Page 1 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

London, March of 1815

Too late, Alaina realized that being considered that Season’s Diamond of the First Water meant leaving behind everything she knew and loved.

Not only had she abandoned the schoolroom for the ballroom, the watchful eye of her governess for the judgmental gaze of society, and exchanged ribbons and bows for glittering gems designed to attract and impress, but she’d somehow managed to snag the hand of the most eligible bachelor on the marriage mart—the young Duke of Morton; a man who’d inherited his title just six months prior and (much to the shock and dismay of titled mamas everywhere) foregone the sowing of his oats alongside his peers and, instead, gotten engaged unconscionably young.

Sterling St.

John had begun courting her shortly after their first dance at the annual Aldborough soiree.

After they’d shared one waltz, during which Alaina had been immediately drawn into his glorious hazel eyes and gentle smile—much like every woman of her acquaintance, young and old—he’d sent her mother into a hyperventilating excitement when he’d arrived to call the following morning with an outstanding bouquet of lavender hothouse roses.

The ensuing courtship would be considered by most to be a whirlwind of romance—a love match, to be sure.

For who could deny the obvious affection noted by the jealous stares of debutantes and matrons alike when the couple were spotted enjoying ices at Gunther’s, strolling in Hyde Park, and dancing at each event thrown that Season? There were some invidious whispers speculating about what had attracted such a young man (and a duke at that!) to marry so young.

Of course, the only daughter of the Earl of Brendt was considered a catch.

She was well-bred, biddable, fit society’s traditional standards of beauty with her pale skin and coloring, possessed a lithe young figure proportioned just right for bearing many sons, as her ancestors had done for centuries; she was educated in all the respectable arts and running a household, and she came with an enviable dowery.

Despite all of these attractive lures, many men of the duke’s station would enjoy at least another decade of hell-raising before settling down enough to begin the oft-tedious duty of marriage and procreation for the sake of the title—even if said prospective wife was one such as Alaina.

Those same wagging tongues would go on to wonder if the duke hadn’t been enchanted by Alaina’s almost ethereal beauty and impeccable breeding, but that the perfection of it would wear off quickly and the young buck would certainly regret his decision.

This ponderance was mentioned so often in the gossip rags that it eventually ate away at Alaina’s fledgling self-confidence.

In her own opinion, Alaina felt their courtship had been quite customary.

The duke had brought her small gifts of books and sweets, dined with her family, and demonstrated an appropriate degree of attention.

She’d gradually moved past her general awe that she’d attracted the attention of this well-bred, stunningly handsome young man and had come to know him enough that she learned he abhorred peas and enjoyed anything containing copious amounts of sugar.

He found most popular literature unpalatable, though he loved histories and even the theater—to which he took her several times, drawing the envious gazes of all those in attendance as they shared his private box with her mother acting as chaperone.

She had developed an inevitable tendre for him, allowing him to steal several kisses as they’d snuck off to verandas and behind hedges at various parties and society gatherings.

His touch sent her heart to fluttering and, though she was untried and untested, even she could sense the restraint behind his cautious caresses and gentle tasting of her lips.

Her physical reaction to him was all well and good, but how he made her feel with his actions—when he inclined his head to listen to her speak, or laughed along at one of her witty comments—was the tipping point for her young, untried heart.

By the time the Duke of Morton proposed to her, she’d been head-over-heels for the young man.

The confession of his growing feelings toward her and her stammering reciprocity were elevated by the promise he made to care for her for the rest of their days.

Alaina retreated into that dreamy, glorious moment often in the months it took to plan the wedding her mother deemed necessary for a marriage of this caliber; she took solace in the knowledge that she would have him as her partner in all things.

She would have him all to herself, and he, in turn, would have all of her.

This never failed to make her heart pound.

Now, Alaina’s heart leaped into her throat for an entirely different reason.

With the reciting of their vows earlier that morning, all pretense and dictates between them were abolished.

They were man and wife.

Heart clogging her throat, Alaina dismissed her maid with a gentle wave; she didn’t trust her voice to be steady enough to speak.

She met her reflection in the mirror of the unfamiliar dressing table as the door clicked shut behind the young servant.

Her long blond hair had been plaited neatly and draped over the shoulder of her white silk dressing gown.

Her belongings had been transported and unpacked in her new room at Morton House—the Duchess’s Suite.

She was a duchess.

She wondered briefly how long that realization would take to sink in and sit well with her…how long it would take for her to accept her new name and identity.

