World of de Wolfe Pack: To Bedevil a Duke (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Lords of London Book 1)
Author: Gill, Tamara
Date: 2018-01-23
Rights: Copyright 2018 Tamara Gill. All rights reserved.

Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.

For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

To Bedevil a Duke

Lords of London, Book 1

Tamara Gill

Kindle Worlds

Contents

Keep in contact with Tamara

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Introducing… To Madden a Marquess

Feed an author, leave a review

Available Now

Also by Tamara Gill

About the Author

Copyright

To Bedevil a Duke
a De Wolfe Pack Novella

Lords of London, Book 1

Copyright © 2018 by Tamara Gill

Cover Art by EDH Graphics

Editor Authors Designs

All rights reserved.

Keep in contact with Tamara

Tamara loves hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her website or email her at tamaragillauthor@gmail.com.

Alternatively, you can sign up to her newsletter and never again miss a sale or new release alert!

Dedication

For my family. Always.

Chapter 1

London 1805

Lady Darcy de Wolfe was foxed. A most scandalous and terrible way in which to be at her own ball, but the ratafia was quite delicious this evening, and well, one tended to imbue themselves more than they aught when celebrating the one year anniversary of her husband’s death and her relaunch into London Society.

Darcy looked down at her golden silk gown with small puffed sleeves. The empire cut accentuated her small waist and ample bosom enough so to garner many admiring glances from the opposite sex. Her dark locks were pulled up into an intricate motif atop her head, small loose curls fell about her face softening the look. With the golden gown and her dark hair, the pairing complimented her, and for the first time in years, Darcy felt attractive.

Her departed husband, the Earl of Terrance had never made her feel so, he was not missed and it had taken all of Darcy’s good breeding to wait out the twelve months required for mourning. Especially when she would never mourn such a man. On his death, he’d left her nothing, which she had expected, not that it impacted her very much. Her grandfather having loved her most out of all his female grandchildren had left her the London townhouse along with a very tidy sum should she ever require it. The same grandfather that Darcy was her namesake and also chose to be known by from the day she’d placed her husband into the cold earth. Her father, the Earl de Wolfe, had supported her in her choice, having been witness to her husband’s indiscretions, his vile temper and cutting tongue was happy she reverted to the name she was born with, not the one given to her upon marriage.

It wasn’t to be borne for a de Wolfe to be treated so shabbily, and as such, Darcy had clasped her freedom upon his death and would not look back. Life was to be lived, and she would never exist again under the atrocious ways she’d endured under Terrance.

“You look positively decadent in that golden gown Darcy, and you know it. Your husband would have a seizure if he knew you were holding one of London’s biggest balls in honor of the anniversary of his death, and your debut back into Society,” said Lady Fran, the Viscountess Oliver and Darcy’s dearest friend.

Darcy smiled in welcome. Fran was a lithe, tall woman with the most beautiful auburn hair, a trait from her Scottish roots. It amused Darcy at the thought of her husband, a man she should never have married in the first place being insulted by her actions. Oh, how she’d love to see his ruddy, fat cheeks blossom in annoyance and anger at her defiance of him. “How wonderful that sounds, but you know, as a woman renowned for scandal, I could not allow such an opportunity to pass. One must keep up the standard to which they intend to live. If I did not, that would be a scandal in itself.”

Fran linked their arms and walked them along the outer edge of the ballroom floor. “You smell of wine. How much have you had this evening?”

“Enough that I know I should have no more, and I promise I will not.” Although Darcy loved nothing more than scandalizing the ton, she would only ever go so far and never crossed the invisible line that even her family’s name could not redeem her from. Two years into her marriage she’d decided that she would no longer live as a doormat to her husband, and had attended, danced, and flirted her way about London. Her husband did not approve, would bellow and break furniture and valuables, but Darcy had had enough. If she could not divorce the man, she would at least live her own life, just as he did.

“The last thing you want is to be compromised by a money hungry rake, looking to catch you at your most vulnerable. Unless of course, you wish to be married again.”

Darcy gasped. “Not in a million years, Lady Oliver. The last thing that I want is another husband. Although now that I’m free from Terrance, I may look for a lover.”

It was her friends turn to gasp before she grinned, just as she used to when they were young women at the Mrs. Dews finishing school for young ladies in Bath, and before they were about to sneak off and have some fun that the teachers were never aware of.

“There are many gentlemen here this evening who’ll only be too happy to oblige you I’m sure.”

Darcy looked about. There were a few of them looking her way, some nodding slightly, others giving the best smouldering look they knew how to perform. And maybe one of these men would do. Certainly, Mr. Ambrose could prove useful. That he was a wealthy American and would not be staying long, could be a point in his favour. A lover this Season was paramount for her happiness and sanity if she were honest.

Not that her friend Fran knew, but Darcy had attended a masked ball one evening that opened her eyes to the pleasures women could have. She hadn’t participated, merely skulked about drinking champagne, but many others were more than happy to explore, become better acquainted with the opposite sex within only a matter of hours.

The sounds that one woman made when Darcy had gone to fetch her cloak to leave was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. It had been one of ecstasy, of begging and gasping, and she’d wanted to know what it was that the woman adored so. How did a man make a woman react so? Her late husband had never fulfilled her needs, and by the time he passed away they’d not shared a bed for a year or more.

“What do you think of Mr. Ambrose?” Darcy asked, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing footman, ignoring the fact she wasn’t supposed to be having any more wine.

“Delicious,” Fran said giggling, “although please do not tell Lord Oliver I said such a thing. You know how he can be.”

Only too well. Viscount Oliver, Fran’s husband of two years, was devoted to her, and at times could be quite the jealous husband. Not that Fran would ever wish to leave the fellow, they were quite, in Darcy’s estimation, a lovable couple. Perfectly made for each other.

“I would never tease his lordship so, even if I wanted to, I would never go against your word. But I do think you’re right, Mr. Ambrose would do very well pleasuring a woman I think.”

Fran barked out a scandalously unladylike laugh, which had those about them turn at the outburst. Darcy smiled as if she’d not shocked her friend into hysterics. “Do you not agree?”

“Pleasuring a woman? Darcy, you are too wild. Wherever did you hear such a saying?”

“I played whist with the stable hands yesterday evening, and after some beer, the men were quite free with their speech. I learnt quite a few sayings if you wish to be enlightened?”

“Enlightened may be the wrong word to use in this case,” Fran said, taking a sip of her champagne. “But in all truth, my dear, do you think you will take a lover?”

Darcy shrugged, oh yes she wanted a lover. To find pleasure in the arms of a man without having to tie herself to him indefinitely. “Maybe, if I find a gentleman that I want to sleep with.” God knows her deceased husband Terrance had been terrible in bed, and she’d often been thankful he’d had his whores, if only to keep him away from her. He did not know anything about giving pleasure to a woman, or how. It was like lying with a block of wood that grunted a lot and was finished within a minute.

Fran sighed as she watched her husband chat with some other guests across the room. “It is so very important they know how to please. I could not bear my marriage if I did not find my husband attractive in that sense. I am certainly blessed that papa allowed me to choose who I loved to marry, not some gentleman who’d bring fortune and prestige to our name.”

“Luckily that Lord Oliver brought those things in any case, along with his heart for you.”

“He did,” Fran said, turning her gaze back to Darcy. “People will expect a de Wolfe to marry high, and many thought you did not marry to your station with the Earl since his pockets were to let. What will you do?”

“I will do as I please, although in hindsight I probably should have listened to papa when he said the man was a dandy. How very accurate he was in his estimation.” Darcy sighed thinking back on the time. “I feel for papa for he did not know Terrance was so deep in debt. As you know the man had his money troubles well buried until after our marriage.”

Not to mention her own blindness toward Terrance. To be so easily swayed by declarations of undying love, of a life that would be comfortable and happy, to believe whatever came out of his mouth as truth was a mistake she’d not make again with another man. This time she would choose a man who shared her values, did not wish for marriage and understood women’s needs behind closed doors. And one who did not expect her to finance his lifestyle.

“Yes, indeed.” Fran smiled. “What about the Duke Athelby? Rumor has it that he’s seriously searching for a wife, and he’s dreadfully handsome. Dark and brooding, tall and with that slight air of aloofness to all that’s before him. I think he may pleasure you very well.”

Darcy choked on her champagne at her friend’s use of her words. She directed her attention at the duke. A shame she had given up any thoughts pertaining to the man, but then it was his own fault. No longer did Darcy de Wolfe go out of her way to please any man, especially one that thought all women should be seen and not heard, but relegated to the nursery producing babies and heirs. He was severe, and his words were sharp enough to cut even the thickest-skinned person among her set if he disliked their appearance or manner. The duke was a towering terror that made most debutantes shudder in their silk slippers and gentlemen to walk with care.

Not Darcy though.

She’d merely dismissed him as a man who thought too much of himself as he always had. Not a feature that was at all redeeming. That Darcy’s godmother, his grandmother and only surviving relative thought he held qualities that would suit her and other women was an absurd notion. He might be a gentleman, a duke even, but his manners or lack of knowing when to speak and when to hold one’s tongue made it debatable. Women did not want to be chastised simply over what they wore, or how they ate, or who their friends were. The duke was only too willing to point out any little flaws if he deemed them so. Darcy shook her head. His grandmother seemed to think Athelby had a heart, how wrong she was.

It was really quite unfortunate that the woman was so completely blind.

“The duke is a no, I can promise you that. He’s a young, handsome man until he opens his mouth and this grumpy, middle aged man appears. It is no surprise to me he’s not married, for who’d put up with such a displeasing creature?” Although he wasn’t displeasing to the eye, her words were not as true as she’d wanted them to sound. Sometimes when he laughed, which wasn’t often, she glimpsed the boy he’d once been in the man he’d become, and she longed to have him back.

“Creature may be too harsh a term, Darcy. Maybe his grandmother is right, and he’s merely misunderstood.”

Darcy shook her head, smiling at Fran. “You’ve always wanted to see the best of people, but sometimes it just isn’t there. And I for one did not escape a marriage, a husband who treated me like a piece of dirt beneath his hessian boots, to merely marry another who would do the same. God forbid that my gown be a little too low cut, or that if I sat before a fire my ankles showed. The duke would have an apoplectic fit! I couldn’t stand it, and you know father would never survive seeing me married to another uptight prig.”

Fran laughed just as her husband walked toward them, the grin on his face foretelling that he was here to claim his wife for the waltz that was due to start.

He bowed to Darcy and then Fran, taking his wife’s hand before kissing it softly. “I believe the next dance is mine to claim, my dear.”

Fran blushed. “I do believe you’re right, my lord.” Fran grinned over her shoulder as she walked away. “I will be back soon, my dear.”

They walked off and joined the other couples that were congregating on the dance floor. Darcy watched them, and others as they started to glide through the graceful movements of the waltz. It was a dance she herself loved, but in her current situation, it was probably best that she hadn’t been asked to engage in it. No one wanted to see a woman fall over due to her decidedly unstable foxed feet.

“I see you’ve consumed too much wine this evening,” the Duke of Athelby said, startling Darcy.

She smiled up at him, knowing just how well that would annoy him no end. “I have, and how liberating it is. And you should probably consider yourself fortunate that I am a little foxed.”

“And why is that, Lady de Wolfe…if that is what you’re calling yourself these days.”

“Why yes, it is. And you do know Duke that you’re standing next to a widowed woman, someone who had been used, and is not perfect as we all know you’re fond of. Maybe it wouldn’t be wise for a man with such stellar manners and an impeccable reputation to be doing such a scandalous thing.”

“I’m sure I shall survive, even though your vulgar ball which is being held exactly twelve months to the day since your husband’s funeral is far from appropriate. I fear such a move will limit the time my grandmother may spend with you in the foreseeable future. I cannot have her reputation tarnished in such a way.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “‘Tarnished’ you are trying to make me laugh, yes? How absurd that a woman of your grandmother's age would even be worried about her reputation. Are you sure that the real reason you don’t want her around me is due to your narrowed views of life?”

The muscle in his jaw worked. Always a sign he was fighting to remain civil. Keeping his temper was not something the Duke of Athelby was famous for. Darcy studied his profile, his strong jaw, and straight nose. The man was devastatingly handsome, his features were severe and powerful. There was a time when they were both still children that she had been determined to marry him. He’d been carefree then, as wild and boisterous as herself and for the month-long house party that their parents had attended, to which they had been brought along, they had been inseparable. It was years before they met again, and by then Cameron had come into the title and the fun-loving, incorrigible laughing boy that she’d known was gone.

“It is my wish for the connection to be severed somewhat, it is for the best. You must see that,” he said with an arrogant lift of his head.

Darcy spotted Athelby’s grandmother strolling their way and smiled in welcome. “Ah, I see Lady Ainsworth is here. Maybe we can ask her about your new rules.”

Athelby sputtered but didn’t have time to divert his grandmother before Darcy took the older woman’s arm and led her over to a settee near an unlit hearth. The duke followed, and Darcy did her best to ignore his black scowl. The Viscountess kissed Darcy on the cheek and kept her hands firmly clasped in her own.

“How is my dear, dear goddaughter. I hope you’re enjoying yourself this evening?”

“I am, my lady, very much so, but I’ve just had the most distressing news.” Darcy looked up at Athelby, his steely gaze locked on her. It did odd things to her stomach having his attention in such a way. She turned her attention back to Lady Ainsworth to escape it.

“Your grandson has just informed me tonight that our association must come to an end.”

“Now, those were not my exact words…”

Her ladyship held up her hand, halting her grandson’s explanation. “What did he say, my dear? You have my full attention,” she said, casting an irritated glance at Athelby.

“Due to my husband’s death, and I holding this ball twelve months to the day since we laid Terrance to rest, the duke believes that I would only bring shame and ruination to your family should we be seen together. This ball is a garish act and one that puts me into the light of a woman who did not love her husband.” Not that she did at all, but her ladyship didn’t need to know that. “And so, we must part from this night on. Never to be seen together again I’m afraid.”

“Your sarcasm is not lost on me, Lady de Wolfe,” the Duke said, glaring to the point his brows almost joined, and not caring who in the upper ten-thousand saw that he was.

Darcy wanted him to be aware of her annoyance, and although she smiled sweetly at Lady Ainsworth, what the duke had said earlier was not to be borne. How dare he make her feel like she was the one who’d done something wrong. That her conduct was somehow worse than her husband’s whoring, and gambling, most of which was with her money. Another little prickle in her soul that she’d had to walk away from a house that she’d rightfully saved from being taken back by the banks upon his death. How could she not celebrate being rid of a complete fool? She would not pretend a broken heart or to be a sad little widow.

“Well, that is absurd, and I can assure you, my dear,” Lady Ainsworth said, her jowls shaking a little in wrath, “I will be spending just as much time with you as I always have. Your mama was one of my closest friends, no matter the twenty-year difference between us. And I always promised her that I would care for you until the day I died, and I will not, no matter what my grandson has to say about it, deviate from the honor.”

“Thank you, your ladyship.”

“Grandmother, see sense. If I’m to find a wife of similar standards to my own, surely you can see that our family being associated with a renowned hellion, a woman who flaunts her freedom from the marriage state with little care for her reputation, would not show us in a favourable light.”

Lady Ainsworth sighed, looking down her nose at her grandson. Not the easiest of feats considering his grace was standing, and both Darcy and her ladyship were sitting. “I will not hear of such stupidity again. Really, Cameron, do step off that high horse you seem so acquainted with these days and return to our level.”

Darcy’s lips twitched, and she fought not to giggle at the reddening of his grace’s cheeks. Really, he was being so silly to look down on her so. “What if I promise that whenever I’m around her ladyship and yourself for that matter, that I’m on my best behaviour?” she said, taking pity on the man. If it meant she could continue socializing with Lady Ainsworth, she would take care. When she decided to enjoy her Season and all the opportunities this and others might bring, she never meant to inadvertently hurt others. If his association with her would hurt his chances of making a match, then she would while around him, behave herself.

