom,” Fitzhugh said, clapping his back.
“You’re a lucky man,” Castelle added.
Harry felt as if hot coals were burning a path to his temples. His fingers curled into his palms, but he tamped down the misplaced anger that sometimes struck out of nowhere, even when he knew the person meant well. “Thank you.” What else could he say?
When Bell mentioned their party was waiting, Harry was grateful.
As they continued on, Bell glanced at him thoughtfully. “After my family perished, I grew cross when others made thoughtless comments. While I knew they meant well, I treated them coldly. My refusal to deal with my grief made matters far worse. Castelle and Fitzhugh know that an inheritance can never replace your loss, but like most people, they’re uncomfortable speaking of death.”
Harry nodded. It helped to have a friend who understood. Over the past three months, he’d learned that grief came in many forms. Tonight, however, all he wanted was to relax with his trusted friends.
As they climbed the stairs, the clink of glasses and silverware echoed from the dining room. The rumble of masculine voices grew louder as they reached the second floor. The distinctive aroma of beefsteak teased his senses.
When they reached the table, Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, his oldest friend from boyhood, stood and pounded him on the back. “Harry, it’s good to see you.”
“And you. How is married life?”
“Well, Angeline hasn’t thrown me out on my arse yet,” Colin said.
“Oh, ho!” Harry said, laughing.
Bell motioned to a young man. “Do you remember this fellow?”
Harry frowned. When recognition dawned, he was stunned. “Is that Justin?”
Justin Davenport, the Earl of Chesfield and Bell’s stepson, grinned as he extended his hand. “Pleased to see you, Harry.”
“Good Lord.” Harry turned his attention to Bell. “He was a skinny cub the last time I saw him.”
“He’s twenty-one now,” Bell said, “and six feet, three inches tall.”
“What are you feeding him?” Harry said. “He’s as big as an oak.”
Bell laughed. “A great deal of beef. He’s gained a few muscles fencing as well.”
Harry signaled the waiter to bring a bottle of brandy. When it arrived, he poured and looked at Bell. “I can’t believe you’re letting the sprig drink spirits.”
“He’s of age and knows his limits. I wouldn’t have met his mother if not for that flask of brandy Justin hid very poorly,” Bell said.
Justin laughed. “It wasn’t my brightest idea, Father.”
“Fortunately, you’re past sowing wild oats.” Bell narrowed his eyes. “Correct?”
Justin’s smile slanted to one side. “Am I supposed to answer that?”
Colin guffawed, and Harry nearly spewed brandy.
Three years ago, Colin and Harry had met Bellingham. Bell had fallen hard for Laura Davenport and her son. All of them had been fond of the recalcitrant lad, but he was a grown man now. How had time flown by so quickly?
Colin proposed a toast. “To Bell, for saving our sorry hides that night in the Thames.”
Justin frowned. “What?”
“It’s where we met Bell,” Colin said.
“In the Thames?” Justin said with an astounded expression.
Harry’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Lord, what a caper. I was so foxed I managed to lose the fare for the waterman and somehow fell in the stinking river.”
“Hah,” Colin said. “A trollop robbed you blind.”
“Of two shillings—my total worth at the time,” Harry said.
“Yes, and we had to pull you out before you drowned,” Bell said. “When you came to, you looked at me and said, ‘Lord, it’s my savior.’”
They all laughed.
“My clothes smelled so bad my valet actually gagged,” Bell said. “I had to throw them in the rubbish.”
“Those were the good old days,” Harry said.
Justin pulled a face. “I really hope you’re jesting.”
Bell mussed his son’s hair. “It’s much better viewed from afar.”
Harry set his brandy aside and regarded Colin. “I was glad to receive your letter. Congratulations on your impending fatherhood.”
“Harry, Bellingham has already agreed to be one of the male godparents. Would you consider being the other godparent?”
“I would be honored.” Then, because he wasn’t comfortable with the unexpected emotion for his friend and himself, he said, “I promise not to drop the babe.”
Everyone laughed.
Colin shrugged. “I’m more worried that one of my twin sisters will drop the babe if it’s a girl. My wife insists the twins have matured and should be the female godparents, but I’ve got my doubts.”
“Maybe you’ll have twins,” Harry said.
“God forbid,” Colin said. “We’ll never get a moment’s peace.”
Listening to his friends, Harry had a moment of clarity. There was a greater purpose in his life, one that would see Havenwood, his uncle’s legacy, continue in a direct descent long after he was gone from this world.