She hadn’t even celebrated her nineteenth birthday and yet she’d managed to attain a social stratum the likes of which most wouldn’t dare to dream after. She could only hope that she was up to the task.

Alaina attempted a bracing breath to calm her nerves, but it did little to assuage her apprehension. Instead, she closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten.

Then twenty.

“All will be well,” she whispered to herself over and over again, as if forming and then hearing the words would somehow make her feel their truth. Unfortunately, they had the opposite effect and lost a sliver of their meaning with each repetition.

Her mother had visited her room the night before the wedding to advise Alaina of what would be expected of her as a wife. The conversation had been as uncomfortable as it had been uninformative. All Alaina had really learned was that she and her new husband would share a bed the following night. She would be expected to allow him certain “liberties” with her person…which would involve some sort of fundamental physical differences between their female and male bodies. If she was lucky, then Alaina wouldn’t have to endure too much of these attentions and she’d produce an heir and a spare for the dukedom without too much bother. This, somehow, did not manage to produce much excitement in Alaina’s imagination. On the contrary, she found herself far more nervous than before her “initiation” to the guarded world of wifehood.

Still, something made her hope that it couldn’t possibly be as unpleasant as her mother’s stilted, awkward words had made it out to be. If it involved more kisses from Sterling, then she just might be able to endure it. Maybe.

She knew from even her limited experience that he was more than a passable kisser, and she could not deny that she enjoyed how he held her. She thought she just might be able to survive most anything so long as he was there to guide her with his infinite patience.

She opened her eyes once more and straightened her posture, meeting her own blue gaze with steady determination. “This was what you were born to do,” she told herself in a tone more confident than she felt. In her marriage, she’d managed to achieve one of the highest echelons. She would be one of the most sought-after matrons and she’d have the wealth and power to exact real change with whatever charities and societies she decided to patronize. Her children would be secure in their place in the world. She had a husband whom she found to be attractive and kind and polite. Even if it wasn’t the true passion and love match the gossips suspected, she cared for Sterling and believed he’d formed some genuine feelings of affection for her. She’d certainly caught him watching her often enough, and she didn’t believe she’d imagined the embers burning in his arresting hazel eyes the moment before they’d kissed at the conclusion of the marriage ceremony.

A niggling, insecure part of her mind refused to completely dismiss the naysayers who cruelly insinuated that her young husband would regret this marriage—that he was still too young to be of a family mind and would quickly grow bored of his inexperienced wife barely out of the schoolroom. Despite how confident a woman of the ton was, she was not immune to the fork-tongued vipers. Once a juicy bit of gossip was planted, it spread like poison ivy throughout the elite and inevitably took root in the hearts of its subjects. Though she’d never spoken to Sterling expressly about these murmurs, she’d noticed he seemed to show her special attention whenever it happened to be mentioned in an edition of the Tattler or another cheap tabloid. It was, Alaina was sure, his way of reassuring her without repeating the hurtful words. The image of his handsome smile bolstered her as she took one more steadying breath.

Alaina spared a glance at the gilded clock atop the hearth’s carved mantle. It had been more than an hour since she’d retired. The adjoining door to her new husband’s room remained closed, but, surely, it wouldn’t for much longer. Refusing to be caught staring at the barrier, she rose and wrapped herself more tightly in her dressing gown. She fought the intense, unladylike urge to pace and, instead, strolled to the tall windows on the far side of the room. A woman does not pace. She does not fret. She does not fiddle with her clothing. A woman of good breeding is the epitome of serenity and poise. The familiar words jangled in her skull like the coins in a coffer. It would seem her mother’s nagging about her behavior wouldn’t leave her head, even on her wedding night.

A cushioned seat had been built into the alcove of clear, glass-paned windows. She’d felt a warm rush of delight upon spying the nook, imagining herself tucked up there many a morning or night as she enjoyed reading one of her books. A little thrill traipsed across her skin when she realized that she’d no longer be forced to read only what her mother deemed “respectable literature.” She hoped Sterling might take her on an outing to the bookstore later in the week where she fully intended upon spending an obscene amount of money on any and every book which caught her fancy. One thing her mother hadn’t counted on as one of the draws to Alaina’s new life was her hopeful goal of freedom. She would be a woman, no longer a child requiring a chaperone or parents to hold her hands in the world. She ached to stretch her wings and discover new and wonderful things, starting with expanding her mind above the small world her mother had curated for her. She prayed it hadn’t been naiveté when she began to hope that Sterling might just hold the key to a new world for her.