“You’re around us tonight, and yet you’re foxed. Not that my grandmother has noticed such a thing.”

“Oh, for pity sake, it is a ball and one that is being hosted by me. I may drink if I wish and I’ll not have, even a duke, tell me what to do.”

“That is enough, both of you,” her ladyship said, casting them both a dark glance. “Anyone listening would think you’re a bickering married couple already, like so many around us. Your grace, you do not have the right to be so opinionated about someone who has been a family friend for many years. You need to remember if you cannot say anything nice, you do not say anything at all.”

“I think grandmother that is the first logical thing you’ve said this evening, and is my cue to leave.” His grace bowed. “Good evening ladies,” he said, heading in the direction of the ballroom doors.

Darcy growled, throwing daggers at his back as he made his way through the ton. Argh, the man was infuriating and so high-and-mighty. She had just as good breeding as his grace, she was a de Wolfe. How dare he look down his nose at her.

“Darcy, my dear. I know your mind is no doubt coming up with multiple ways of getting back at my grandson, but please let him be. I’m hoping that when he gets a wife that his emotional wall, his rather cutting opinions may abate a little.”

“I doubt that they will, but I promise I shall not cause trouble for him. We differ in opinions, and no doubt will again. I will not stop inviting him to events or talking to him should our paths cross.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Her ladyship paused, a small frown line between her brows the only indication that she was concerned about the duke. Otherwise Lady Ainsworth was a very attractive woman for her age, of course, she had smile lines, and her hair was grey, but otherwise, time had been very kind to her.

“I think my grandson is lonely. And I do believe that is why he’s so angry at the world. As you know, he lost his only sibling, spent his informative years with no one to argue with, play and share secrets. He’s grown so used to his own company that I think he finds it hard to socialize. As was demonstrated this evening.”

A pang of sadness tweaked inside Darcy at the memory of the duke’s elder brother’s carriage accident that had taken his life. But remembering his ungentlemanly words, she tried to push the emotion of feeling sorry for the duke aside. Not very successfully she might add. “I’m sure you’re right, Lady Ainsworth. A happy union is just what his grace needs and maybe this will be the Season that he finds a woman to warm his bed.”

“Sometimes I think you’re the perfect person for Cameron. You both certainly have a wicked tongue,” her ladyship said, a calculating twinkle in her blue orbs.

Darcy chuckled, waving a footman over to bring them champagne. “We would not suit, and I’m not looking to marry anyone. Marriage to Lord Terrance was quite enough for one lifetime.”

Her ladyship sighed, taking a small sip of her wine. “Well, that is a shame, for I would love to have you as a granddaughter as well as my goddaughter. But,” she said, a sad tilt to her lips, “one cannot have everything that they wish. I often fret that I shall never see the two people I care for most happy and settled in the world.”

Darcy took her ladyship’s hand and squeezed. She was not immune to her words that often sparked guilt within her. And knowing it was completely on purpose on her ladyship’s behalf made her smile. “Do behave godmother. I know what game you’re playing, and once again, his grace and myself do not suit. My only connection to the gentleman is through you, and that is where it shall stay. As stated previously tonight and many times at previous events. If you recall.”

“One must try to make you understand, my dear. It never hurts to plant a suggestion into one’s mind for it to fester and possibly make them wonder if my suggestion had merit.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Darcy said, laughing.

“I know,” her ladyship replied, no remorse whatsoever in her tone.

Darcy looked back at the duke and tried to imagine him in her bed. He was certainly one of the most striking, powerful men in London. In the throes of passion, wild and wicked, maybe he would look even more so. He turned and looked down at Miss Watson whom he was currently conversing with, frowning and what looked like chastising the poor woman. Darcy shook her head. No, he would never do.

His Grace looked up and their gazes smashed together. The pit of her stomach clenched and her cheeks flushed from the inspection he bestowed on her. What a shame she disliked him so much. Or was he like his grandmother said, merely misunderstood.

Chapter 2

Cameron, Duke of Athelby strolled down Bond Street, his cane tapping a crescendo on the cobbled footpath as he went. People moved out of his way, a common occurrence for him and a helpful one. A few debutants that he’d seen the previous evening at Almacks tittered as their mama made her goodbyes and without stopping and only giving the slightest bow, Athelby continued. Weston’s, his tailor was not much further, and he didn’t have time to stop. The new cravats Cameron had ordered last week were not to his standard and became limp half way through events, and it was not to be borne. He would need to speak with the man himself, to have the situation amended. His clothes along with his reputation must always be the highest of standard.

No one would ever term the Duke of Athelby as a man without respect for himself or his name. Never would he allow scandal to tarnish his title again. His late brother if he had taught Athelby anything, it was that the family name and what the ducal title meant to people must never be taken for granted, used or abused for a life of reckless follies.

His step faltered, and he almost dropped his cane when Lady Darcy de Wolfe, or so she was calling herself these days stepped out of a fabric emporium laughing at something her ladies’ maid said. He frowned. Who laughed with their servants. Really, the woman had no shame.

He studied her as she continued her conversation. Darcy was a striking woman, ebony locks, and eyes with the darkest, longest lashes he’d ever seen on a woman. Her lips were full, but not overly so. On her coming out she’d been married before the season’s end, and his one regret was never having danced with her. They had been friends once, a long time ago but a lot had happened since then.

She caught sight of him, and her features shuttered. He ignored the pang of regret that darted through him. It was such a pity to see the smile that had lit her beautiful face fall from view. Darcy curtsied, the shallowest he’d ever seen as he bowed.

“Your grace,” she said. Or spat more like, as if the word was toxic on her tongue.

“Lady de Wolfe. I see you’re quite recovered from your exertions last evening.”

She stared at him a moment, and he had the oddest urge to shift on his feet. An absurd notion since he’d done nothing wrong. He’d merely pointed out that it was she who was foxed last evening and made a fool of herself. And after such inebriation, it was quite common for the person inflicted to be ill the following day. Or so he’d heard. He never partook in such pastimes. On top of being morally well behaved, he also did not drink. Just the thought of having to cast up his accounts was enough to halt any such thoughts if he had any. Which he had not.

“I have and what wonderful exertions they were, your grace. But I’m sure, with your stoic way of life, you would not know what I’m talking about.”

He clamped his jaw as annoyance tinged her tone. Athelby tried to curb his irritation that she’d made a total fool of herself the following evening. Women should not be foxed, it wasn’t becoming, and certainly not for an Earl’s daughter. She would never fit his mould of duchess. No wife of his would take indulge in excess and strife, gossiping or acting without decorum. Darcy de Wolfe no matter how beautiful she may be, even now looking up at him with eyes that could bewitch the strongest man, she would not do. Ever.

“I do not, no.” He glanced towards the shop from which Darcy had exited and quickly looked away when he spied a woman inside twirling before mirrors and her family admirers. They really ought to put up curtains to stop the passing public from seeing such a thing.

“What a shame, your grace,” she said, waving down a hackney cab like a commoner. “For if you tried a little fun, you might just have some. Good day.”

Athelby gaped at her and shut his mouth with a snap when he realized Darcy and her maid were laughing at him.

He walked on and didn’t bother to wait for her hackney to pull away. To think that his grandmother would like that piece of muslin to be his wife was an absurd notion. And she’d had many over the years when trying to match make him with some preening miss new to town.

No one so far had met his exalting standards, and in all honesty, it was becoming a problem. He was no longer the young man he had been, within a few months he would turn nine and twenty and well due to settle down and beget some heirs.

He didn’t want to lower his expectations, and yet…a wife was proving hard to acquire. His brother, God rest his soul never had trouble with women, and it was a carriage race over a woman, his betrothed no less that had taken his life. Although Athelby had only been young when his brother had passed away, the pain of his death had wrecked his mother and father which was something he’d never have inflicted on them.

There were women who’d turned their gazes his way, but he’d simply directed his in the opposite direction. None of them had been suitable. The ones he had courted always proved eventually, that they would not suit. Their laughs were grating, they were too skittish around a duke or not skittish enough. Gossiped too much or hung about him with an air of desperation he could never abide.

He wanted a woman similar to him. One who played by the rules, spoke only when required, and did not enter into the games of the ton. Surely such a woman was not impossible to find.

The image of Darcy laughing at him, her mischievous nature that had once been the sole focus of his life, at least for the month-long house party they had attended as children taunted him. He’d thought her perfect, and fun, not something he thought a girl could be. She’d not lost that love of life, but instead of being admirable for such a view, all it did was vex him.

Disregarding his cravats entirely, Athelby went to Whites and soon was ensconced in the first-floor sitting room. He accepted a copy of the Times from a footman and started to read the latest political dramas to keep his mind from wandering to the vexing brunette who aggravated him to no end.

The leather chair across from him crunched as someone sat, and Athelby wanted to growl at the interruption. He was not of the mind to have another conversation that would probably be as annoying as the last one he’d had on Bond street.

“Your Grace,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind his paper.

Hunter or as the ton knew him by, the Marques of Aaron was probably the only gentleman in the ton Athelby called a friend. “Aaron, I did not think Thursday was your day for Whites.”

“It is not, but there is a thousand pounds up for grabs due to a bet which I could not pass up.”

Aaron loved gambling, and no matter how many times Athelby lectured his friend on the pitfalls, the stupidity and dangers of gambling, he chose not to listen and continued to squander his family’s fortune. Not that the man didn’t have more than enough to last him ten lifetimes, any such waste was really not appropriate.

“Are you not going to ask me what the bet is about?”

Athelby lowered his paper and gave his friend his full attention. “Even though I do not care, I’m sure you’re going to tell me in any case.”

“I thought the bet would interest you since it involves your family.”

“My family!” Athelby sat up, closed his paper and placed it on the table before him. “What on earth could a bet here at Whites have to do with us.” His mind raced as to what it could possibly be about.

Aaron laughed, sitting back in his chair as if it was a lark to see him so addled.

“Well, not really your family, but certainly a close friend of yours and your grandmother’s goddaughter,” he grinned.

Darcy… “What are they betting on her ladyship this time?” Not that he wanted to know, but still, with the knowledge of what was happening here, he had reason to speak to Lady de Wolfe and try and correct her manners so these gentleman, not one of them would win such a sum. It was not to be borne.

“They’re betting that sweet piece of muslin will be ruined before the end of the Season. Or have a lover. I should say there are two bets, five-hundred pounds apiece, one for ruination. One for a lover.”

The notion of Darcy taking a lover made him want to be physically ill. He blinked to clear his vision of her enjoying a man using the carnal knowledge she gained from marriage. Not that he’d ever admit it anyone, but the day she’d announced her betrothal to the Earl of Terrance something had died within Athelby, curled up and rotted away. Not that she had ever been meant for him, no. It had never been that way between them. Friends yes, lovers never. It was simply irritation that she had managed to accomplish something that he had not.

That was all it was. Nothing more.

The little devil now sitting on his shoulder snickered and whispered liar in his ear, and he flicked a piece of lint from his coat.

“And you’re going to add your name to this bet?” Athelby met his friend’s amused glance with a narrowed gaze.

“I am and so should you. You know her better than most. I bet should you ask her she may even tell you her choice. For it is rumoured she’s looking for a lover, and it would be a fool indeed who turned down that little fox.”

Athelby clenched his fists and reminded himself that Lord Aaron was his friend. “If she asks you to be her lover, I would hope you would turn her down.”

Ire flashed in his eyes before he folded his long legs on the table before them. “Absolutely not! I’m not a simpleton.”

The words hit Athelby, another blow to his gut or possibly a little higher. What was wrong with him? It was certainly not jealousy, although the emotion he was experiencing was eerily familiar to it… Whatever it was he would mention it to his doctor at his next appointment, which occurred weekly. One should not ignore their health, and being a duke without an heir, his health and keeping healthy was paramount.

The thought of being jealous of who took Darcy de Wolfe to her bed was a ridiculous notion and not something any sane man would consider.

“As she’s my grandmother’s goddaughter, I would hope because of our friendship you would indeed say no to an affair with the lady, and help prevent any trouble she could find herself in should she sleep with a man not her husband.”

Aaron sighed, nodding slowly. “I see your predicament, and it’s to your credit that you’re worried about her. But men of our ilk know how to ensure no unexpected gift is bestowed and delivered several months later.”

“You cannot guarantee that and she would be indeed ruined if that befell her. I ask again, as your friend, do not try and seduce Darcy. She is not for you.”

“Who is she for then shall I ask?” his friend stated, steeping his fingers before his chin and watching him with eyes that could read a blank page, Athelby was certain. “You, by chance?”

“Certainly not,” he protested with a laugh, but the sound came out hollow, and that little devil again whispered liar in his ear. “I cannot tolerate her wayward manners or flagrant disregard for rules and manners within our society. Sometimes I despair that she is even of noble blood.”

“Oh, but you forget who her family is and their strong willed, proud heritage. The de Wolfes are not people to be told what to do. They make the rules that the rest of us should follow. If we don’t, we’re left in the cold and soon forgotten.”

How very true. It had always surprised Athelby that Darcy seemed to be able to do and say whatever she pleased without ever receiving censure from society. It was almost as if the family were immune to the repercussions of their scandalous pursuits.

“Well, I would be quite happy to be left behind if it meant living the life that Darcy de Wolfe seems determined to inhabit.” Athelby stood, and straightened his jacket. “I bid you good day.”

“Shall I see you at my sister’s ball this evening? You know it’s her first since marrying The Earl of Glenn, and Sara has always been fond of you.”

“I sent my response directly after receiving the invitation. I shall be in attendance.”

Aaron grinned. “Very good, see you this evening then, your grace.”

Athelby left Whites, and thankfully his coachman had followed him on his jaunt and was parked out front where he was able to leave directly. He tapped on the roof with his cane and stared sightlessly out the window. Why did the thought of Darcy moving on with her life, loving someone else and possibly marrying another gentleman annoy him so much?

He called out the window for his coachman to take him to Dr. Duncan’s residence, his physician. He needed to see his doctor post-haste. There wasn’t a moment to lose, for there was certainly something wrong with him. And the name of this disease was Darcy de Wolfe.

* * *

Darcy, accompanied by her friend Lady Oliver had enjoyed their evening so far at the Earl and Countess of Glenn’s first official ball since being married at the end of last season. Darcy had always been fond of Sara and was delighted she’d made a love match with Lord Glenn, who’d always been kind and amiable to others.

One person Darcy didn’t particularly wish to see was unfortunately across the room, although tonight he seemed a little out of sorts.

She studied him as he spoke to the hosts and the countess’ brother, the Marquess of Aaron. The duke held a tumbler of what looked to be brandy, and the notion he would consume such a beverage gave her pause.

“I can see who you’re looking at and I can also see the clock within your mind ticking over as to why he’s drinking,” Fran said.

“Do you think it’s whisky he’s drinking?” Darcy had to admit, to see him throwing it back and asking for a refill left her positively mute.

“It is a little odd, to say the least. Maybe he’s trying to be more like his peers, although I doubt that would be the case. Everyone knows how much he detests gambling, drunkenness, and inappropriate behaviour.”

Hmm. Darcy watched him for a little while longer before a throng of beaux bowed before her during the next few hours and she was swept away into waltzing, cotillions, and all thoughts of the duke were forgotten.

That was until some hours later she walked out onto the terrace to find the Duke of Athelby bent over the balustrade and groaning.

“Athelby can I be of assistance? You do not look very well, your grace.”

“I’m mortified to say that you’ve come across me Lady de Wolfe in a state of inebriation. What a hypocrite you must think me.”

Darcy smiled and even though she was certainly thinking it, she wouldn’t tease him on the fact right now. He really did see quite ill. “It’s actually a relief to see you such. I had thought for some time that you weren’t human.”

He barked out a laugh and then groaned. “I’m human I promise you.” His words were slurred, and the duke looked anything but ducal right at this moment.