Harry figured his friends would likely be astounded if they knew his thoughts. A year ago, he would have never thought about marriage, but Uncle Hugh’s death had changed everything.
“My wife insists the babe is a boy,” Colin said. “To be honest, I’m hoping for a girl.”
“Take my advice,” Bell said. “Just agree with whatever your wife says, even if she contradicts it five minutes later.”
Colin shook his head. “I have no say in the matter. Her mother and my stepmother declare it’s a boy because she’s carrying the babe high. It’s all nonsense to me, but I’m not about to naysay them.”
“Harry, do you still keep rooms at the Albany?” Colin asked.
“Yes,” he said. He’d found his old rooms rather comforting. “I even kept the shabby furnishings.”
“Lord, I’ve never forgotten that lumpy sofa,” Colin said, “and the dog fur everywhere.”
“What have I missed while I was gone?” Harry asked.
“Pembroke lost more hair,” Bell said. “Old Lord Leighton is in love with the widowed Lady Atherton, but she swears she prefers her sherry to him.” He paused. “I almost forgot. Justin’s former friend George wrecked the second curricle his father unwisely purchased for him.”
“Some things never change, I suppose.” He paused and said, “Thank you for the letter, Bell. It was good to hear your news about the birth of your daughter, Sarah. I imagine Stephen is growing.”
“Oh yes. He turned two last week and celebrated by manfully using the water closet. I must say his aim needs improvement.”
Harry laughed. “Well, I suppose you can’t blame the little fellow for trying.” He poured two fingers of brandy for everyone. Of all of them, Bell had changed the most. When they had first met, he’d been rather guarded. Over the course of one season, he’d become an indispensable friend to both Harry and Colin. Bellingham was the sort of fellow a man could count on.
The food arrived. Now that he was relaxing with friends, Harry wolfed down the beef, potatoes, and cheesecake. “I’m stuffed.”
“Me too,” Colin said.
After the waiter brought the port, Justin rose. “Please, excuse me. Paul just arrived, and I’m planning to trounce him at the billiards table.”
“Go on, then,” Bell said. “Hail a hackney and don’t make a lot of racket when you come home. You do not want to face your mother’s wrath.”
When Justin retreated, Harry said, “You’ve certainly tamed his rebelliousness. Well done.”
“He only needed guidance. I suppose we’ll keep him after all.”
Harry laughed. It felt like old times again.
“What about your family, Harry?” Bell asked.
“My girl cousins haven’t changed much.”
Bell’s brows rose. “I’m surprised your family isn’t pressing you to marry now that you’ve inherited.”
He shrugged, unsure if he was ready to confess his intentions.
Bell frowned. “You’re aware that I was prepared to let my property go back to the Crown—or so I thought. Then Laura asked why I hadn’t sold it.”
“I took Havenwood for granted over the years, but I owe much to my late uncle.”
“He was a good man,” Colin said. “The best.”
“After Uncle Hugh passed, I realized how much the property means to me,” Harry said. “There are so many memories. I know he would want me to ensure his legacy thrived for many generations in a direct line of descent.” One day, God willing, it would pass to his own son.
“Does this mean you will join the old married men’s club?” Colin said.
He was a little embarrassed, so he resorted to a joke. “Not tonight.”
His friends chortled.
“Harry, that reminds me,” Bell said. “Laura invited you to dinner in a sennight.”
“Let me guess. I will be seated next to a single lady that your countess has chosen especially for me.”
Bell’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Laura will be heartbroken if you do not attend, but don’t feel the least bit obligated.”
Harry smiled. “Maybe another time.” He’d never thought much about having a family before. His own father had died when he was eight. It had been hard on him at school until Colin had befriended him. They had been like brothers ever since.
“Your uncle was an exceptional man,” Colin said. “I have fond memories of spending summers with you at his farm.”
Harry’s spirits rose. “Remember the time Uncle Hugh caught us having a pissing contest out the window?”
Colin grinned. “Oh, Lord, you pissed on the gardener.”
“Uncle Hugh made us muck pig shit out of the pen. There are reasons I don’t eat bacon.”
Harry’s smile faded. He would have to return to the farm in late summer. He didn’t know how he would bear his uncle’s absence. After the funeral, he’d kept expecting his uncle to walk into the room. But he knew his duty, and he loved Havenwood for all it represented for his uncle and now him.
“Harry, I assume you are confident in your uncle’s advisors and solicitors,” Bell said.
“Yes, they’re capable men.” He’d never admit it, but he was woefully ignorant about many of his uncle’s affairs. In hindsight, he ought to have insisted upon helping with the estate business while his uncle was alive, but regrets were useless.