Darkness had fallen, but London was far from quiet. Alaina peered out the impeccable glass into the evening. Outside, the lamplights had been lit and the echoing clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels echoed up against the sides of the sprawling Mayfair Townhouses. Her parents’ London home was several residences down the cobbled street and across the way. She wondered if she’d be able to see the familiar white columns if she opened the window and poked her head outside on a warm, clear day. It was strange to think that she’d moved mere minutes away when it felt like she’d been deposited miles from her old life…and that she felt so hopeful about it.

The rhythmic ticking of the clock was the only sound as the minutes crawled by. There were no footsteps, no creak as the adjoining door was opened to admit her husband—though she doubted any hinge would dare to squeak in this ducal household. The staff to whom she’d been introduced several hours earlier seemed far too efficient for such a thing to occur.

Unable to resist the temptation of her new perch—and far too nervous to be found waiting in her bed—Alaina made herself comfortable on the cushioned window seat and tucked her bare feet beneath the hem of her nightdress. She leaned against the alcove’s wall and stared unseeingly at the flickering lights below, mesmerized by the sway of carriage lanterns as they plodded along and carried their wealthy inhabitants to that night’s entertainments.

It had been a long day.

Scratch that.

It had been a long three months.

The planning and fittings and stress had worn her to the bone. The wedding, her mother had said, was expected to be the event of the year and it would be Alaina’s first true test as a duchess. Her mother hadn’t been wrong.

It felt odd that all those weeks of planning had come down to only a few hours in the actual execution.

And now it was over, and she felt drained in body and soul.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a moment,” she muttered as she settled in. The seat was comfortable, the room was warm, the hour was late. All of this conspired against her resolve to await her husband. Finally, despite her best intentions, Alaina’s eyes fluttered closed, and her head tilted to the side to rest gently against the cool glass.

*

In the cobbled street several floors below, the duke’s prancing bay stallion was brought forward from the stables by a liveried groom. A man dressed in simple black clothing and sitting astride a midnight gelding leaned down to take the reins from the servant. “Are you ready?” he asked in a tone barely above a growl.

A lean young man with chestnut hair and piercing hazel eyes dismissed his groom and looked up into the rider’s face. Every muscle screamed at him to turn around, stride back into his Townhouse, and bar the door—to forget he’d ever agreed to this assignment—but he did not. Jaw set in a firm line, teeth clenched so tightly they squeaked together, he tugged on his fine black gloves and mounted his steed in one swift, confident motion. His heavy woolen greatcoat settled behind him on the horse’s haunches as he gathered the reins.

“Would you be ready if you were in my position?” he replied in a clipped tone, bitterness shading his words.

“I cannot say that I’ve ever had anything to lose before, let alone something so dear as a wife.”

His eyes snapped up at the other man’s cool nonchalance. He hadn’t known Oliver Black long, but he’d learned early on to expect bluntness the likes of which was rarely ever directed at a duke. The response shouldn’t have surprised him, but the word “wife” ignited a flare of anxious fire in his gut—not because he had a wife, but because he was set to ride away from her mere hours after their ceremony…and without having the opportunity to share her bed.

As if reading his mind, Black said, “It’s only a year. You’ll return soon enough and be able to get on with your life.”

Sterling knew this already, had walked into the agreement with open eyes, but that had been mere weeks before he’d met Alaina. His senses of honor and desire had been embroiled in a bitter war for months before, once again, his youthful impulsivity won out and he proposed to the only daughter of the Earl of Brent in her first Season. The idea of being parted from her had made him uneasy, but leaving her behind to seek out another potential match was unacceptable. Though his head knew it was unfair, he couldn’t stomach the thought of her with someone else. He’d formed feelings for the beautiful, intelligent woman and knew that the only way to ensure she would wait for him was to marry her and make her his duchess.

And he’d had every intention of wedding her, bedding her, and then returning to her side as soon as possible…but his conscience stood between him and her bedchamber. Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d married her without telling her he was obligated to make a lengthy trip to the Continent? How could he do that and potentially leave her with a babe in her belly; to experience pregnancy and childbirth without him? That was, apparently, where he drew the line.

Sterling’s hazel gaze flicked up to the single glowing window above. A small, curled form was silhouetted against the dim candlelight and his heart emitted an involuntary throb.

He hesitated for only one moment more before his eyes hardened and he looked away, nodding to Black and kicking his horse into motion. He’d woken that morning knowing nothing in his life would be the same…he hadn’t realized, however, how long it would be until he felt home again.