“I know you think I’m a pompous fool. A man who thinks too highly of himself.”

Darcy met his gaze. “I won’t lie to you since we were friends as children, but yes, I do think that sometimes. But I also wonder why. You never used to be like that Cameron.”

The use of his given name wasn’t missed by him, even in his foxed condition. Surprisingly he took her hand, idly playing with her fingers. “If anyone saw me now they’d think I was my brother. The drunken fool who couldn’t hold his liquor.”

“You don’t talk of Marcus very often. And you do yourself a discredit, your grace. You’re nothing like your brother.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I fear that with only the smallest coaxing I could turn into him. And where would that leave the title, my home, and tenants who rely on me.”

“You are foxed, that will not make you your brother. And anyway,” she said, placing her hand over his that continued to clasp hers. “What was so wrong with being like your sibling. I vaguely remember him, but the times we did meet I never thought him an ogre.”

“He was my brother, and I loved him, but I refuse to follow him into an early grave.” Cameron groaned and turning toward the gardens retched all over Lady Glenn’s roses.

He waved her away, but instead of leaving, Darcy pulled out of his coat pocket his white handkerchief and handed it to him.

The duke took it, wiping his mouth, before groaning and dropping his head to sit on the stone balustrade.

“When I’m better I will kill the Marquess. Aaron stated it was merely a new punch that Lady Glenn’s cook had created. I will not forgive the man his duplicity.”

Darcy rubbed along his graces’ shoulders and ignored the fact that beneath her hand was a very firm, muscular man, more so than she’d thought. She pushed the thought aside of what he’d look like without his shirt and instead said, “I shall fetch you some water. I will be right back.” After hearing of his fears of turning out like his brother, Darcy couldn’t help but feel for the man. In his quest to be the perfect duke, he’d become a man who never relaxed, no longer knew how to live even in moderation.

She did as she promised and within a few minutes returned to where she had left his grace, only to find him missing.

“I am here,” he said, the slurred voice sounding from behind her.

Darcy looked about and went and sat next to him in the small alcove that was situated between two windows. The rooms were not lit, and not in use this evening, so they were kept hidden. Probably a fortunate thing considering his grace was not very well and should anyone catch him in such a state, the gossip that would befall him would not be easy for the man to take.

Such a stickler for proper manners, he could not bear to be seen as anything other than what he preached. And after tonight, she understood a little as to why that was. His grandmother had tried to tell her in her way, but it wasn’t until Cameron explained that Darcy understood him better.

“Drink this, but only in sips. It should make you feel better.”

He took the glass and did as she bade, not saying a word, merely sat there like a lost little boy. Although he didn’t look like a boy at all, in fact, the disarray Darcy now saw him in, his untied cravat, messy hair that was no longer suitably combed, and slightly blood shot eyes made him look wild, untamed, and nothing like she’d ever seen him before.

In fact, the duke in this unkempt state was exceptionally handsome.

“Please do not tell anyone of my state. I know we’re not friends, but please, if you can do this one thing for me I’ll be forever grateful.”

Darcy turned her attention toward the garden, seemingly thinking over his grace’s question, though she knew she would never tell of his shame. She might be a woman who enjoyed parties, dancing and revelry, but she was not a snitch or gossiper. And she could never make fun of a man who’d had a cruel joke played upon him.

She turned to look at him and a shiver stole over her when she found him staring at her. In this dark alcove, his grace seemed predatory, nothing like he normally was. It left her a little unsure and wary. Maybe it was she who’d had too much wine this evening.

“I will not tell a soul, ever. You have my word.”

His grace sighed and leaned back against the house. “I feel dreadful. Is this normal? If so, I wonder why so many people indulge in such pastimes.”

“You were drinking quite a few glasses, your grace and in quick succession. It is no wonder that you do not feel well.” Darcy stood, holding out her hand to him. He took it and stood.

“Walk to the front of the house, and I shall have your carriage called at the same time as mine. Return home, keep drinking water and get some sleep. You may have a megrim tomorrow, but you should start to feel better by the afternoon.”

The duke took her hand, bending over it and kissing her gloved fingers lightly. “Thank you, Darcy.”

It wasn’t often he used her name, in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe when they were thrown together unwillingly as children, either way, again a shiver of awareness flowed through her, and she stepped back to break whatever absurdness was taking over her body.

“You’re welcome, but go. Wait in the shadows and you will see your carriage soon enough. And may I suggest in future not to listen to Lord Aaron. You know how much he loves to have a laugh at others’ expense.”

“I do, and he will have his comeuppance if it’s the last thing I do to his lordship.”

Darcy smiled and left, doing what she promised. While waiting for her own carriage, she watched as his grace came from beside the house and stepped up into his vehicle. Again, she was reminded of how tall his grace was, his athletic form that she’d not noticed on him up until tonight.

She sighed, wrapped her cloak tighter about her, stepped down the three steps and climbed up into her own carriage, calling out the address for Sir Richard Walton’s card party that she’d also been invited to. With her good deed done for this evening, it was still early, and more fun was to be had. And maybe, just maybe luck would be on her side tonight and she would win a few hands instead of always donating her funds to others’ deep pockets.

Chapter 3

Darcy did not see his grace at any events over the next several days. She put it down to the duke being embarrassed over what she’d seen him doing and the state of his dress and appearance. Not to mention what he’d told her of his brother, which in his inebriated state may not have been on purpose.

But it was not so, and now, after too long a time, Darcy wanted to see him, something she’d never thought to imagine if only to see for herself that he survived his night of drunkenness and was well again.

Back to his normal self of insulting matrons and scaring the breeches off young bucks who acted without decorum. This evening she’d not even seen her god mother whom she’d been told had returned to the family’s country estate after coming down with a cold. Darcy would have to write her well on the morrow and wish for her speedy return.

Darcy’s heart thumped when the master of ceremonies called out the Duke of Athelby. She turned to see his grace making his address to their hosts.

He searched the crowd as he walked through the gathered throng before his gaze caught hers and did not shift. Darcy smiled at him, nodding slightly and he, in turn, came toward her, the sea of people seemingly moving out of his way, so his progress was swift and without incident.

Darcy curtsied, holding out her hand as he bowed, kissing her fingers slightly. “Lady de Wolfe, I hope I find you well this evening?”

“And I you, your grace.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he laughed. Darcy stood mute for a moment. The duke had a wonderful, rich laugh. A laugh that lit up his eyes and changed his stoic look to one of animated delight.

Damn it all to hell.

“I am very well, and I promise to only drink non-spiked punch this evening.”

She smiled. “You know, there is no crime in having whisky, champagne or wine, your grace. As long as it is in moderation.”

“And this is from a woman who not a week ago was in her cups.”

Disappointment stabbed at her that his grace’s attitude had not changed. Here he was, back to his cutting jibes within five minutes at arriving at the ball.

“I may have been foxed, but I did not have the pleasure of regurgitating it like others are wont to do.”

His jaw clenched. “Touché, I cede your point.”

“I do hope you do.”

Lord Aaron joined them and bowed before Darcy.

“I believe this next set is mine, Lady de Wolfe.”

Darcy dipped into a curtsy before the duke, not missing the flash of annoyance that the marquess had asked her to dance. It sparked a little devil inside of her to play up to his lordship and irritate Athelby more than she ought.

“It is, my lord.” Darcy took his hand and let him lead her to the dancefloor as others set up to join in a quadrille.

The dance gave Darcy the opportunity to find out why the marquess had played such a trick on his friend. “Did you know that the punch you gave his grace last week was anything but punch, and was, in fact, some sort of beverage that made him foxed?”

The marquess grinned, laughter in his eyes. “I did know, but my sister’s cook is very clever indeed, and anyone drinking the brew had no idea that too much of it will leave you in your cups.”

“I thought the duke and yourself were friends. How could you let him get into such a state knowing he is against those sorts of vices?”

“Because,” the marquess said, growing serious. “If he does not loosen up a little, see life for what it is, that it is to be lived and enjoyed, it will end with him a lonely, bitter old man. I do not want to see that for him. He deserves better.”

“That, my lord, is something that we at least agree on, but I would ask you do not trick him in such a way again. It was not becoming of you.”

The marquess seemed suitably chastised. “I promise I shall not, but what of you and your concern for him. I did not think you even liked Athelby.”

What the marquess said was certainly true, they were not close, nor was she very fond of him up until the night she found him vomiting onto roses. But she was associated with his family as a young girl and owed it to his grandmother to look out for him if she had to. “Out of my love for his grandmother and our friendship as children make me say these things, do not read into that concern any further, my lord.”

The dance took them from each other for a few steps before they were reunited. “Well, you may not be attentive in the duke, but he’s certainly taking notice of you. Even now, he’s watching, probably trying to find fault with both our steps.”

Darcy frowned. It was not very becoming of his lordship to laugh at his friend so. Having had enough of him, she stepped out of his hold and dipped a quick curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me. I find I do not wish to dance with you, my lord.”

He raised his brows, clearly shocked. “You do not?”

“No, she said, “I think you’re a dolt.”

The few people about them gasped, some of the gentlemen laughed before she walked over to the duke and took his hand, pulling him onto the dancefloor. “Shall we?” she asked.

Athelby, with elegance and ease guided her back into the steps. They were silent for a time before he said, “You seem displeased. Is anything the matter?”

“Only that you have very strange friends, your grace. If I were you, I would watch what you say around the marquess. He does not seem true to me.”

“If what has your feathers ruffled is solely due on my behalf, my honor, do not tax yourself. Aaron is just as honest as I am, if not a little less cutting and if he’s teased me before you, and said something that seems beneath our friendship, I would not worry about it. For I shall not.”

“He said that you have a concern in me, beyond that of a friend.”

The duke looked down at her, and she was shocked to recognize desire in his grey orbs. Who would’ve thought the too proper duke even had such emotions in his indifferent body and mind?

“He is mistaken.”

Really… Darcy narrowed her eyes, not believing that for a moment. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

Athelby could see by Darcy’s disbelieving lift of her brows that she did not agree with his statement, and she would be right. After her help the other evening, and the lack of rumors concerning his embarrassing slip of etiquette, she’d proven to him that she was trustworthy. More so probably than his oldest friend Lord Aaron.

“Did you know that there are two bets on me at Whites as to who I’ll take as a lover or even a husband?”

He pulled her closer than he ought, blamed it on the crush of dancers around them. “I do, and I have stated to those who have placed a bet that they are vulgar and not gentlemen in the least.”

She smiled up at him, and the breath in his lungs seized. Blast it she was so beautiful, so kissable that it hurt to deny himself. But she was not for him, the de Wolfes were too wild, non-manageable, and certainly did not play by the rules in which he set his life.

But to taste her, if only once would surely sate him for the rest of his days.

“How do you know of this bet in any case?”

This time she laughed, a rich, intoxicating sound that almost undid his years of strict decorum and made him seize her here and now. Kiss those smiling lips until they were both lost to each other and noted nothing and no one else around them. Athelby ripped his gaze from hers and stared steadfastly over her shoulder. Anywhere but at the temptation that was in his arms which would lead him to ruination just like his brother.

“I know everything that happens in your little secret Whites, and I may have at first been a little put out about the bet, but I now find it quite amusing.”

He couldn’t see anything remotely comical about the bet. It was belittling to her and anyone who partook in such scandalous behaviour. Darcy did not deserve to be the butt of jokes and games of his fellow man. “I do not.”

“I can tell by your face that you do not. But should I play the little game that all the gentlemen at Whites are betting on me to do? Who would you suggest that I marry? Or, alternatively, who should I make my lover?”

He stuttered, unable to respond straight away. “I wouldn’t know how to give such advice.”

She harrumphed, and he refused to look at her. How could he when he didn’t want her thinking of any of the gentlemen of the ton in that way. Not that she was for him either he reminded himself, simply he thought it best for Darcy to remain a spinster for the remainder of her days. Perhaps travel the continent and become an expert in embroidery. Anything but to marry again where he would have to watch her from afar.

“So, you’re not able to tell me which men I should consider and those that I should keep well away from. You’re around the gentlemen when they’re ensconced in their little club. I should think you’d hear everything they really think and mean, certainly more than any woman would ever know.”

“Even if I did know of a few gentlemen who’d be suitable, I could not in good conscience tell you of such things. It’s against my moral judgement.” He lost contact with her for a few steps before he pulled her out of the dance to stand beside a partially open window.

“Tell me, your grace, do you think your high moral judgement will keep you warm in bed? Do you not yearn for the comfort of a woman, to have her love you in all ways that a man and woman should?”

Athelby swallowed. This conversation was well beyond his knowledge, and he tugged at his cravat that was suddenly too tight. “You should not say such things.”

Darcy moved closer than she ought now that they were no longer dancing and yet, to his dismay and pleasure he did not pull back, move away to where he was safe. Damn it, he was turning into his brother. A man who could not say no to a woman.

“Would you, do you think your grace, be suitable as my lover?”

He turned and looked at her, and damn it, he could not hide what he’d tried to for so many months. To tell her that she was all that he thought of when alone. That when she’d been married to that coxcomb Earl of Terrance, that the thought of her with him in his bed, of lying with him, night after night had tormented him. The stoic, cold man that he was could not wholly be blamed on his reckless sibling, a lot had to do with his jealousy of the Earl and who he had as his wife.

But as much as he longed to have her, he would never succumb to the baser elements that haunted many fellow man, not just himself. He was not a rake, a rogue to have any woman he wished, only to discard her when he no longer had use for her. Or engage in stupid carriage races where you ended up dead.

The woman he married would be an upstanding, well connected, virgin. A woman of impeccable manners. Not the bedevilling minx staring up at him right at this moment, daring him with her crystal blue eyes to bend down and kiss her before all the ton.

“Never, Lady de Wolfe. We would not suit.” His words were cutting, and he tore his attention back to the gathered throng so to ignore the flash of hurt, the flash of despair that had entered her eyes.

“What about your friend the Marques of Aaron. Maybe I should take him to my bed.”

He clasped her harm, pulling her to look at him. “You will not, and nor will he.”

She raised one brow in disbelief. “And you know this how?”

“Because I told him to keep his filthy hands off you.” Athelby strode toward the supper room doors just as a footman announced the short repast was ready. He did not turn back, and yet the burn of Darcy’s gaze against his shoulders scolded him and did not abate for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Darcy found it hard to sleep that night and many nights after what the duke of Athelby had said to her, before he scuttled off like an injured wolf.

It wasn’t to be borne. He could not just say something like that and then leave! And no matter how much they might dislike one another, there was an odd attraction between them that they both needed to admit to.

Act on…

She lay back in her bath, splashing water on to the floor. What am I to do with this absurd attraction? Athelby was not the kind of man who indulged in liaisons. Something tugged inside of Darcy. Had he ever been with a woman at all, in any way, not just intimately, but even a simple kiss?

After what he’d told her of his brother, she doubted he would’ve allowed himself the slightest slip in giving into the base desires of man.

Tonight, was the Fox’s masquerade ball, a sought-after event that marked the middle of the season. She had not attended when married since Terrance had forbidden her to. Of course, his denying of her own entertainments did not stop him himself from taking part and often returning home with ripped clothing, a missing mask and numerous love bites over his neck and body.

The door to her room opened and closed just as quickly before the light footsteps of her maid pattered across the Aubusson rug. “Your gown is ready, my lady. Would you like me to help you out of the bath?”

“Yes, thank you,” Darcy said, standing, and taking her maid’s hand as she stepped out. The gown of royal blue with a second skirt of embroidered gold thread would suit her dark colouring and golden mask. “I’ll wear my hair half down this evening, Jane.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Within a couple of hours, Darcy found herself in the ballroom of the masked ball. The terrace doors were open and allowed the hundreds of revellers to walk the lawns and gain some air should they wish it.

The abundance of candles, the patterned gowns, and beautiful masks would make finding anyone she knew difficult, and yet there was only one person that she really wanted to find.