Bell picked up his glass and swirled his port. “When I returned from the Continent all those years ago, I made the steward, solicitors, and bankers explain everything in detail.”
Harry nodded, knowing it was Bell’s way of making a suggestion.
Bell retrieved his watch. “Ah, damn, it’s getting late.”
“I must be going, too,” Colin said. “My wife and I have an early appointment with an architect. Pity me. Angeline is determined to tear down half the town house I just bought.”
Harry laughed, but truthfully, he was a bit disappointed. In the old days, they would smoke cheroots and drink well past midnight, but his friends had responsibilities to their families.
Bell rose. “Gentlemen, same time next week?”
“Absolutely,” Colin said. “Harry, are you in?”
His spirits rose. “Definitely.”
Harry followed them downstairs. They donned their outerwear and walked out of the club. His breath frosted and the cold air chafed his face as he shook hands with his friends.
“Can I give you a lift?” Bell said.
“No, it’s only a few blocks.” Harry wrapped the woolen scarf around his neck. “The streetlamps are lighted and a walk will clear my head of the brandy.”
Lucy Longmore finished sweeping the scraps of material and thread from the floor of the dress shop. She’d been searching for a new second job that paid better, but without a letter of character, she faced difficult odds. After she stacked bolts of fabric on a shelf, she glanced at her friends. Evelyn and Mary were still sorting their sewing notions.
“Evelyn, did you have many customers this morning?” Lucy asked.
“Yes, a number of lofty ladies and their daughters came. Most of ’em too particular.”
“Or couldn’t make up their minds.” Mary mimicked them: “Mama, I simply cannot wear primrose, for it makes me look sallow.”
“My favorite story is the mama and the biscuit jar,” Lucy said.
Evelyn grinned and mimicked the girl’s fretful voice. “Mama, why is the seamstress having trouble with the hooks?”
All three of them said in unison, “Because you cannot keep your hand out of the biscuit jar.”
They all laughed.
Evelyn sighed. “There’s nothing more irritating than a spoiled aristo.”
“I sort of felt sorry for Biscuit Jar Girl,” Lucy said.
“That’s because you have a soft heart,” Evelyn said, “but you misplace your sympathy with the spoiled rich girls.”
“Well, if I were rich,” Lucy said, “I would have no trouble at all making a decision on a gown.”
Mary closed her sewing box. “If you had lots of choices, you might.”
“No,” Lucy said, grinning. “I would choose them all.”
Evelyn eyed Mary with a smile. “Leave it to Lucy.”
Lucy wished she had dozens of choices, but one day, she intended to make her dreams of owning a dance studio come true. She might not have much more than her dreams, but she would do everything possible to make them come true.
Ida, the new girl, sidled past them. She’d started working for Madame Delanger two days ago and didn’t look a day over fourteen. Lucy and her friends had tried to befriend her, but Ida had regarded them with suspicion and rebuffed their attempts to include her. The only thing they knew about the girl was that Madame allowed her to sleep on the floor in the sewing room at night. Lucy felt sorry for Ida, as she obviously had no home.
At the sound of footsteps, Mary cleared her throat, a signal to mind one’s words. Moments later, the temperamental shop owner, Madame Delanger, entered the main floor. “Ida, do not forget to check behind the dressing screens for missing items. I check the inventory every day.”
“Yes, Madame,” Ida mumbled as she walked behind one of the screens.
“Je suis fatigué.” Madame Delanger groaned as she leaned against the arm of a red chaise longue where the illustrious customers often rested while waiting to be fitted for a gown. “The beginning of the season is always hectic, but I commissioned four new gowns and sold ten pairs of stockings and six pairs of gloves today.” Then she frowned and crossed over to Mary. “Are you checking for dust? If there is even a speck on the fabric, I will deduct the cost from your wages.”
Mary adopted a blank mien. “Yes, Madame, I will check once more.”
Lucy glanced out the shop window and sighed inwardly. If she could hurry Madame along a bit, she and her friends could avoid walking the entire way in the dark. Regardless, she mustn’t allow her impatience to show. They all treaded lightly around Madame, for her moods were unpredictable. Lucy needed the work and must be respectful.
“Ida,” Madame Delanger said, raising her voice. “You will finish the lace on that gown tonight. I had better not find you asleep while the gown is unfinished.”
“Yes, Madame,” Ida mumbled.
Lucy shared a speaking look with her friends. Madame was taking advantage of Ida’s youth. Yet none of them dared to defend the girl, because it could cost them their jobs. It made Lucy feel wretched, but she had to think of her grandmother and herself first.
