Page 3 of Her Duke to Seduce: Lady Be Wicked (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #20)

Two

A iden Weston, the Marquess of Redding, did not like to be summoned. Even if the person doing the summoning was his father, the Duke of Templeton. He had no desire to leave London to attend his father at the ducal estate, least of all before the start of the season. He had reasons for wanting to remain in town, and none of them would be seen to if he were forced to spend time at his father’s estate.

He avoided his childhood home as much as possible since the death of his mother a decade earlier. It held too many memories—both good and bad. But for him, the bad far outweighed the good. The worst were his mother’s final days, memories he loathed to relive. That was the real reason he had resisted returning, and why he had been irked by the missive his father had sent, demanding his immediate presence.

His carriage came to a stop in front of the great house. Many would consider it an architectural masterpiece, constructed of limestone and gray stone, its tall mullioned windows adorned with dark, elegant shutters. The grand entrance boasted double oak doors framed by a columned portico, and above it, a balcony overlooked the long gravel drive leading to the estate. Soaring chimneys and turreted corners lent it an almost medieval grandeur.

As a child, he had loved this house. It had been a place of happiness and warmth. But after his mother’s death, it had become dark and foreboding. He longed to see his father and leave immediately. There was no reason for him to stay longer than necessary—at least, none that he was aware of. He exhaled sharply. He could only hope his visit would be brief. He wanted to return to London as soon as possible.

Aiden took one long, deep breath and stepped out of the carriage. He had dawdled long enough. One of the servants had likely already alerted his father to his arrival. Best to have this meeting over with. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could depart.

As he strode up the steps, one of the massive oak doors swung open. Aiden knew better than to be surprised. On the other side, Wells, their longtime butler, stood as poised and unflappable as ever.

“Hello, Wells,” he said. “Is my father in his study?”

“His Grace is in the library,” Wells informed him. “He is expecting you.”

The library? That was unexpected. His father did not typically spend his hours there. It had been his mother’s domain. Aiden swallowed hard. This visit was going to be even more difficult than he had anticipated. If his father intended for them to speak in the library, it meant revisiting a room filled with ghosts. He exhaled, then forced himself forward. He had no choice but to endure this meeting—and pray he could keep his emotions in check. He paused outside the library door, gathering his composure. Then, pushing it open, he stepped inside.

The room smelled of polished wood, aged parchment, and the faintest trace of lavender—his mother’s favorite scent. He could not recall the last time he had entered this space. His father stood at the far end of the room, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the gardens beyond. Aiden was careful not to look around, for he knew he would see traces of his mother everywhere—the chaise by the hearth where she had often sat, the writing desk where she had composed letters, the well-worn volumes she had once held in her hands.

Instead, he focused on his father. Taking several long strides across the room, he stopped a few feet away. “Father,” he said evenly. The duke did not immediately acknowledge him. Instead, he continued staring out the window in contemplative silence. Aiden clenched his jaw, waiting. His father had never been a man to be rushed.

After a few moments, the duke spoke. “Your mother would spend hours in this room.”

“I know,” Aiden said, his voice tight. He had spent many of those hours with her.

“She would be disappointed,” his father murmured. “In both of us.”

Aiden said nothing. He knew his mother would despair over what had become of their family. She had been the glue that held them together. Without her, they had become strangers in the same house. “She would have already spoken her mind on a great many things,” Aiden said at last, his voice carefully neutral.

“Indeed,” his father agreed. “But none more than your lack of a wife.”

Ah. So that was why he had been summoned. Aiden exhaled sharply. “I do not want a wife.”

His father’s lips twitched. “No man truly wants a wife, my boy. But that does not change the fact that you need one.”

“I am not ready.” He doubted he ever would be.

“I know,” his father said, softer now. “No man is truly prepared. But I made your mother promises, and I intend to see them honored. Starting with seeing you settled.”

“I did not make those promises,” Aiden replied tersely. But the words felt hollow. Would he truly betray his mother’s wishes, even now?