Darcy danced a couple of reels and the first waltz with a gentleman who played as coy and secretive as she did. For her first masquerade, Darcy found she was enjoying it very much. To be incognito was liberating, and she was pleased to find her flirting abilities had not died along with her husband.

It was while dancing a jig, where many a partner was changed during the movement of the dance, that a shiver of awareness ran down her spine. Her new partner clasped her hands and moved her along with the dance.

She looked up and recognised Athelby’s grin. “We meet again, your grace.”

“I see my mask has not fooled you.” He did not sound pleased, but Darcy paid no heed to his tone. Tonight, she would kiss this man if it were the last thing she did, and once and for all, she would see if this absurd attraction she had to him was warranted or some figment of her warped imagination.

“I would know you anywhere, Athelby.” And if she did not recognize him by sight, her body alerted her to his presence. Just as it had this evening, and if she were honest, for many years before.

Athelby frowned down at Darcy. Anything, but let the little minx know that having her in his arms again left him reeling, warring with his morals on what he desired to do and what he ought to do.

The biggest conundrum he had, and one he hated to admit to, was that Darcy made him nervous. Each and every time he was around her he fought not to babble like a fool. And after their discussion about who would suit her best as a lover or future husband, something told Athelby that his nervousness would only increase.

“I find that hard to believe, Lady de Wolfe.” He used her title, not her given name. The less intimacy between them the better. Or so he told himself. Even though the dance commanded he change partners, he simply kept Darcy in his arms.

“Do you? I simply have to look for the angriest looking gentleman, the one who’s scowling at everyone and I know I’ve found you. Even behind your mask you ooze annoyance. You’re like an elephant trying to hide behind a stick.”

“Really, what an absurd similarity.” Athelby tried to take offence, and yet he found his lips twitching to smile. He would discuss this maddening attraction to a woman who wasn’t suitable to be his duchess at his next visit to Dr. Duncan. Surely there was a pill of sorts one could take to cure themselves of feelings.

The dance ended, and he walked her toward the terrace doors. “Would you care for a stroll. You seem a little flushed.”

“As long as you do not try and seduce me duke.” Darcy grinned up at him and slid her arm about his, leading him outdoors. The air was chill, but refreshing after the stifling ballroom.

“Your reputation is safe with me. I should say, you’re probably the safest woman in England right about now.” Not exactly true… Watching her out the corner of his eye, she looked up at the stars, and his gut clenched at how very pretty she was, the mask no impediment to her beauty.

They strolled toward the back of the garden, the sound of running water and some whispered voices all that could be heard. With the Fox’s estate backing onto Hyde park, the gardens were quite extensive, and there were many places people could disappear to for a tryst or stroll.

Athelby would not be one of them.

A marble bench glowed under the moonlight, and Athelby led Darcy toward it to sit for a time. Taking the opportunity, he pulled off his mask and was glad to see Darcy did the same.

“Have you ever kissed a woman, your grace?”

The question caught him by surprise and he sputtered before answering, “Of course.” He’d kissed his grandmother hello and goodbye, and other family members too. So, in all truth, what he stated was not a lie. Not really… But he understood her question and that truth was no. He’d never kissed a woman with passion. To make them both yearn and crave where kisses were won’t to lead people. His brother kissed too many women in his younger years, his foolish actions all in the name of women led to his early demise. He would not make the same mistake. He was the last surviving Athelby heir. If he died, the ducal title would with him.

He could feel Darcy’s regard on him, and as much as he wanted to not look at her, he couldn’t help himself. He turned, and the pit of his stomach clenched in the most intoxicating way. A feeling he’d never suffered before but wanted to. Again, and again.

“Would you like to kiss me, Athelby?”

God damn it yes, he did. “No.”

Chapter 4

Damn him to Hades and back. After such a question, the last thing Darcy thought any sane man would do was stand upright as if he’d been poked by a scalding fireiron and take ten paces. She remained on the seat, watching him and not ready yet to give up her quest for the evening.

Athelby needed to be kissed, to be shown that just because his brother may have passed away after a very reckless life, it did not mean that one kiss with her would lead his grace down the same road. The man needed to be shown that life could be passionate without peril, disaster, and death. Not everyone was like his late sibling.

“No, I would not. I do not know what game you’re playing, my lady, but I do not find it amusing in the least.”

She shrugged. “I want to kiss you, so I asked if the feeling was reciprocated. You have stated it is not. There are no hurt feelings or broken hearts, I merely wanted to show you that by kissing me, the ducal line shall not fall. It’ll be there tomorrow just as it is today. That is all.”

“You wanted to use me?”

She barked out a laugh, not the most ladylike thing to do, and yet for the first time ever, his grace didn’t scald her about it. “No, I wanted to kiss you. Simply a man and woman enjoying each other.” She stood and sauntered over to him, amused when he retreated away from her until his back came up against a large oak tree.

“I do not want to kiss you, Lady de Wolfe.”

“No? Well, that is a shame.” She ran her hand down the lapels of his coat, the accelerated breathing and heartrate telling her more of what the duke was feeling than what he was saying.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what it would be like. We’ve rarely got along, but maybe we would get along grandly in this regard.” The more she spoke about kissing the man, the more she wanted to reach up and do it. Take his lips, that looked perfectly in proportion to the rest of his face and see if they were as soft as she suspected they were.

“We would not,” he said, his attention snapping to her mouth.

Darcy bit her bottom lip and didn’t miss as his jaw clenched. Oh yes, the duke wanted to kiss her. And if she were a woman of the world, which she was in a way, he wanted to do it with a desperation that she herself admitted.

“Just a little one. You wouldn’t deny a lady that small request, would you?”

He frowned, and she clasped the lapels of his jacket, going up on her toes so to reach him better. “Do not deny me, duke,” she whispered.

“Damn you, Darcy.”

She gasped as the little control she had just a moment ago vanished and she was seized by the duke, wrenched against his chest, his mouth coming down hard against hers, his tongue thrusting against her own.

She moaned. Shocked and delighted at the pleasure that coursed through her. Darcy had not anticipated wanting to do a hell of a lot more with the duke than a kiss, but she certainly did now.

This would never be enough. She wanted more, so much more and the hard part would be how she could get what she wanted. How to convince the duke that they could be together like this, without his fear of becoming a debauched rake like his brother impeding his decision.

He held her firm, his hands slipping further around her back where one thumb brushed against her bare shoulders. Darcy tried to keep up, but her mind was spinning. The duke could kiss, very well, considering he’d not kissed anyone like this before.

He may say otherwise, but knowing him and his ways, Darcy was sure she was the first.

Leaning up further on her toes, her breasts brushed him as she slid her hands through his hair, keeping him exactly where she wanted him. The kiss turned molten, and she grappled not to lose the little control she still held.

Athelby slid his hand over her delectable body, barely hidden by her silk gown and clasped her thigh, lifting it a little against his thigh. His breath came out in a rush and his heart threatened to burst. Darcy kissed him with a desire that ignited him to flame. His cock hardened, painfully so and her pleading whimper when she rubbed against him almost made him lose himself in his breeches.

He ought to be ashamed of himself, this was not what he should be doing with her. His moral compass had completed deserted him. Athelby tried to think of his brother, his death and the woman behind it. Remind himself that his sibling's recklessness over a woman, a woman the family would’ve never allowed him to marry in the first place, was the reason he partook in that stupid carriage race that had killed him.

But when Darcy slowed the kiss, her tongue coaxing his, all Athelby wanted to do was ravish her. Take everything and all that she would give. Her kiss was all that he thought it would be and it would never be enough. Not for him.

“Let me court you, my dear. I need more than just this one night,” he said, taking her lips again as if his life were dependant on it.

Darcy’s mind whirred at the mention of courting. She’d already married a man who was controlling, mean and vindictive. Not that the duke was vindictive, but he could certainly be cutting and liked control most of all. She might wish to take him as a lover, but never as a husband. She did not escape by chance one terrible marriage, only to enter another of very similar credence.

She wrenched herself out of his arms, and he stepped toward her, his gaze unfocused and mad with desire. “What are you doing?” he asked, breathless.

“Saving us from a mistake.” She righted her gown and fixed her hair, holding up a hand when he reached for her. “No more your grace. I shouldn’t have teased you so into kissing me, and I apologize.”

He stood there, shock, and annoyance settling on his features. The duke took a calming breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking about and seeing if anyone had been watching their blatant fondling session in the garden.

“It is I who should ask forgiveness. I was carried away with unexpected emotion.” He bowed. “Good evening, Lady de Wolfe.”

Darcy placed a hand across her lips to stop herself from asking him to stay, to finish what she’d feared for some weeks now, was between them. Desire, a scorching, intoxicating need for each other, that she was fearful she had sparked to life tonight with her teasing and their kiss.

She watched him disappear up the garden path and sat back down on the bench. There was only one way forward from tonight. She would have to keep well away from the duke, not attend any events that he might also attend and try and keep herself from doing exactly what she wanted to again.

Take the duke of Athelby to her bed.

* * *

Athelby had, up to tonight, been successful in avoiding Darcy de Wolfe, but upon entering Earl Musgrove’s and his wife’s musical loo, which was to be followed by a light supper repast, his days of avoidance were over.

He stood at the front of the music room where Lady Musgrove had set up chairs before a makeshift stage where fellow guests would perform, and a small orchestra would play to compliment the singers.

These types of events he had, up to tonight, enjoyed very much. He did not have to converse too much with those attending, and with supper served just afterwards, most were eating and therefore conversation was again, not overly required.

His location gave him the perfect opportunity to watch others as they arrived, and he nodded as the Marques of Aaron discussed the latest Crown Lands Act in parliament. But his mind was otherwise engaged. In fact, his mind and body had not been his for the past fortnight. It belonged to another.

Endless hours of reliving the kiss he’d shared with Darcy haunted his mind. His body ached as it never had before. He’d lost count of how many times he’d woken in the middle of the night, his cock as hard as a rock, and sometimes, at his lowest ebb, he’d found his hand had been clasped about it, stroking it, teasing it as he wished she had.

Utterly mortifying and inappropriate and he would quite literally die of shame, should anyone know what he’d been thinking. Of what he’d been longing to do with the little minx who stood laughing at something her friend Lady Oliver was saying. The way he was going, he would be a debauched as his brother was before the Season’s end.

“If you keep staring at de Wolfe the way you are, you’ll be made to marry the chit. What have you done with the lady that’s made you so possessed with her person?” Aaron asked, taking a sip of his wine.

Not as much as I’d like to have done.

Damn it. He wrenched his gaze down to the floor and studied the parquetry for a moment. “I’ve not done anything with her ladyship. She merely annoys me.”

Torments me…

“The betting book at Whites now states that Lord Thomas and Sir Fraser are front runners in contending as her lovers. They’ve been quite attentive to her, and she’s certainly allowed them to show their affection if you understand me.”

“She’s allowed them to kiss her?” He shut his mouth with a snap and stood tall, lifting his chin so not to show that the mention of Darcy kissing another, hurt. Hurt like bloody hell.

“I understand Sir Fraser has had the pleasure, but then, you know with these young bucks, they often tell tales just to boost their own self-importance.

“They should not be associating their scandalous behaviour with Lady de Wolfe if it isn’t true. Her reputation could be tarnished by such rumors.”

“She is striking, I must admit. And I’ve meant to apologize for my behaviour the other week. My teasing of you was not warranted, and I’m sorry I spoke of you in such a way to Lady de Wolfe.”

Athelby nodded once. “Apology accepted. But you should not concern yourself. I never take any notice of your nonsense when you’re in your cups.”

The marquess snorted, lifting his wine glass up in salute. “As you should.” He paused for a moment. “Lady de Wolfe does seem to take an interest in you though, Athelby. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth that there is nothing between the two of you?”

There was a lot between them, but nothing he would ever admit verbally. Not even to his closest friend. He raised his attention to where he knew Darcy was located and their gazes locked. Again, his stomach somersaulted in the most dizzying, intoxicating way and he clenched his jaw.

Damn it. He’d hoped after being away from her these past weeks such a reaction would not occur. How wrong he’d been. If anything, it was worse.

Denial it would seem, made the bond grow stronger.

“You’ve kissed. I can see it between the two of you as clear as air. And you want to do it again. Admit it, man, you’ve had a tryst with the de Wolfe.”

“No tryst, just a kiss.” Blast, he was not going to say a thing about it. He wrenched his attention away and frowned at his friend. “Do not tell anyone of what you know, and do not put my name down as a contender for her ladyship’s hand, either in marriage or as a lover.”

“I think you could be a contender for both, for the way she’s looking at you right now, I would say you’re more likely to be her lover before anything else.”

The thought of having Darcy beneath him in his bed made his blood beat at a crescendo that even the instruments about to play could not reach. “I will not sleep with her. Ever.” To do so went against all his morals, the way in which he’d lived his life. Fleeting liaisons were not who he was or ever would be. He was a respectable, upstanding duke. Not a rake.

“Oh, well, from the looks of Sir Fraser you’ve missed your chance. And Lady de Wolfe seems quite pleased by his attentions if I’m any judge of character.”

“I do not care.” Athelby sat and steadfastly refused to move his attention from the stage, even though the singing was yet to commence. Aaron sat beside him, shaking his head, but deciding not to voice whatever it was he was thinking.

Probably for the best, considering Athelby’s mood was decidedly soured. Whether it was due to Darcy fawning over another gentleman and acting yet again inappropriately, or because it was not he himself that she was acting inappropriately with, he couldn’t be sure.

The musical night hosted by the Earl and Countess Musgrove was something Darcy had been looking forward to, up until the point that she’d seen Athelby in all his elegance standing beside the Marques of Aaron, his dark, intense inspection of her rattling her more than she’d like to admit and leaving her flushed.

She had promised herself, and up until tonight had done quite well in keeping her distance from him. Their set was wide and varied, and it hadn’t been hard to go to balls and parties that both were invited to, but at different times. If she’d heard from his grandmother that he was to attend so and so at this time, Darcy ensured she attended at opposite times.

It had all worked out splendidly, until this evening. A musical loo was not something she’d thought the duke would be interested in, and yet, here he was, as handsome as ever, cold and aloof as he’d always been.

She shook her head as she ate a crab cake during the supper repast. After the music he’d seemed to disappear, and she assumed he’d returned home or moved on to attend another event. The fact that his absence left her a little bored and forlorn was not to be considered. Darcy was determined never to marry again, no matter how enticing being courted by the Duke of Athelby might be. She could not risk another bad marriage like the one she’d had to endure with Terrance.

“Fran, darling, I’m going to use the ladies’ retiring room and then I think I shall leave. I wish to go for a ride tomorrow morning, and I’ll never rise should I not head home soon.”

Her friend handed her glass to her husband who stood with them. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

Darcy waved her suggestion away. “No, I shall be fine and my maid is waiting for me there. You stay here and enjoy this delicious repast.”

She exited through the door she’d seen other ladies slip through. A footman explained where the retiring room was and pointed her in the right direction. Darcy walked along a bank of windows, some of which were bay in design. Red velvet drapes hung down on all of them, allowing anyone who sat upon the seat overlooking the gardens privacy if they so wished. Walking past one that was drawn closed, she stifled a scream when a large hand came out and pulled her into the secretive alcove.

“You!” The wild, ravenous look on Athelby’s face gave her pause, and she didn’t say another word.

“Yes, me,” he said, pushing her against the wall and taking her lips in a searing kiss. Against her better judgement and rules, her past mistakes and wishes for the future, Darcy clung to him, all but climbed up against his person and made herself as close as she possibly could while the kiss carried on.

It was too much, this need, the all-consuming obsession with him could not be possible. “Touch me, Cameron,” she gasped as he tried to lift her up to get them as close as achievable.

Failing that, he moaned and rocked against her instead. One hand fiddled with the base of her gown, before the cool night air kissed her ankle, calf and then thankfully, finally her thigh. Athelby paused, pulling back a little to stare at her. “I don’t know what to do.”