“Tomorrow, you must all arrive at six in the morning and be prepared to sew for the next twelve hours,” Madame said. “This is the busiest time of the year, and everything must be ready when the ladies come to shop.”
Lucy’s heart beat faster. Madame had never insisted upon such long hours before. When she’d hired Lucy three months ago, she’d been perfectly willing to let her leave to assist the dance instructor for two hours, but that had been before the height of the season.
Lucy drew in her breath. “Madame, I will gladly arrive at six o’clock tomorrow morning, but I have a dancing lesson in the afternoon. As before, I will return in two hours as I’ve done previously.”
Madame sighed. “Come with me.”
The back of Lucy’s neck prickled as she followed Madame to the tiny sewing room. With every step, she told herself that Madame would not sack her. She needed both of her jobs and hoped Madame would understand.
“Be seated,” Madame said.
After Lucy took a chair, she said, “Madame, when you hired me, you said I could take time off to teach my dance lessons. I have always returned promptly.”
“Matters have changed,” Madame said. “I need seamstresses who are able to work the required twelve hours.”
Fear gripped her hard. She didn’t want to give up her dance instruction, because she wanted to develop her own clients. How else would she open her own dance studio?
“Madame, with all due respect, I could sew during the weekends to make up for the time I’m out teaching dance.”
“I cannot afford to employ four seamstresses.”
She stared at Madame. “But…you just hired Ida two days ago.”
“Ida does not ask for special privileges.”
The realization slammed into Lucy like a fist to her belly. Madame had hired Ida to replace her—no doubt for much lower wages.
Desperation gripped her. She took a deep breath, prepared to agree to lower wages and longer hours—anything to avoid being out of work, but it wasn’t really a choice. She couldn’t leave her grandmother alone for up to twelve hours.
“Times are difficult,” Madame Delanger said. “Wait a moment, and I will settle up with you.”
Numbness set in. Everything seemed a little hazy, as if she were awakening from a bad dream. The denial didn’t last long. Her eyes welled, but she blinked back the tears. She might have little more than her pride, but she would hold her head high.
When Madame Delanger returned, she handed over her wages and a folded paper.
Lucy couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a twinge of guilt in Madame Delanger’s expression. When Lucy unfolded the paper, she inhaled. It was a letter of character. Dear God, it was the one thing she’d lacked that had held her back in her search for better employment. “Thank you,” she said. Then it occurred to her how absurd it was for her to thank Madame when she knew the woman had treated her unfairly.
“I wish I could do more, but you will prevail,” Madame said.
A spurt of anger rose up in her, and Lucy gritted her teeth. It was an insincere platitude that would never make up for Madame’s underhanded dismissal.
Lucy rose and walked out of the sewing room, holding her head high like a queen. She vowed to do everything in her power to find work, and she would let nothing stop her. Somehow, someway, she would open her own dance studio one day. She would be master of her own destiny.
Lucy put the precious coins in her small purse and tucked the letter of character in her apron pocket. She donned her cloak and gloves. Then she picked up her basket and waited for Evelyn and Mary to put on their wraps. She had never wanted to leave a place as badly as she did now.
As they walked out into the night, the jingle of the shop door sounded altogether too cheerful, given her bad news. Lucy pulled the hood of her cape over her head, because the night air was damp and chilly. The misty fog swirled all around them. It had become their habit to walk together until their paths divided. It had made her feel safer, for at least part of the walk.
“Lucy, I know something is wrong,” Evelyn said. “Your face was very pale after Madame took you to the sewing room.”
“She sacked me, but I expected it. Madame cannot afford four seamstresses and needs someone who can work twelve hours—and for less pay in all likelihood.”
Mary exchanged a long look with Evelyn. “That explains why she hired Ida. No doubt the girl accepted a pittance for wages.”
“I suspect Ida is working in exchange for sleeping on the shop floor,” Evelyn said.
Lucy winced. “That is awful.”
Mary halted. “Lucy, I can loan you a bit of coin.”
“So can I,” Evelyn said.
“Oh no, I cannot allow it. I’ll earn wages tomorrow after my dance lesson. I’ll find a second position soon.” She must find it quickly. Her earnings as an assistant to Mr. Buckley, the dancing master, were barely sufficient, and more than once he’d shorted her based on some trumped up mistake she’d supposedly made.
Lucy held her basket closer as they approached a street vendor. She bought two meat pasties and a quarter loaf of bread for dinner. Then they resumed their walk.