His father met his gaze. “And yet, you will honor them nonetheless.” He exhaled slowly. “Starting with attending the ball at Winston Manor tonight.”

Aiden stilled. “The countess is holding a debut ball for her niece,” his father continued. “I want you to go.” Aiden’s chest tightened. He could already see where this was leading.

His father held up a hand, cutting off his protest. “No, I do not expect you to court her niece. But I want you to begin looking at the unmarried ladies of the ton and determine if any of them might suit. It is time for you to start your search, and the ball is an excellent opportunity. You may return to London tomorrow and prepare for the season—but I expect you to attend social events with the intention of finding a bride.”

This was far worse than he had anticipated.

“And if I do not find a wife who suits me?” he asked coolly.

“As long as you make the effort, that is all I ask.” His father offered him a rare smile. “It will not be as terrible as you believe.”

Aiden scoffed. “You and Mother were in love. If I am to marry, that is the very least I would want. I have no interest in wedding merely to secure an heir.”

His father’s expression softened. “I would expect nothing less. I want you to be happy, Aiden. This is only the beginning. All I ask is that you approach this with an open mind. Do not dismiss every young lady outright.”

Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in frustration. He wanted to argue. He wanted to refuse. But deep down, he knew his father would not let this matter rest. “No,” he muttered at last. “It is not too much to ask.”

“Good,” the duke said. “Then it is settled.” His father leaned back against the desk. “I have already accepted the invitation.”

Of course he had.

Aiden resisted the urge to curse. “I will be in my chambers until it is time to depart. I require rest after my journey.”

His father nodded. Aiden did not wait for further discussion. With a curt bow, he turned on his heel and strode from the library, his chest tight with suppressed frustration. He had already spent longer in that room than he would have liked. Now, he had mere hours before he would be forced into a ball he did not wish to attend, surrounded by hopeful debutantes eager to ensnare a titled husband.

It was going to be a long evening…

Felicity had chosen to wear a color that no proper debutante would dare don at her debut ball. A shade so scandalous she fully expected her Aunt Enid to suffer an apoplectic fit. She rather looked forward to it. It was also why she had not stepped a foot outside her bedchamber until the last possible moment. She had no intention of allowing her aunt the opportunity to demand she change.

She was not some fresh-faced debutante of eight and ten, presented for the first time. She was twenty—nearly past the age of prime marriageability—and in some cases, already considered perilously close to being firmly placed on the shelf. As she had no desire for a husband, she had forgone a debut two years prior, and she would much prefer to do so now. She wished to be free, and acquiring a husband would never allow for that.

She paused before the mirror, taking one final look at the scarlet gown she had commissioned for the occasion. Her aunt should never have left her alone with the seamstress. The gown was expertly fashioned, featuring a square neckline that elegantly framed her décolletage. Delicate gold embroidery had been woven in intricate floral patterns, tracing the edge of the neckline and extending down the fitted bodice, emphasizing her shape. Long, sheer sleeves of gauzy crimson lace fitted her arms and ended in a slight point over her hands, evoking an air of mystery. The deep red hue of the gown was both daring and dramatic. It symbolized passion and confidence—a bold choice for a lady who wished to make an impression.

Felicity fully intended to make an impression—the worst sort of one. She snickered at her reflection.

It was time. She had to descend the stairs and allow for her introduction—her debut . The ton would not know what to make of her. She intended to court their scorn, to create a scandal so outrageous that she would remain unmarriageable. And if she could, she would boldly seduce a man and ensure the most desirable feature of any debutante—her innocence—was irrevocably ruined. No man wanted an unchaste wife. At least, not one who hoped to secure an heir.

Felicity floated down the stairs, the silk of her gown whispering against her skin with each step she took. When she reached the ballroom, she waited until she was announced, then entered. She should have been beside her aunt in the receiving line, but she had convinced her it would be far more memorable for Felicity to make an entrance instead.

She did not think for a moment that anyone would forget her—or her daring gown.