Darcy fought to understand what he was saying through her desire consumed mind before understanding dawned. Taking his hand, she guided him to where she wanted him to touch her most.

He didn’t pull away and stop what she was showing him, and the fact that this man, a duke no less was not skilled in the ways of what a woman wanted suited Darcy. He was hers to mould. To teach touches, kisses and whatever else they did together. To know no one else had been with Athelby like this left a powerful elixir that was hard to deny.

At first, his touch was hesitant, too careful as if he was scared to hurt her. This kind of endless teasing was almost enough to send pleasure to ricochet through her. “Slide your hand against me, explore and learn me, Cameron.”

Cameron had never, ever wanted to take a woman as much as he fought not to take Darcy. She stood before him, his to take, her legs spread as the wall supported her while he teased and touched the most private of parts of a woman.

When he’d pulled her into the curtained space, he’d not thought this would happen. He’d meant to chastise her for teasing Sir Fraser and leading the poor fellow on. But the moment she’d entered the space, all he’d wanted to do was kiss her. Taste her one more time.

The woman’s anatomy was not as he’d expected it to be and touching Darcy like this allowed him to learn what she liked, what made her gasp and cling to him like he was the only other living soul on earth.

“Athelby,” she gasped when his finger found a peculiar, small entrance. Seeing if his touching of her there was something she enjoyed, he slid one finger a little way inside.

Darcy kissed him hard, her tongue meshing with his, and emboldened he slid his finger fully the way in. It was then he realized she was riding his hand, just as he imagined a woman would ride a man’s phallus.

His balls ached and were tighter than he’d ever known them to be. Other than the times he’d woken up in bed, panting and as hard as hell after dreaming of the woman who currently resided in his arms.

“I’m going to come,” she whispered against his lips.

Her lips parted, her head tilting back as she continued to ride him. Athelby nibbled and kissed her while she peaked, her bottom lip clasped tight in her teeth to stop any notifying sound. In time Darcy regained her composure, and already he longed to have her in such a state again.

He’d never slept with a woman before, probably a fact that Darcy now knew, and the pleasure she seemed to experience made him yearn to know if it would be the same for himself. He’d gained so much enjoyment from watching her, being more involved, finding his own release, was that as addictive as he imagined it would be.

Just the thought had him wishing she’d undo his front falls, sit him on the bench at the window and ride him until they both found release.

Their gazes locked and instead of pulling away, Darcy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him lightly before she said words, that were never truer. “We have a problem, Athelby.”

And they did. A big one.

Chapter 5

Darcy sat astride her grey mare, Montclair, and galloped as fast as her mount would carry her down Rotten Row. The park was deserted, bar her groom Peter who sat atop his horse under a copse of trees not too far away.

The sensation of flying always invigorated Darcy, and she patted her mare as they trotted to a stop, turning her back toward her groom. They had been out for some time already, and soon the park would have the early morning riders who would not take well the sight of a woman, astride and galloping down the row. All faux pas according to the ton, and rules that Darcy always enjoyed ignoring.

She trotted back to Peter and smiled. “Time to return I think.”

“Right ye are, my lady.”

Darcy rode ahead, and as they walked the horses across the park toward the northern gate, a group of men entered on beautiful, well-bred mounts that Darcy couldn’t help but appreciate. But only one man stood out more than the rest.

Athelby…

They stopped and dipped their hats and Darcy in turn smiled but didn’t slow. “Good morning, gentleman,” she said, liking the fact that all of them present threw her admiring glances. She had worn today her newly purchased silk jockey bonnet, that went perfectly with her navy-blue riding suit with gold buttons, she looked almost regimental. Not to mention the colouring always complimented her blue eyes.

The men moved on, but one.

“Go ahead, Peter,” she said, stopping now that Athelby had. “I wish to have a word with the duke.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, doing as she bid.

Athelby turned his horse to come up alongside hers. Darcy raised one brow but didn’t say a word. After they had left each other two nights past, she’d not seen him at any events. Was he avoiding her again? More than likely, and it wasn’t to be borne. He could not raise such deliciousness within her and then disappear. Her husband had never given her such pleasure in the short amount of time they were married, and other than giving herself release a few small times, with Athelby it was the first a man had raised such emotions.

She wouldn’t allow it. The duke of Athelby was going to be her lover if it were the last thing she did this Season.

“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, his tone distant, and yet his eyes were the window to his soul, and she could see he was struggling. What that struggle was exactly she couldn’t be sure. Wanting her while fighting the emotion or her ineligibility due to his standards she would assume. He’d always been such a stickler for rules, to disregard them after finding pleasure in her arms, would go against all that he believed in.

He wanted her, that she had no doubt. But would he act on it, really act on it and make her fully his? That, Darcy wasn’t certain of.

“I am very well, thank you. And you?” If he was going to be all formal and absurd, then so was she.

“I am well.” His jaw clenched, and he looked away, adjusting his seat a little. The action made her attention snap to his thighs, and she bit her bottom lip seeing that he had very muscular legs and that the tan breeches he had on were very much accentuating his fine form.

It was crass of Darcy to ogle the man in such a way, but really, what was one to do when she found him absurdly attractive and that if she had her way, she’d help him out of those breeches and not let him get back into them again until she was fully satisfied.

“I want to kiss you.” The words sounded torn, a deep rumble that tumbled her common sense into dangerous ground.

Ignoring all sense of decorum, and considering they were a little way from the gates of Hyde Park, Darcy tempted fate. She leaned toward the duke and caught his gaze. “Then kiss me, Athelby.”

His attention slid to her lips and for a moment she actually believed he would do as she asked, before he thought better of it and straightened his spine. “I cannot kiss you here.”

She shrugged, knowing that was too true, but wanting to tease him a little about it in any case. “Pity, I so dearly would love for you to.” Darcy pulled her horse to come around the back of Athelby’s and took the opportunity to slide one finger across his bottom and down one leg as she went.

“Are you attending the Leeders’ ball this evening?”

“Yes,” he said, pushing her hand off his thigh.

She grinned. “Maybe we can continue to further our acquaintance there?” Her words, finally, and triumphantly brought out a small grin from the duke, and Darcy chuckled. How handsome and approachable he was when he wasn’t scowling at everyone, growling like a lion with a prickle in its paw.

“Well then,” she said, moving off. “I shall see you there, your grace.” Darcy trotted off and didn’t turn back to look at the duke, but he was watching her, more than likely debating all the pros and cons of doing what they both wanted.

Each other.

By midnight, Darcy had all but given up hope that the duke would attend the Leeders’ annual ball. She stood beside a grouping of house plants and swallowed down the last of the numerous glasses of champagne she’d already had this evening.

Damn him. If he thought to avoid her again, run away like a little man-child he could think again. She wouldn’t allow it. Even though tonight there was little she could do.

This late in the evening, the guests were well in their cups, the dancing was still the focal point, although some of the gentlemen had wandered into the card room and had commenced gambling.

Darcy sighed and placed her glass on a passing footman’s tray and debated taking another or going home. Even her friend Fran had left some hours ago, and Darcy had only stayed due to the possibility Athelby would arrive.

He would pay for this deception.

She took another glass and sipped. She would give him until this drink to arrive and then she was going home. Distracted by her annoyance at the duke, she didn’t notice the gentleman who came to stand beside her. It wasn’t until a warm finger touched the nape of her neck and slid down the full length of her spine, going all the way down to her bottom.

Darcy grinned as hope bloomed in her chest. She took another sip. “How very inappropriate of you, duke.”

He leaned close to her ear, his whispered words igniting fire in her blood. “I want to be inappropriate with you. Only you.”

The breath in her lungs seized and she swallowed. She wasn’t used to the duke turning the tables on her and being the one to seduce. It was normally she who goaded and taunted. Even so, it was refreshing and so very arousing to have the duke do it instead.

“Dance with me, Darcy.”

This time she did place her glass down on a passing footman’s tray, and let him lead her onto the dance floor for a waltz. She went into his arms willingly, needing to be close to him, to smell his freshly laundered clothes, his sandalwood cologne, and something else that was just Athelby.

A little alarm went off in her mind that she was getting herself too involved with Athelby, seeing possibility where no possibility should be seen. “You’re a very good dancer for a man who doesn’t often take to the floor.”

He moved them with grace and ease about the room, and considering his height and her own, they fit perfectly, and their dance was effortless.

“I had a very good teacher and of course, I was the most avid student.”

“Why is that so easy to believe.” Darcy chuckled, and he frowned.

“You should not mock people merely because they take an interest in all that they learn. I have never done things by halves and I should not start now.”

“And yet,” she said, wanting to harass him a little more. “You’ve teased me, only completed half of what I want you to do with me, so who is the bad student now?”

Desire burned in his gaze and she shuffled closer still. “I want you in my bed, Athelby. And I want it soon.”

He tripped a little, but righted them quick enough that no other dancers about them noticed. “Lady de Wolfe, while I–”

“Don’t you dare, your grace. You will finish what we both started. What we both want.”

For a time he was silent, and Darcy fought not to lose her temper with him. It was not at all gentlemanly, if this was a gentlemanly act at all, to cry off and leave her wanting him fiercely, while he pushed down his own desires and refused her. Right at this moment, she damned his brother to the pits of hell for scaring his younger sibling into being a prude.

“Darcy I…” Again, he stumbled over his words, and she took pity on him. Maybe he wasn’t going to cry off. Run away like she thought he would.

“What Athelby. What say you?”

The little frown line was back between his brow, and she wanted to reach up and smooth it away with her finger. But here and now was not the time.

“I’m…I’m… God damn it all to hell,” he swore. “I’ve never been with a woman in that way before,” he whispered, looking about to ensure no one was listening.

Darcy didn’t react, for she knew that already. Had suspected when he’d not known how to touch her. The kissing he had taken to very well and quickly indeed, but the touching of her at the musical loo had only occurred because she’d told him what to do, where to touch.

To know no one had had the man in her arms before was more exciting than anything she’d ever known in her life. To have it confirmed doubly so. Maybe that was why husbands found gaining brides who were untouched so arousing. She could certainly agree with the notion a lot more now that she had Athelby in much the same way.

“I know,” she said, playing with the little bit of hair at the base of his nape. “And if anything, knowing this only makes me want you all the more.”

Their dance had slowed and they stood scandalously close, but for the first time ever, it seemed the Duke of Athelby was not concerned with proper etiquette and correct behaviour.

“I will not have you at a ball,” he whispered, pulling her into a tight spin as they came to the end of the room. “I want you in my bed. Not in a window alcove.”

“I found our last rendezvous in the window alcove very rewarding indeed. I could make the same a possibility for you. There are ways you know, for a woman to pleasure a man in much the same way.”

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “The thought of us, of you doing such things to me, please do not say it here. No one wants to see the duke of Athelby hobbling off the dance floor with his cock pushing out the front of his breeches.”

Darcy laughed, taking a quick glance downwards just for fun. “Take me back to your home. Let me show you all that there can be between a man and woman.”

“No, I do not wish to rush this with you.”

Although disappointed, she could understand his caution. “Very well, we shall take it slow, but promise me after this dance, we will leave, together and in your carriage. If I do not kiss you soon, I shall expire.”

Thankfully the dance came to an end, and they were able to make their goodbyes to their hosts for the evening. Darcy called for her carriage and spoke to her maid, notifying her that she had other transport to return home.

Using the shield of her carriage, she walked two steps and jumped up into the duke’s. No sooner had she sat on the squabs than did the horses move on and they were on their way.

“I told the coachman to drive around until advised otherwise.”

Darcy went about untying the rolled-up blinds and pulling them down over the windows.

“What are you doing?” he asked, not moving from the seat opposite her, simply watching her with amusement.

“Making this little abode private so no one can see in.”

“In that case,” he said, leaning forward, he snipped the locks on the doors and now they were fully alone and unable to be disturbed.

Settling back on his seat, Darcy watched him for a moment.

“What now, de Wolfe?” he asked, grinning a little.

She bit her lip, desire curling throughout her body. “What indeed Athelby.”

Later that evening Athelby would wonder how the hell he’d not know the carriage could be a vessel of pure, unadulterated pleasure. For years he’d travelled within such an abode, seen couples alight from their vehicles and often deliberated why the women looked starry eyed and the men most pleased.

His brother had certainly looked such often enough.

Now he knew the reasons behind all that. For Darcy de Wolfe had shown him what he could have between them if he choose.

Darcy moved from the other seat and came to sit beside him on his. Hells blood, she smelt good enough to eat. As sweet as a rose and as pretty as one as well. Unable to deny himself, he cupped her jaw and kissed the side of her mouth. Small little kisses across her neck toward the base of her ear. His attempt to seduce her seemed to work if her soft sighs against his ears were any indication.

“I’m going to pleasure you, duke. Now sit back,” she said, pushing him against the squabs. “And enjoy.”

Damn it, he bit back a groan at her lascivious promise. As it was his cock sat rigid in his pants, ready and waiting for her to do whatever it was she had planned.

“Promise me that whatever I do, you’ll not try and stop me. Know, that what I’m doing is because I want to, that it’s acceptable and will be enjoyable.”

“Very well,” he said, not willing to deny her anything.

He shifted his legs further apart as slowly, delicately she undid his front falls. Athelby tried not to cringe when his cock sprung forward, eager for her touch. She ran her finger along the top of his cock, taking the little bead of moisture that sat there and slid it between her lips, licking it.

“Fuck,” he gasped, having never used such a word or imagined such an action was possible, or that anyone would want to do such a thing for that matter. But to see Darcy do so, had his heart beating a million times too fast, his body not his own. For right now, at this very moment, Darcy owned him. All of him.

And damn it all to hell he wanted to do the same to her. Lie her back on the squabs, part her lovely long legs and lick her from ankle to core. The thought of what she’d taste like there, the crude naughtiness of it left his cock more rigid and he fought not to clasp Darcy’s cheeks and guide her over him.

Kneeling in front of him, her gaze captured his and her perfect pink tongue came out and licked him from base to tip. Athelby fought not to pass out from the wonderful sensation of having her suck his cock.

He’d missed out on so much and the thought maddened him before she stroked her tongue over his throbbing length again and he lost all thought.

“You’re teasing me,” he said breathlessly.

She grinned, licking him a third time. “Good things come to those who wait.” But she didn’t make him wait too much longer. Fascinated, he watched her lips circle the top of his cock and slide down, taking a good third of his phallus before she started the opposite way. Athelby did clasp her face then, if only to anchor himself to reality. Darcy’s sucking, licking, teasing of him was relentless, an endless torture that made his stomach clench and his balls ache. Her tongue was soft against his skin, pushing against his pulsating veins.

Dear heaven he was lost…

For what was probably only minutes, but felt like hours of pleasure, she sucked him, used her small hand about the base of his cock and stroked while her mouth entwined magic about his soul.

Never did he ever have any idea such a thing was possible. That a woman would take a man so, and seemingly enjoy it if Darcy’s aroused moans and breathy sighs were any indication.

The carriage turned a corner and he caught her arm, and braced them both by pushing against the window. Darcy adjusted and took him deeper, clasping his balls after each glide of her hand and mouth. The action, a little different than before, but more determined had stars form before his eyes.

Athelby found himself pushing into her mouth, such an ungentlemanly thing to do, but he could not help himself. The need to reach the pinnacle that he’d long denied himself was too much to ignore. He wanted to fuck her mouth, hard, do base things with her and make her come against his own face.

All these thoughts bombarded his mind, and crying out, he climaxed He tried to pull away, to save some dignity for himself, and her too, but Darcy wouldn’t have it. She stayed fixed upon his cock, licking him, sucking and swallowing all that she pulled forth from his release.

His breath ragged, he stared at her as with a little wipe of the corner of her mouth, she sat back on her hunches and grinned. “How do you feel, your grace?”