“We will all persevere so that we can look forward to bright futures,” Lucy said. Her words were at odds with the fear gripping her, but she mustn’t give in to despair. She’d managed to pay for lodgings and food for herself and her grandmother these past six months, and she would manage again. A bit of pluck and a prayer would see her through this latest setback.
She hoped.
“I’m done up tonight,” Evelyn said.
Mary sighed. “I shall dream about the future tonight. Billy says we’ll marry when he saves up enough money.”
Lucy shared an inscrutable look with Evelyn. Billy made promises to Mary, but according to Evelyn, he spent most of his wages in the tavern. Privately, she’d told Lucy that Mary wasn’t the only woman in Billy’s life. Lucy had never met him, but she feared Billy would break Mary’s heart. Perhaps it would be best if he did. Mary deserved better treatment.
“We’ll miss you at the shop,” Mary said.
Lucy’s breath frosted. “We could meet at Green Park on Sunday afternoon if the weather is nice.”
Evelyn sighed. “Madame needs us to sew this Sunday, too.”
Lucy feared Madame would pressure them to work seven days a week.
The three stopped at the corner of Piccadilly and Regent, where their paths would split.
“Lucy, I know this is hard for you now,” Evelyn said, “but if you continued to work for Madame, you would not be able to teach dance.”
Mary nodded. “Do whatever you must to earn wages, but don’t give up your dream of having your own dance studio.”
She hugged her friends quickly. “Thank you for believing in me. Now I must go.”
“Be safe,” Evelyn said. “Remember the story we told you about the girl who disappeared forever after she let a man take her up in his carriage.”
Lucy shuddered. “I remember.”
“If a man offers to escort you, run,” Evelyn said.
“Remember, speak to no one, and make sure no one follows you,” Mary said.
She nodded, remembering her friends’ many warnings. Their tales of girls snatched off the street and sold into prostitution had made her skin crawl.
“I’ll not forget,” Lucy said. “Godspeed.”
Lucy shivered more from the frigid wind than the threat of danger. She stood beneath the lighted gas lamp, watching her friends walk away until they were no longer visible. Her chest tightened. It would be harder to meet them now that she’d lost her sewing job, but Lucy swore she would make it happen.
In that one unguarded moment, a filthy man grabbed hold of her basket and tugged hard.
The misty fog swirled around Harry as he strode along Piccadilly, but it wasn’t too dense tonight. Soon he must buy a carriage. He’d need one for inclement weather, and now that he was a bloody duke, he supposed he ought to have a decent vehicle for traveling. God knew he’d inherited an enormous fortune and could afford whatever caught his fancy. He’d always thought money would bring him happiness, but it hadn’t. Perhaps in time he would feel differently.
He was only a block away from his rooms at the Albany when he saw a thief tugging on a woman’s basket. When she screamed, Harry ran as fast as he could and shouted, “Stop, thief!” The ragged man took one look at him and ducked down an alley.
“Are you hurt?” Harry said as he reached the woman. Lord, his heart was hammering in his chest.
“No, but I thank you, kind sir,” she said, picking up the small loaf of bread and dusting it off.
He couldn’t help noticing her shabby glove as she set the bread beneath a cloth in her basket. Yet she spoke in a crisp, educated manner. The hood of her red, threadbare cloak fell back as she straightened her small frame. The lighted oil lamp nearby revealed her thick, red curls. She had the kind of hair that made a man want to take it down, but that only reminded him of her peril. “You ought not to be on the streets alone at night,” he said. “It’s dangerous for a woman.”
She pulled her hood up and scoffed. “Sir, I assure you, I would not set foot on these mean streets if I had any other choice.”
The woman’s plump lips and bright emerald eyes drew him. She was a rare beauty. “If you will allow it, I will escort you for your safety,” he said, smiling. “Surely you will not object to protection.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve done your good deed for the evening, Sir Galahad.” She reached in her basket and brandished a wicked-looking knife. “My trusty blade is protection enough.”
Holy hell. It was a large blade, but she held it too low. He also noticed her arm trembled. She clearly had no idea how to use the blade. One sharp blow to her arm would incapacitate her, and the knife would fall to the ground.
She looked him over and shook her head. “Perhaps I should escort you for your safety.”
He laughed. “That’s rich.”
“Evidently, so are you.”
She’d obviously taken stock of his clothing and deduced he was wealthy. “Come now, I’m a man and far stronger than you. I can defend myself.”
She angled her head. “Have a . . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
What a Devilish Duke Desires
Vicky Dreiling
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