The ballroom was crammed with guests, a true crush. Aunt Enid’s ball, by all accounts, was a success. Felicity did not recognize a single soul in the room, nor did she wish to. She glided through the gathered throng, finally reaching her aunt’s side.

“The ball appears to be a success,” she said, her lips curving into a falsely sweet smile.

Her aunt’s eyes w idened in horror as she took in Felicity’s attire. She hissed in a low tone, “What are you wearing ?”

“This,” Felicity replied, feigning innocence, “is my gown.”

“That dress,” Aunt Enid whispered furiously, “is not something an innocent debutante would wear. I daresay it is not even a gown a widow would wear.”

Felicity resisted the urge to laugh. Her aunt had been widowed for a few years. She had borne her husband the requisite heir but had failed to give him a second child. Still, her place was secure, and she had full control of the household until her son came of age. Not that Aunt Enid needed financial security—Felicity’s father had ensured she was wealthy in her own righ t .

“There is nothing wrong with my gown,” Felicity said, rolling her eyes. “You are acting as if I paraded into the ballroom naked. Which, I assure you, I did not.”

Her aunt’s lips pressed into a firm line. “It draws the eyes …” she muttered. “I suppose it isn’t indecent, but it simply is not done . You should be in pastels .”

“Pastels wash out my complexion,” Felicity countered. Her golden-blonde hair and fair skin were far better suited to bolder colors. “I thought you wanted to present me at my best advantage.”

Her aunt sighed in frustration. “You are correct . I did.” She shook her head. “I only wish you had discussed it with me beforehand.”

“If I had,” Felicity replied, “you would have forbidden it. And we both know it is far better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Don’t you agree?”

She smiled, the picture of feigned sweetness.

Aunt Enid exhaled heavily, shaking her head. “You are incorrigible,” she chided. “But you must tread carefully, dear. There is only so much you can do before skirting a true scandal.” She inhaled sharply, composing herself. “You have your dance card. Let’s see it filled.”

Felicity allowed her aunt to parade her about, introducing her to several gentlemen whom she presumed her aunt considered suitable prospects. But Felicity did not care. She found them all insipid. Some were handsome , she supposed, but none of them were remotely interesting.

Still, she allowed her dance card to be nearly filled, knowing it was expected. She left a few spaces blank on the off chance she found a gentleman she truly wanted to dance with. Thus far that had not been the case, but she believed in being prepared for any inevitability.

Each dance was more tedious than the last. The gentlemen were dull, uninspiring, and utterly predictable. One particularly clumsy partner had stepped on her toes so many times she was half tempted to feign an injury to escape the remainder of the evening.

She had needed air.

Excusing herself after a particularly tiresome quartet, Felicity slipped away from the crowded ballroom. She had no desire to endure another tiresome dance with another dull suitor. She longed for solitude, a brief respite from the suffocating heat of the ballroom and the constant hum of the crowd. Stepping onto the balcony, she inhaled deeply, the cool night air a welcome relief. Without hesitation, she descended the stone staircase into the gardens, the fragrant scent of blooming roses filling her lungs.

“That bad, is it?” A man with a deep, velvety voice seemed to emerge from the shadows.

Felicity halted. “Who is there?” she demanded.

A low chuckle echoed in the darkness. A moment later, a man stepped forward, the silver glow of moonlight casting his striking features into sharp relief. Something about him was familiar, though she could not immediately place it. But there was one thing she knew with absolute certainty. He was the most breathtakingly handsome man she had ever encountered. His dark hair fell in an effortless wave across his forehead, and his eyes—good heavens, his eyes—were a shade of blue so deep, they appeared almost black in the dim light. Something in his gaze smoldered, a flicker of devilish amusement lingering at the corners of his mouth.

A rogue—a scoundrel…. And if she had any doubts, the way he looked at her, as if he saw through every bit of her feigned innocence, confirmed it. She tilted her head, studying him.

Yes. This man would do. Her heart thundered with anticipation. She had found her rake—the perfect man to assist in her ruination. A slow, mischievous smile curved her lips as she stepped forward. It was time to enact her plan.

And he was the final piece she needed to see it done.