How did he feel? By God, he felt lethargic, hungry for more, intoxicated, drunk on her and what she did to him. “I did not know that it could… That a woman could do such an act to a man. I never listened to the bawdy talk that sometimes occurred at my club.”

Darcy came to sit beside him, kissing him gently, slowly that only aroused him to have more of her. He could taste himself on her, and his cock twitched. “There are lots of things we can do, if you’re willing.”

Athelby warred with himself. He wanted her, knew that he’d go mad if he didn’t have her soon, but to engage in a liaison wasn’t something he considered respectable. Darcy needed to be his wife, and perhaps, should he play by her rules for a time, she would come to see the same. He could not just sleep with a woman and then leave her to the wolves, something his brother often partook in.

He tapped on the roof, signalling the driver to return Darcy home. “Will I see you at Duncannon’s ball two nights from now? I will give you my answer then.”

Darcy righted her gown and sat back against the squabs, tidying her hair and ensuring it was similar to how she’d had it set before going out for the night. “Very well, I shall wait to hear what you choose.”

“Thank you,” he said, frowning at the fact she was annoyed by his hesitation in having an affair with her. Not that he didn’t want her, he did. Desperately so.

But by having her, losing himself to her, did that mean he also lost who he was, what he believed to be right. At this time, he couldn’t see any other way forward but that path, and Athelby wasn’t sure anything, even Darcy was worth losing his values over.

Chapter 6

Darcy sat under a large oak at her friend Fran’s garden party and covertly watched the duke of Athelby. He hadn’t noticed that she was present, as her chair sat under a lovely shady spot, with some of the branches of the tree hanging down and partially hiding her from view.

Darcy shifted her attention to her friend and for the first time, she noticed a small bump behind her friend’s otherwise small waistline. She narrowed her eyes on the little mound. When was Fran going to tell her about that little bundle? Smiling at the thought of her best friend not only marrying for love, but starting a family. Something she’d wanted to do ever since they were at Mrs. Dew’s finishing school for young ladies.

Today the duke wore tan breeches and knee-high boots that were so polished one was sure to see their reflection in them. His bottle green coat hugged him like a second skin, and she flushed, remembering how she’d managed to delve beneath those fine clothes and give him pleasure. Have his large hands entwine in her hair, pulling her, holding her against his member as she pleasured him. Made the demanding, righteous duke of Athelby crumble and come apart in her arms. And how delicious it was having him react so.

She crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs a little in expectation. Should they get an opportunity today she would steal him away, lock him up in a room somewhere in the sprawling mansion behind them and have her way with him.

Maybe even make love to him this time. If he wished it.

A footman came by and offered her ices and she took one gratefully. After her less than garden party thoughts, she needed to cool off a little.

The duke continued to stroll through the guests, talking to those who were game enough to speak to the fierce looking man, before he stopped and quite obviously searched the party. Was he looking for her maybe?

When their gazes locked, his shoulders slumped just a little. In relief at seeing her present, Darcy wasn’t sure, but his determined steps toward her certainly implied he’d captured his quarry.

He came to stand at the end of her chair, towering over her and oh, how she wished he could crawl up the seat to lie atop her, lift her gown and settle between her thighs and take her.

Darcy swallowed, again shifting on her seat as the thought of having him left her needy, a greedy little minx desperate for his touch.

He looked about, not that anyone was nearby, she was the only one lying on the chairs put under the tree to shade guests who wanted to rest for a time. She raised her brow, but didn’t say a word, but neither did he. Athelby simply stared at her, his gaze raking her body and leaving her shivering from the raw need that shimmered in his eyes.

His jaw clamped, and he frowned. “Where can we go?”

Oh my…those words made her gasp a little and make her heart skip a beat. “Do you wish to be alone, your grace?” she asked, playing coy and simply not saying, ‘me too’ as she so wished to.

“I’ve thought of nothing else but what you did to me the other evening, and it’s past time that I returned the favour. It is only right as a gentleman that I do.”

“Of course, and as a man who believes manners are a pinnacle we all must strive toward, I would think less of you should you not have offered,” Darcy said, coming to stand toe to toe with the duke, “to taste me with your mouth as I tasted you. Enjoyed you, your grace.” She ran her finger across his bottom lip.

His nose flared as he seemed to struggle with his emotions. Seeing the duke mad for her left her longing for him again. It was the most intoxicating thing she’d ever seen, and her heart did a little flip of rejoice.

“Somewhere close by. The house is too far away.”

Darcy chuckled. The house wasn’t all that far, although they would have to cross the lawns and weave their way through the multitude of guests who congregated there, only too ready to stop a duke and try and catch his eye for their daughters.

“There is a summer house hidden in the gardens. If you follow the path until it comes to an end and turn left, you’ll see it a little way along. It overlooks the park beyond and the small lake this estate has itself.”

“Perfect.” The duke strode off in the direction she stated.

Amused, Darcy watched him, going to talk to a nearby group of women before she too, strolled to where they would meet.

Trepidation and expectation made her heart thump and her stomach clench in excitement. Would the duke enjoy touching a woman so, kissing her in the most intimate of places? Her husband had only ever performed it on her once, and upon awakening the next morning, he’d proceeded to tell her he’d been so far into his cups that he’d thought her one of his mistresses and that he regretted the action. That he would never do such a thing again.

Before Terrance had said such a thing, Darcy had thought that perhaps their marriage could work, that he did find her attractive and wished to only be with her. How wrong she’d been, such an immature, green fool.

She raised her chin and determinedly continued toward the summer house. The duke was not her deceased spouse. He was a man who desired her, wanted to do all that she wished to do with him. Was passionate and eager to please her, in a sexual regard at least, which was more than her husband had ever been.

Going through a small gate on the path, Darcy pushed it open and stopped to admire the summer house. It was a rectangular stone structure, with two large windows and a double glass door. Steps led up to the door and for decoration, the roof had small castle looking balustrade that ran about its edges. Darcy had always loved the building, and during the time her friend Fran was being courted by the Viscount, they had often spent afternoons here, swimming and enjoying each other’s company, while her friend fell further and further in love.

It had been the best of times, and now hopefully, she will make more, delightful memories.

The duke stood in the doorway to their abode, his cravat, coat, and waistcoat nowhere to be seen. Lounging against the wood, he looked casual and so delectably handsome that heat pooled between her legs.

How she wanted him, all of him.

“Waiting for someone, your grace?”

He laughed a deep, rumble that echoed with determination and need. Shivers slid down her spine and she rushed toward him, eager to have him kiss her, touch her, be with her in any which way he was willing.

The moment they touched, a spark lit a flame within her and she kissed him deep and long. The duke did not hold back and only too willing, met each stroke of her tongue, each clasp of her wandering hands with that of his own.

Her hair tumbled down about her shoulders as his fingers spiked through it. Darcy pulled the duke’s shirt from his breeches and ripped it over his head, leaving his heaving, muscular chest hers to admire.

She stood back a little and admired the view, ran her finger over each ripple of muscle. He skin was sun kissed, and left her wondering what he did that he was able to have such a skin tone. The thought of him working shirtless left her mouth dry.

Instead of asking, not wanting to delay what she longed for him to do to her, she leaned forward and kissed where his heart beat fast. Her hands went about his back as she kissed her way up his neck and found his more than willing mouth.

This time the kiss was slow, languorous, an unhurried seduction that made her ache to have him.

“I want you, Athelby.” Her voice was breathless and full of need, but she did not care that he would hear that. Darcy could no longer pretend that their little liaison was merely that, a temporary fling. For it was not, not for her at least. Not anymore.

He picked her up, kicking the door closed and carried her over to a day bed in the middle of the room. For a moment Darcy hoped that he would strip himself of his breeches, but instead, watching her, he slid her dress up over her legs to pool about her waist. Warm air, fragranced with roses kissed her skin and she bit her lip as he placed large hands on each of her knees and slowly spread them apart.

Oh, dear lord…

His fingers played with the silk stockings still tied against her thighs before his lips skimmed their way up toward her aching mons. For a man that had never done such a thing before, he certainly seemed to know what he was about.

“You’re so beautiful, Darcy.” He paused, placing a small kiss to her very core and making her gasp. “Tell me if I’m not doing this right, or you want more or less of what I do.”

Darcy could only nod, and watch entranced as he lowered his head again and this time, slid his tongue against her sex. She moaned, clasping his head lightly and laying back on the cushions to enjoy his wicked, delightful lips.

His touch was unsure at first, tentative and yet with that, it only made her more frantic, the need coursing through her grew, ebbed and slowed with each of his kisses, the slide of his tongue until she could not hold back her need any longer.

“Cameron,” she gasped. “Touch me with your fingers as well as your mouth. Please,” she moaned as he flicked the little nubbin that gave her pleasure with expert authority.

“Like this,” he said, his words muffled slightly.

Darcy sighed as he slid one finger into her heat, his tongue flicking her toward madness. It was too much and not enough. Unable to help herself she clutched him between her thighs and rode his mouth as he brought her to climax.

Darcy shouted his name as wave upon wave coursed through her body. The pleasure left her lethargic and sated, and she lay there spent for a moment as Cameron came to lay beside her, pulling her into the crook of his arm.

“I fear I shall never grow tired of having you in such a way, Darcy.”

She looked across at him, running her hand over his stubbled jaw. “I fear that I shall never grow tired of you having me in such a way either.”

He came to lay on her and kissed her long and slow, her heart doing a silly little flip, one that could only mean one thing. That not only did Darcy de Wolfe care for the man in her arms, but that she’d possibly grown to love the complicated, opinionated duke of Athelby.

Chapter 7

There was only one explanation for the emotion that was coursing through Athelby’s veins right at this moment. Jealousy.

The woman who had pushed his morals to one side and conquered him waltzed about the floor, more than happy by the looks of her smile, and sparkling eyes to be swung about by the blasted Sir Fraser again. Athelby never thought to have such a reaction to seeing Darcy dancing with another, but now, after all they’ve shared these past weeks, she wasn’t meant for anyone else. She was his, and he was hers.

He clenched his jaw. A proposal was all that was required of him. Not a small task considering as much as he longed for her, thought of nothing but the minx and enjoyed her company, she was not the most suitable of women to be his duchess.

Darcy de Wolfe was almost as opinionated as himself, she was a widow and not a woman who allowed anyone to take advantage, certainly not a husband. When she’d married the Earl of Terrance there may have been a time she was green, vulnerable and eager to please, but not anymore. Now Darcy was hard, wore her armour like a shell that protected her from harm and be-damned to anyone who tried to tell her what to do or how to think.

Athelby admired her for it, but when she became his wife, she would have to concede to the rules of his household and society in general. There were expectations and standards that Darcy would need to meet, which he hoped would not be long in coming to fruition.

He just needed to get her to say, yes.

The dance was exceedingly long, and by the time Darcy was deposited back with her friend Lady Oliver, Athelby’s disposition had gone from cool to glacier.

Darcy took a flute of champagne and commenced an animated discussion over something or other. She was utterly beautiful when enthusiastic in such a way and he could only hope he could make her as happy once married.

Another gentleman he wasn’t familiar with bowed before her and soon she was dancing a reel. Was she ignoring his presence, he’d certainly not been able to catch her eye this past hour. What was she about not looking at him, noting his presence. Just as he had noted hers upon arrival.

Annoyance spiked and he left the ballroom, heading toward the card room instead. At least there he would not have to watch her flirting, see her happiness when in another man’s arms.

The thought brought him up short. Why did he care so much as to what she did with the other gentlemen? They were not engaged, had no understanding. As a widow, Darcy was free to do whatever she wished as long as it was done with discretion.

He slumped into a chair, not heeding who he was seated across from and joined in on a game of chance. That he was even in this room, a gambling den where gentlemen threw their living away without a care was telling indeed. He was not himself, had not been thinking clearly for some weeks now and it was all due to the little dark-haired minx waltzing about in the ballroom.

Never did he gamble, or drink, and yet tonight he’d found himself doing both. Wilfully ignoring his morals, all because Darcy was not paying any attention to him. He was in one word, pathetic.

Athelby played several rounds before quitting the game, down a tidy sum due to his distraction. He poured himself a tumbler of whisky, left the room, and wandered the deserted corridors just beyond, before he found a billiards room.

The cold, dark, empty space suited his disposition well.

The door shut behind him and he heard the lock snip. Spinning about, he glared at Darcy as she walked toward him, with the moonlit night, seeing the slight grin on her lips ignited his ire.

“What are you doing here, my lady?” he asked, his tone cold.

“I’ve been waiting for you to end your silly card game. I had thought you’d come back to the ball, but when you did not, I followed you here. Why are you avoiding me, your grace?”

That she used his title was telling. So, she’d picked up on his displeasure perhaps, or she was playing off against him when he too had used her title instead of her given name.

“I’m simply finishing my drink before I was going to call my carriage. The ball has bored me, and I find I no longer wish to be here.”

Hurt flickered in her gaze and he cringed that he’d possibly upset her somewhat with his words. Did he wish to injure her? Maybe, and he hated the fact that it was solely due to jealously. Having to share Darcy with others, when he wanted her only for himself was not something he handled well, it would seem.

“So, you weren’t going to come dance with me? You were going to scuttle away instead?”

“I do not scuttle, madam.” He pushed one of the red balls across the table, completely missing the other balls set out at the other end.

Darcy came toward him, running her hand along the side of the billiards table. “We haven’t seen each other since the summer house. Are you angry with me?”

Yes, damn it, he was angry. Angry that he wanted her so much. Angry that she seemed immune to him. Angry that others claimed her time. He frowned. “It has been a busy couple of days.”

“Of course,” she said, coming closer still. “I’m sure being the duke of Athelby is very demanding.”

Was she teasing him now? “Let me escort you back to the ball, Lady de Wolfe. I’m certain there are many other gentlemen who’re only biting at the bit to dance with you and wondering where you are.”

“I think not.” Darcy came to stand in front of him, and this time her finger ran across the front of his coat, his lapels to then slide about his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I do not care to dance with anyone else but you, duke.”

“It did not look to be the case earlier, my lady.”

She pouted and then chuckled, a seductive sound that went straight to his nether region. “You are displeased with me, and it’s because you’re jealous. Well, well, well, I had not thought I’d ever see the day that the duke of Athelby would be so telling. And in front of a woman as well.”

“I’m not jealous.” Liar. Damn it, he was so jealous he could hardly see straight. The thought of her returning to the ball, dancing with others had him clasping her hips and holding her firmly before him. “I’m not jealous,” he repeated in the hopes it would be true.

“I do not enjoy seeing you dance with others either, Cameron.” Darcy leaned up and kissed him, and unable to deny her anything, he returned in kind and gave himself up to the de Wolfe.

Darcy steadied her heart as Athelby took control of the kiss and turned it from a chaste peck to something so much more. A kiss that was molten, full of need and ownership, his of her and she of him. Through the embrace Darcy came to realize that there was no turning back from the feelings that they both raised in each other. And nor did she wish to.

For weeks now they’d teased, kissed and danced with each other in this game of seduction, but no more. Tonight, right at this moment Darcy wanted Athelby with her whole body and soul, and blast it, she would have him.

He walked her backwards until her bottom hit the edge of the billiards table. Without hesitation, Athelby picked her up and deposited her onto the green, velvety top. The kiss continued, demanding and hot and Darcy fumbled with Athelby’s front falls, wanting to feel him, touch and stroke him, not have any article of clothing impeding her desire.

He gasped through the kiss when finally, she freed his member and with a slow, long caress left heat to pool between her thighs.

“I want you, Darcy. I cannot breathe for want of you.” He fumbled with her dress, any care was long gone as they frantically tried to rid themselves of their clothes so they could both end this torturous game they’d played.

“I too.” Darcy wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him against her. His hard member jutted out, and using her hand, she guided him into her, a long, slow impalement that left her full, heady with need and completeness.

For a moment Athelby didn’t move, his hot breath rasped against her neck making her shiver.

“Ah, Christ, Darcy. You feel like heaven.”

Heaven as well, a torturous, exciting gentleman she couldn’t get enough of. Athelby didn’t move, just remained still and Darcy couldn’t stand a moment longer of the inaction. “Rock into me, Cameron. Please.”

The duke swallowed and meeting her eye he did as she asked, his thrusts slow at first, before becoming long and deep, meaningful and controlled. For a man who’d never had a woman before, he was certainly exceeding all her expectations.

Not only that, but he didn’t seem to be slowing, or showing signs of not being able to last, as her husband was wont to do when they had shared a bed. No, Athelby clasped her bottom, pulled her more solidly into him and took her, pushed her toward a climax that she’d only ever reached by herself, or with this man over the last few weeks.

She clutched at his shoulders. The mural on the ceiling caught her eye, it was of woman and man, laying on a bed of clouds and entwined much like the duke and she was right now. How fitting that they were in a room with such artwork and creating their own masterpiece. He slowed, placing small, delicate kisses up her neck before taking her mouth. “Show me what else we can do. I’m certain this is not the only way.”

Darcy chuckled and disengaged herself from him, before sliding off the table. “Lay down on the settee, and I’ll show you another way.”

He threw her a devilish grin, and pant-less strode with not one iota of care to the settee. Darcy caught glimpses of his tight derriere as his shirt moved as he walked. Possessiveness shot through her that the man before her was hers, no one else’s to ever see in this way, no one else’s to kiss and love.

Cameron was hers.

On the settee, his jutting cock stood upright, ready and willing for more lovemaking. Darcy came to stand beside him, taking in all his glory and wanting to prolong their night for as long as she could.

“Wrap your hand around yourself and stroke. I want to see you do it.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t deny her request, merely did as she asked, and touched himself.

“Tell me have you ever done this before?”

“No,” he sucked in a breath, his other hand reaching out to wrap about one of her legs, pulling her gently toward him. “But since I’ve had you, from the moment we first kissed, I’ve woken up hard and longing to be with you every day. I’ve wanted to take myself in my hand and pump myself to completion if only to imagine it was you I was losing myself within.”

“You don’t have to imagine any longer.” Darcy leaned down and kissed the tip of his penis. Cameron mumbled something ineligible and just to tease him further, she took him in her mouth, sliding her tongue down his rigid length and tasting them both on her lips.

“You’re killing me,” he said, his hand coming to clasp her hair, making it further unravel.

Not that Darcy cared, she was long past caring if anyone saw or knew what they were about. So long as she had Athelby, the ton could go hang, and after tonight there was no doubt in her mind that he would agree to make her his mistress. For them to have a liaison without any strictures or rules on the other.

The thought of the duke of Athelby being her lover sent a shiver of delight down her spine and unable to deny herself a moment longer, she gathered up her dress about her waist and straddled him.

His gaze turned molten as she lifted herself a little and then took him within her. With each delectable inch, the urge to moan, to cry out with the wonderfulness of it all was hard to deny, and she bit her lip to stop herself.

“Fuck, Darcy. I had no idea of what I denied myself.”

Darcy rode him, supporting herself on his chest as she became the one in control of the speed, the depth, and angle of their lovemaking. It was wholly satisfying and increasingly hard to stop herself from riding him like a wanton. “Had I known the duke of Athelby was a man of many hidden talents, I would have seduced you years ago.”

The pain was real, torturous and so fucking good he wanted to cry out. Having Darcy atop him, riding him, pulling him toward climax while he was fully imbedded in her, her hot heat licking his cock and dragging him along was the best thing he’d ever experienced in his life. All the years he’d denied himself a woman. What had he been thinking? What sort of man lived a half-life due to such a choice.

He’d been bitter for so long, angry and alone, but now, with Darcy, she’d shown him that there was more to life than duty, rules and regulations. Not that he would allow them to stay as they were for much longer.

Oh no. Darcy de Wolfe would be his wife before the season’s end. She would be safely stowed in his life and bed and no one would ever touch her, mistreat her, or dance with her again. She was his, and he was hers.

Wholeheartedly.

I love you.

Never had he ever seen anyone so beautiful, so free and giving themselves with abandonment to him. Wanting to look upon more of her he slipped her bodice down and freed her breasts. They rocked with the force of their lovemaking, and he clasped one, circling her nipple with his finger until it puckered.

“Yes. Touch me,” she begged, laying her hand atop his, clasping her breast.

Darcy leaned back a little and the movement pushed him toward climax. Oh, dear god, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back for much longer.

“Cameron. Yes!” she panted, a light flush crossing her cheeks. Her pleasure brought his forth, and it shot through him like a bullet. He moaned her name, leaning up and kissing her hard as he spilled his seed within her hot, wet core.

His breath was ragged, he watched as slowly they regained their composure, although he was unwilling to move. If he had a choice, he’d never move again, so perfect was their current location.

“I fear Lady de Wolfe that I’m unable to live unless you’re in my life.”

Darcy clasped his cheeks, kissing him slowly and with such perfection that his cock twitched, wanting more of the same. More of her, a delicious morsel that he’d never tire of.

“I fear the very same thing, duke.”

Relief swam in his blood at her words and tomorrow, first thing, he would gain a special marriage licence and make Darcy his bride. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

Chapter 8

The following morning Darcy entered the library, where she’d asked her butler to allow the duke of Athelby to wait while she finished her morning routine. He was unfashionably early, and she’d not thought to see him again until tonight at Lord Boulder’s dinner.

She frowned as she came down the stairs. What was he about being here at this time? Did he regret last night? Maybe now that he’d had her and some hours had passed since she’d taken his virginity that he was rethinking his future with her.

Darcy paused at the library door, swallowing the sickness that threatened to rise up. She did not wish for them to part, and she so hoped he would be open to being her lover. They did make quite a good pair, and after last evening, were more than compatible with each other.

The butler opened the door and she strode in, coming to a halt when she spied him beside the unlit hearth. Today he was the duke of Athelby, regal, authoritative, serious, his clothing immaculate. His hair was combed back and in order, not even his cravat would dare to be out of place today it would seem.

His appearance was formal, and it gave her pause.

“Good morning, your grace. I hope I have not kept you long.”

He shook his head, a flicker of trepidation passing through his eyes before he blinked and it was gone. “Not at all. And I apologize for coming so early, but what I have to say could not wait until the suitable at home time.”

“Of course,” she said, coming to sit before him on the settee.”

The duke started to pace before he stopped and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m sure you know why I have come here today?”

She smiled up at him, wanting to untie his cravat and ruffle his hair. He looked so severe and cross, nothing like the man who’d come apart in her arms the evening before. Not willing to let him stand before her in such a way, Darcy went over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I believe I know why you’re here, and it was something I was going to talk to you about this evening. When we had some time alone.”

“You were?” he asked, clearly shocked but not pulling away from her impromptu hug.

“Yes, you wish to discuss the formalities of us becoming lovers, do you not? And I do not mean only when we’re together at balls and parties, although those times are wicked fun, but here and at your residence as well. We will be discreet I promise.”

The duke stumbled back and clasped the mantle for support. “Clearly you jest.”

“Jest? Why would I joke about such a thing? I mean, I do not know the rules of having a lover, of being someone’s mistress, but I do believe it requires us to not show open displays of affection while being together quite often when alone. To partake in house parties and trips with our mutual friends so we can be alone.”

The duke placed his arms behind his back, lifting his chin in a determined set. “I did not come here to ask you to be my mistress.”

Despair made her knees weak, and she sank back on to the settee. “Then why did you come?”

“I came, Lady de Wolfe to ask for your hand in marriage.”

For a moment words failed Darcy and realizing she was gaping at him, she shut her mouth with a snap. “Your wife!”

“Yes.” The cold, determined word left her reeling.

“No.” Her response wasn’t at all filtered, and she cringed when hurt flickered through his eyes.

“May I ask why madam, that me asking for your hand in marriage is so abhorrent to you?”

Darcy clasped her hands in her lap and took a calming breath. “It’s not abhorrent, but marriage is not an institution that I wish to be a part of again. My first marriage was a disaster and only diverted when his lordship decided to have a heart seizure beneath his whore. I do not want to be beholden to anyone, but I do wish to have a man in my life. To make love to him whenever I wish without having to promise to obey and honor him before god when it is most likely, as I well know, that it’s only the woman who has to abide by the rules.”

“I am not Lord Terrance, Darcy. I would never dishonour you in such a way as to have a mistress.”

“I have heard such declarations before you know, and it did not make one ounce of difference when Terrance saw someone he wanted.”

Athelby started to pace, and she steeled herself to be strong.

“Cameron, we can have a life together, be lovers and enjoy ourselves without marriage getting in the way. You said yourself only a few weeks ago that I was not suitable to be a duchess and you are right. Nor do I wish to be.”

The muscle at his temple jumped.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” Fear seized her that she may lose him. “I do want you, just not marriage.”

“I cannot have a mistress, Darcy. It is bad enough that I have slept with you without taking vows before God. Over the last few weeks I have fallen under your spell, and I cannot remove myself from it. You know I am a man of rules and for doing what’s right. Do not ask to be my mistress. I could not dishonour you so, I want you as my duchess.”

Tears pricked her eyes that she would hurt him. “I cannot be your wife. I will not be any man’s wife ever again.” Darcy stood, going over to a decanter of whisky and pouring herself a dram. “My marriage was horrible, truly awful and Terrance has cured me of the ill wish.”

Cameron stormed over to her, taking the glass from her hand and making her look at him. “I am not the earl, damn it.”

Darcy took the glass out of his hand and drank it down in one sip. She would need all the alcohol she could get to tumble through denying her duke. “What you just did is why I’ll never have another man think they own me. You do not get to choose what I want. You do not get a voice in what I’ll do. If I wish to drink whisky at nine twenty in the morning, I damn well shall. And if I want to say no to your proposal, I shall do that as well.” She hated hurting him, but the fear of marriage, of being owned was too great, and she couldn’t help herself. “I wish to be your lover, but that is all. Do not ask any more of me than that.”

Athelby glowered at her, any pretence of not being angry with her long gone. In fact, Darcy would easily surmise that he was furious.

“You could be carrying my child. Are you going to make an innocent babe a bastard simply because you do not wish to be a wife!”

The statement made her start. She’d not thought of such a possibility. “If I am increasing, which we shall know soon enough, I will marry you, without hesitation. I would never do that to a child, but we don’t know that yet, and so as of this time, my answer is no.”

“You stubborn woman.” He stalked to the door and ripped it open. “Let me know via correspondence what the outcome to that probability is, and we’ll deal with it then. Until such time, good day to you, my lady.”

“Cameron,” she said, following him into the foyer. “Please try and understand my reasons. They were never put in place to hurt you. I would not wish to do that.”

“And yet you have.” He bowed. “Good day to you, madam.”

Darcy swiped at a wayward tear as the duke slammed the door in her face. She went to the window and watched him enter his carriage, that door too being slammed even though the coachman had been trying to close it with dignity.

His carriage pulled away, and a severing made her clasp her chest. Was it wrong of her to never marry again? Was she being selfish and cruel to a man who did not deserve to be tarnished with the same dark cloud as her husband?

Yes, the duke was opinionated, a nuisance when it came to rules, but he was also passionate, caring, and wanted her to be his wife. Was she wrong in saying no?

Darcy walked back into the library and sat before the unlit fire. That conversation had not gone at all as she’d planned upon seeing him here this morning. Never had she thought the duke ever wanted her especially as a wife. So many times, he’d said she was too opinionated, too wild like her family. Not to mention she was not a virgin, pure and sweet like so many gentlemen wanted to marry. She had been married to a man who cared not the briefest bit about her, ruled her and made her obey him at every turn while living his life in the exact opposite way.

She rubbed her temples as a headache threatened. Not that Athelby was like that, but being so rule abiding, how long before he turned into a mirror image of Terrance? Made her tow his line and not put a foot wrong. The wife of a duke had a lot more responsibility than an earl’s countess, and Darcy did not care for it. No matter how much she cared for Cameron, the title as far as she was concerned could go hang.

For a time, she sat in the room before a maid entered and she requested tea. Pain tore through her that she’d pushed the one man away that she’d ever longed for, loved even if she were honest. They were opposites, there was no doubt, but that opposition suited each other perfectly.

Darcy thought over his brother’s death and could understand his need to marry her. His brother had cared little for the fairer sex, bedded many women and had died in a reckless carriage race over the fairer sex. Leaving many broken-hearted women in his wake.

Athelby’s determination to not be like his sibling made him honourable and made her love him more than she thought possible. He’d stated he was not Terrance and he’d proven that many times since they had been together. He cared for her, loved her and instead of asking her to be his mistress, he’d wanted her as his wife.

Darcy swiped at another tear. What had she done? Her fear of rules had ensured she’d pushed the man she loved away. Maybe forever. Whatever would she do now?

In the week since Darcy had denied him, Athelby had become an utter, and complete dunce. And even he knew it and yet he found it hard to alter his course. All too easily had he reverted to the prim and proper duke as so many called him. Glowering at any person who dared to look happy, partook in a dance or slipped even the slightest with etiquette.

He was an ogre, and he hated it.

After her denial of him, he’d spent the next few days in a haze of despair. Had even contemplated having her as his mistress and be damned to a wife. The life she asked for, where both were free to do as they pleased while coming together for pleasure was appealing, and one night he’d almost knocked on her front door to beg her to do just that. Forget his proposal and have him in just the way she wished.

But the pain his brother had inflicted on the family, the scandal that had rocked a ducal line that had been a pinnacle of grace and dignity could not be repeated again, and certainly not in his time. He could not do it.

The Marques of Aaron came to stand beside him, throwing him an amused glance. “There are rumors afoot that you’ve won the bet at Whites. Some are even saying you were seen in a highly scandalous embrace with Lady de Wolfe at Leeder’s ball.”

Athelby glowered at Hunter, if only to keep up the appearance that the notion he was the source of gossip did not rattle him to his core. Oh, dear god, had anyone seen them in the billiards room? He cringed and downed the last of his whisky, one of the vices he’d taken up that he did not wish to give up now that he’d started.

“As I said before, the betting book at Whites can go hang.”

Hunter chuckled clapping him on his shoulder. “The source was a reliable one, and I’m sorry my friend, but he’s a gentleman who’s married to one of London’s most gossiping tongues.”

Sir Walton’s wife…

Damn it. Athelby looked across the sea of dancers and met Darcy’s troubled gaze. So, she too was aware of what was being said about the ton.

“What are you going to do about the situation, my friend. You cannot leave de Wolfe to the wolves. After her previous marriage, she does not deserve to be ruined simply because you could not keep your hands off the Lady.”

The steely tone of Hunters words fired his ire. “I asked her to marry me if you must know.”

Hunter choked on his wine, apologizing to a nearby matron who looked at him with distaste. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“And nor will you, for she said no.”

His friend had the good grace to look appalled before he laughed. In fact, the bastard threw back his head and bellowed over his misfortune. Athelby clenched his fists at his side lest one of them connects with the Marquess jaw.

“I cannot believe it. The delectable Darcy de Wolfe turned down the Duke of Athelby. Whatever are you going to do about it?”

What could he do about it, save kidnap the lady and force her to marry him, which of course was an absurd notion and not one that sat well with him. Kidnapping, no matter if you loved the person or not was out of the question.

Too scandalous for starters.

“There is nothing to be done. I asked, she said no. Duke or not, I cannot force her hand.”

“Do you want to marry her still?”

“Of course, I do,” he said without question or pause. He would marry her tomorrow if she would only say yes. But she did not want him in that fashion. Darcy wanted a lover, a temporary bedmate to pass the time. Not an annoying husband who curbed and impacted her freedom. Or so she thought.

“Will you share as to why she rejected your offer?”

Athelby met his friend's gaze. “She simply does not wish to marry again, and who could blame her after marriage with the Earl of Terrance? Never was there such a disgusting, piece of flesh as he and his many whores.”

Hunter whistled. “I gather you did not like the chap.”

In truth, he’d always hated the man, the one reason more than any other being the simple fact he’d married Darcy. His grandmother was right about her. She was perfect for him simply because they were complete opposites.

He sighed. “I asked her to be my wife, and she asked me to be her lover. And you know Darcy’s temperament, there will be no changing her mind.”

“Show her you’re willing to change. Maybe even be her lover for a time and win her that way. At least you’ll be together.”

Hunter made a good point and Athelby thought about it a moment. “I don’t want a mistress, and I certainly know better than to make a de Wolfe one. I’d have her family down on my head and demanding retribution at dawn.”

“True,” Hunter said, pursing his lips. “They would not care for it on second thoughts.”

He had that right, and as much as he wanted Darcy, he wasn’t willing to make her his whore. It was certainly what a mistress, such a liaison like she suggested they have, would make her. And he did not want such an outcome. He wanted her to be his wife, his duchess. His everything.

“I will talk to her again. With the whispers about town over our indiscretion, it may make her open to negotiation and discussing the marriage option once more.”

“I wish you well, my friend.”

“Thank you,” he said, watching Hunter disappear into the crowd. Cameron headed toward Darcy and coming up to her was pleased that the small group of women who had congregated about her dispersed.

She curtsied. He bowed. “Lady de Wolfe, please would you care to dance?”

Darcy raised one brow and watched him for a moment. He couldn’t discern what she was thinking or even if she’d say yes. In fact, when she continued to remain silent he couldn’t help but look about and see if others were watching their exchange.

He sighed noting they were. “Please dance with me.”

She shrugged and placed her hand atop his own and he led her onto the floor as the first strains of the waltz sounded. Athelby pulled her against him, her warmth and scent of roses intoxicated his soul and he fought not to clasp her too tightly, beg her to be his bride so they might never be apart again. Tell her that he’d never curb her exuberance for life.

“I gather you wish to discuss something, your grace.”

Darcy wouldn’t meet his eye, simply stared over his shoulder. “I do. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that are circulating London about us.”

“I have.”

There was no more discourse and he wanted to shake some sense into her. Did she not know such a scandal could ruin her? As a man, a duke there was no risk to him. Oh yes, some of the matrons of the ton might look down their noses at him for his indiscretion, but they would not dare cut him in society. Darcy faced the complete opposite, widow or no.

“And with the knowledge that if this story about us continues to gain momentum and your reputation could be tarnished, ruined in this set, will you think on my offer some more. I know I’m not the easiest of men, I certainly have my opinions on matters pertaining to etiquette and rules, but I promise I shall try and make you happy, be a better husband than your last one. Give you all that you want and more.” He was begging now, but he didn’t care.

Darcy did look at him then, her paleness giving him pause. “Are you well?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry Athelby, but I cannot marry you. I do not wish to be bound by rules, marriage, and man. I want to be on my own, to do as I please whenever I please.”

“You can still do that with me,” he said, desperate to make her his. “You can do whatever you want, just be my wife.”

“I may have seduced you duke, shown you another side of life, but who you are is ingrained in every ounce of yourself. I do not want anyone to change who they are just to please me. If you’re not willing to be my lover, in a union such as where we promise fidelity for however long that may be, then after tonight we cannot meet like this again.”

“So, you’ll cut me from your life should I not agree to make you my mistress?” Athelby’s stomach clenched. “Be reasonable Darcy. The rumor about us is true, you know that very well, not to mention the woman telling all and sundry is one of the ton’s biggest gossipers. You’ll be ruined.”

“And if I am I’ll return to my home in Devon, retire to a country life and travel. I do not need society, and I will not do what I’m told merely to save my reputation. I will not be owned by any man again. The last one was quite enough.”

“I am not Terrance, surely you must see that.” He pulled her to the side of the room, heedless of whoever noticed their hasty departure from the dance. “Marry me, please.”

“Why are you so determined. I don’t understand you.”

He frowned. “Damn it all to hell,” he said, ignoring the gasps about him. “I’m determined Darcy de Wolfe because I damn well love you. I think I have always loved you and I want you. I want to shower you with everything that I am and own. I want to give you freedom if only you’ll promise to return to me each night.”

Darcy stood before the duke of Athelby and could not form words even though hundreds of them bounced about in her brain, begging to come out. He loved her?

Butterflies took flight in her belly, and she clasped her abdomen. Had Cameron really just uttered those words and before the ton?

Yes. Yes, he had.

It was certainly the most scandalous thing he’d ever done, in public at least, and it warmed her heart knowing that he’d declared himself so all could hear. To make her see how much he wanted her as his wife and not care who was about them.

How very rule breaking that was.

Not that she was willing to let him persuade her so easily. The duke of Athelby was against public displays of affection, of allowing couples to dance more than once when at balls and parties and many numerous other things too many to mention. She laughed to herself, Athelby could’ve given her deportment teacher Miss Rivers a lesson or two, and Darcy had never thought to know someone as strict as that old biddy.

“You love me. Why?”

Athelby stood tall, placing his hands behind his back as if facing a set down from his peers, and yet, he remained calm, his beautiful sharp features cajoling her to change her mind.

“I have always loved you I believe, and yet it wasn’t until you said ‘I do’ with lord Terrance that I realized what I’d lost due to inaction. I may not have always loved your opinionated manners, your love of life, your honesty and loyalty to your friends, but I do now, so very much. I think your laugh is the sweetest sound on earth and your kisses the most wicked. I adore that when I’m with you, I forget myself, my rules and regulations and just live.” Athelby stepped toward her, cupping her cheek. “Be mine and let me be yours. Please, Darcy.”

Oh dear… Darcy swallowed and hoped her heart didn’t pump out of her chest. People had stopped dancing and not a whisper could be heard as everyone in attendance watched the duke of Athelby declare himself in the most public manner.

“If and I have not agreed to anything as yet, your grace, but if I do, will you promise not to tell me what I can and cannot do. Will you promise me that if I wish to travel, visit friends abroad that I shall be allowed to? That I will not be made to sit at home, alone night after night while you wile away your time at houses of ill repute. That you will love me, stay true to me from this day forward.”

He nodded, stepping closer still. “We shall put all those promises in our wedding vows.”

Darcy smiled, hope making her eyes well up with tears. “Then yes, I shall be your wife.”

Athelby laughed, his shoulders slumping in relief before he pulled her against him and kissed her. Devoured her would be a better term and one that surprisingly had the guests cheering and shouting congratulations while he kissed her still, held her steadfast against him and wouldn’t let her go.

“Your grace, I do believe you’ve forgotten yourself and where you are,” the Marquess of Aaron whispered to them both.

Darcy chuckled and pulled from the kiss but not Athelby’s embrace.

“And what if he has. We’re to be married so what does it matter?”

Athelby went to speak, but Darcy placed her fingers over his lips, not willing to hear exactly all the silly little tonnish rules they were breaking and who would be quite put out with them over the next few weeks and months. If anyone chooses to be insulted by two people agreeing to love and marry one another then that was their problem and not hers to worry about.

“Shall we leave, your grace?” Darcy grinned, thoughts of them being alone in the carriage, of having Athelby in her bed for the rest of the evening making her impatient to depart.

He tucked her arm into the crook of his and made their way across the ballroom floor. They stopped at Lady Ainsworth’s side, Darcy’s godmother and Athelby’s grandmother wiping away tears with her handkerchief.

“Oh, my dears, I’m so happy.” Her ladyship kissed them both and clasping her hands before her. “I knew you were perfect for one another and I knew it was only a matter of time before you saw it yourselves.”

Darcy looked up at Athelby and smiled. “How wise you were, godmother. If only we were quicker to realize ourselves.”

Others congratulated them on their way to the entrance hall. Darcy wrapped her cloak about her and waited for Athelby’s carriage to come around front.

“Is the duke of Athelby’s rule breaking going to continue this evening?”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, leaning down to whisper the words against her ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

“That you come home with me and warm my bed.”

The duke’s gaze burned with hunger and it spiked her own need. He stormed from the entrance hall and yelled for his vehicle to hurry up. Darcy grinned and followed. Oh yes, maybe the duke of Athelby was up for some mischief after all.

Chapter 9

Athelby snapped the door to the carriage shut and wrenched Darcy onto his lap, taking her lips with a hunger that was as foreign and welcome to him as ever.

She kissed him back with passion, and his cock hardened, strained against his breeches. Darcy wiggled against him, and he could not wait to take her, he had to have her now.

Desperate to feel her, he ripped at her gown, pulling it out of the way as she came to straddle his legs. Darcy was wet, so deliciously wet for him that he groaned as he ran his hand over her core, teasing, flicking before slipping two fingers inside.

She moaned, her own hands busy untying his front falls. His phallus, hard and heavy sprang into her hand, and she teased him, wrapped her beautifully clever fingers around his member and slid up and down.

“Fuck, Darcy,” he gasped, pulling her atop him and impaling into her hot core. The carriage rocked along as Athelby pitched into her. Their love making was frantic, the carriage full of gasps, moans, and declarations for more, harder, faster, deeper…

Mine. Mine. Reverberated about in his mind. The woman in his arms was going to be his wife, his duchess. How the knowledge warmed his soul.

She rode him, took her pleasure, coming apart in his arms and he soon followed her into bliss. To imagine endless nights and days to come, years of her beside him, attending events, balls, family obligations, while knowing always she was his made his eyes well. He blinked, not believing the duke of Athelby would succumb to such emotions.

Darcy watched him, wiped a small tear that had escaped from his cheek and met his gaze. “I love you, Cameron, so very much. I’m so glad of that night where you finally kissed me. You said earlier that you believed you’ve always loved me, well, I may have stated that I disliked your ways, your rules, but I’ve never disliked you. Deep down I’ve always wanted to know what you’d be like if I peeled off your layers, got to know you again and then debauched you as I so longed to do.”

Athelby chuckled. “Debauched? I suppose yes, you’ve totally ruined me as I’ve ruined you. I love you, Darcy, so very much that I cannot see my way forward without you beside me.”

“And you will not, for I’m going to be your wife, and will corrupt you even more and maybe even spoil you so you’ll never be able to live without me again.”

“Shall we put those declarations in our wedding vows as well? Best I find to start as we mean to go on.”

Darcy smiled, kissing him with a sweetness that made him ache. “We shall.”

Epilogue

Four years later…

Darcy strolled toward the duke who sat sprawled on the lawn of their London estate, their two children giggling and running about him every time he made a lunge to grab and tickle them until they couldn’t take it any longer.

Their birth had not been easy, and she thanked God every day that even though they could not have any more, that they were blessed with two delightful, happy, healthy children.

Darcy came up to them and clasped Henry from behind, whisking him into the air and making him squeal. “I’ve got you,” she said, kissing him multiple times on his neck and cheek before putting him back down where he resumed his game with his father. Darcy sat and pulled Henrietta onto her lap, cuddling her and giving her too her fair share of kisses.

“Are you having fun with papa? I wanted to tell you that cook has made up some ices for you in the kitchen if you wished to have some.”

The children squealed and ran off as if the devil himself was on their heels, their nursemaid not far behind.

“You scared the children away,” Cameron said, leaning over and pulling her down to lie beside him.

Darcy laid over his chest, looking up at him. “I did, didn’t I?” she chuckled. “Is it terrible of me that I don’t feel the least guilt about that?”

“You’re a minx, but then, I would not have it any other way.” He pulled her up toward him and kissed her.

Darcy deepened the embrace, having been away all afternoon at house calls.

“Let’s leave for Ruxdon early, and get out of London. I’m tired of the season and all that we’re obligated to do during it. If we go home, we can do as we please, and with summer not far away, maybe we could even take the children boating for a day.”

Cameron rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the ground with one leg scandalously between her own. She gasped, clutching at his hair and kissing him again.

“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow, but you’re aware grandmother will wish to come? You know she never likes to be separated from the children. She adores them so.”

“I do not mind, and with her at Ruxdon it’ll give us some time to be alone…” This time Cameron shifted fully on top of her and Darcy gasped. “You cannot lie on me like this here. Someone may see us.”

He was unmoved, except for one part of his person that was moving and growing at a very rapid pace. “What do you expect, the Duke of Athelby has been corrupted by a de Wolfe. There is no saving me now or halting my desires. You did say you wanted to know what it would be like married to a debauched duke.”

“I did say that didn’t I?” she sighed and gave herself up to kissing him, teasing him just as he liked. There were many things she now knew the duke loved, and in turn, she adored that she was the woman to give him love and pleasure. That he loved her in return and gave her freedom that she’d so longed for.

He groaned, the kiss turning from sweet to molten when Darcy shifted beneath him, placing him directly at her core and not in the least backing away from his need.

“Upstairs duchess. Now.” Cameron stood, pulling her to follow him.

She did, only too willingly. Marriage to a debauched gentleman did make for enjoyable afternoons. And an enjoyable life, actually.

Introducing… To Madden a Marquess

Lords of London, Book 2

She saved his life, but can she save him from himself?

Hunter, Marquess of Aaron, has the ton fooled. Outwardly he’s a gentleman of position, with good contacts, wealth and charm. Inwardly, he’s a mess. His vice—drinking himself into a stupor most days—almost kills him when he steps in front of a hackney cab. His saviour, a most unlikely person, is an angel to gaze at, but with a tongue sharper than his sword cane.

Cecilia Smith dislikes idleness and waste. Had she been born male, she would already be working for her father’s law firm. So, on a day when she was late for an important meeting at one of her many charities, she was not impressed by having to step in and save a foxed gentleman rogue from being run over.

When their social spheres collide, Hunter is both surprised and awed by the capable, beautiful Miss Smith. Cecilia, on the other hand, is left confused and not a little worried by her assumptions about the Marquess and his demons. It is anyone’s guess whether these two people from different worlds can form one of their own…

Coming July 31, 2018

Pre-order your copy today
for only 99c!

Feed an author, leave a review

If you enjoyed TO BEDEVIL A DUKE, and would like to tell other readers your thoughts on the book, then please consider leaving a review at Amazon.com or Goodreads.

Available Now

From Entangled Publishing

To Marry a Rogue Series

ONLY AN EARL WILL DO

ONLY A DUKE WILL DO

ONLY A VISCOUNT WILL DO

A Time Traveler’s Highland Love Series

TO CONQUER A SCOT

TO SAVE A SAVAGE SCOT (Mar 2018)

Heiress Series

A RELUCTANT WIDOW (Aug 2018)

TO BEGUILE A LADY (Nov 2018)

TO WAGER WITH LOVE (TBA 2019)

Also by Tamara Gill

Scandalous London Series

A GENTLEMAN’S PROMISE

A CAPTAIN’S ORDER

A MARRIAGE MADE IN MAYFAIR

SCANDALOUS LONDON - SERIES BUNDLE

High Seas & High Stakes Series

HIS LADY SMUGGLER

HER GENTLEMAN PIRATE

Time Travel Romance

DEFIANT SURRENDER

A STOLEN SEASON

Lords of London Series

TO BEDEVIL A DUKE

TO MADDEN A MARQUESS (Pre-order 99c)

TO TEMPT AN EARL (Sept 2018)

TO VEX A VISCOUNT (Dec 2018)

Daughters Of The Gods Series

DAUGHTERS OF THE GODS ~ SERIES BUNDLE

BANISHED~GUARDIAN~FALLEN

About the Author

Tamara is an Australian author who grew up in an old mining town in country South Australia, where her love of history was founded. So much so, she made her darling husband travel to the UK for their honeymoon, where she dragged him from one historical monument and castle to another.

A mother of three, her two little gentleman in the making, a future lady (she hopes) and a part-time job keep her busy in the real world, but whenever she gets a moment’s peace she loves to write romance novels in an array of genres, including regency, medieval and time travel.

www.tamaragill.com
tamaragillauthor@gmail.com

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

BookBub

Pinterest

Amazon

Goodreads