Page 1 of Her Duke to Tempt (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #29)

T he sound of lively chatter and the soft strains of a waltz echoed through the grand ballroom of Chaswick House, but Logan Weston, the Duke of Templeton, could hardly hear any of it.

His thoughts were elsewhere—weighted down with grief and a weariness that had been his constant companion for the past five years.

Five long years since his beloved wife, Sarah, had passed from this world, leaving him with nothing but the cold, hollow echo of her absence.

Logan had attended this ball as a favor to his friend, the Earl of Chaswick.

It was his friend’s sister, Lady Lucy Walsh’s debut, and though he had no desire to be here, he could not refuse.

Chaswick had been like a brother to him, and despite Logan’s desire to remain a recluse, duty to his friend brought him to this place.

Still, he found himself unable to enjoy the festivities.

The warmth of the ballroom, filled with the noise and movement of laughing, socializing guests, was stifling.

It was a contrast to the cold, lonely quiet of his estate, where he spent most of his days.

His only solace was his son Aiden. At least he still had him, and it gave him a reason to at least go through the motions of living.

Even if it was nothing but half of a life.

His chest tightened as he navigated the crowd, avoiding any extended conversations with the many admirers and hopeful debutantes eager to catch the eye of a duke.

Even at eight and thirty some of them would still consider him a catch; however, he had no interest in remarrying.

He had an heir and there was no reason to tie himself to another woman.

Besides he doubted he would ever love a woman as he had Sarah.

So, he had no interest in all those innocent young, far too young in his estimation, debutantes.

His heart had been buried with Sarah and there was no place for anyone else in it.

A sudden surge of heat and the press of bodies made him retreat quickly from the ballroom, excusing himself from the festivities with a polite nod to Chaswick.

He made his way through the house, feeling suffocated, until he reached the doors that led to the balcony.

The cool evening air greeted him like a balm, and he stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him.

The balcony overlooked the gardens, and he leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the moonlit path below.

It was quiet here—much too quiet for his own peace of mind.

He relished the solitude, but even here, he couldn’t escape the oppressive weight of the night.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, hoping for some relief.

Then he saw her.

A figure moving gracefully down the stairs leading to the garden below, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound besides the faint whisper of the wind.

She was dressed in a deep shade of purple, the color of twilight, and her dark hair framed a face he couldn’t yet see fully, though the moonlight caught just enough of her features to draw his attention.

There was something about her that intrigued him.

Perhaps it was something about the way she carried herself, that immediately drew him from the shadows of the balcony.

He could not be certain what compelled him toward her.

All he knew was that he had to follow her.

He kept his steps silent against the cool stone of the terrace, until he was standing at the base of the stairs.

He hesitated for just a moment before stepping forward, hoping to speak to her, but not knowing how or what to say to start a conversation.

He had never been a charmer, and he hadn’t seen the point of trying—even before he met his wife and married her.

Suddenly he regretted that. The woman had not yet noticed his presence, and he could not help but study her.

She looked... alone. Sad, even. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

He stepped closer to her and caught a glance of her profile in the moonlight.

Her eyes were cast downward, and her lips were parted as if lost in thought.

He waited until she raised her gaze, and when their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them—something familiar.

She looked at him for a long moment, as if uncertain what to make of his presence.

“Are you lost?” he asked softly, stepping closer to her. What a foolish thing to ask. He knew she wasn’t lost. He scoffed at his ineptitude.

She blinked, clearly startled by his voice. A small frown creased her brow. “Not lost,” she replied quietly, her voice a little softer than he expected. “Only... contemplating.”

Logan nodded slowly, his expression softening as he sensed the sorrow behind her words.

He could relate. Clearly, like him, she was someone burdened with thoughts that could not be shared too easily.

“It is an evening for contemplation, I suppose,” he murmured, taking another step closer.

Logan was drawn to her in inexplicable ways.

He needed to be close to her. “The ball is... rather overwhelming.”

She gave a small, sad smile, nodding slightly. “Indeed.”

Another moment of silence passed, neither of them quite knowing what to say next. Logan took a deep breath and then introduced himself. “I’m Logan Weston, the Duke of Templeton.”

Her gaze flickered to his, and for a moment, he thought she might refuse to speak her name entirely, but then she straightened. She drew her shoulders back, and she gave him a brief though reluctant smile. “I am the Countess of Winston.”

The words hit him harder than he expected.

She was married, then. The realization deflated whatever hopes had dared to blossom in his chest. He had let his mind wander—he had imagined the possibility of something between them.

It was foolish of him to have followed he.

Of course, some other man had claimed such an ethereal beauty.

Though there was something unexplainable between them.

This feeling…he could not describe it if he tried.

Logan wanted to know everything about her.

He hadn’t even realized how desperate he was to talk to her until now.

The sudden pang of disappointment was sharp, but he masked it quickly, not wanting her to notice.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Winston,” he said softly, and then smiled.

It was indeed a pleasure to meet her. Though there was something familiar about her name.

“Winston…” He frowned. “I think perhaps we are neighbors.” Not that he would have ever seen her.

Logan rarely left his estate, and he paid little attention to any gossip.

So, the Earl of Winston had married, and this enchanting woman was his neighbor.

He would have avoided her since he was so drawn to her.

It wouldn’t do to covet his neighbor’s wife so openly.

Lady Winston seemed to stiffen slightly, though she gave him a small, wry smile. “Neighbors?” She frowned. “You are that duke…”

“I do not follow your meaning,” he replied, curious as to what she meant. “Do people often gossip about me then?”

The smile slipped from her lips, and for a moment, her gaze darkened, as if his words had struck a hidden nerve. “My husband mentioned that you were…well, reclusive. I must say I am surprised to meet you at a ball. I thought we would never truly cross paths.”

“I am not an invalid,” he said.

“I never suggested you were.” Her gaze shifted over him as if assessing him for any flaws. He hoped she did not find any. He didn’t think he was handsome exactly. He had fair hair and pale green eyes, and some women found him attractive. Did she?

The tension between them shifted, and Logan wanted to say something, anything, to ease it.

But before he could, the sound of approaching footsteps made both of them glance up, and for the first time, Logan realized how private their exchange had been.

The moment passed quickly, and the spell seemed broken.

She stepped back slightly, though not rudely, and gave a small nod.

“Well, Your Grace,” she said softly, “I must return inside. It is not appropriate for me to linger here any longer.”

Logan’s heart sank as he watched her begin to turn away.

“Of course,” he said quickly, though his voice was hoarser than he intended.

“But if you ever need someone to talk to—someone who understands how these things can weigh on you—do not hesitate to find me.” He smiled.

“After all it is the neighborly thing to do.”

She looked over her shoulder with a soft, fleeting smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. But for now, I think I must keep my own company.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the house, leaving Logan standing there, a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air.

As the breeze swept past him, he realized just how desperately he had wanted her to stay—how much he had wanted this moment to linger longer.

But she was gone. And for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he had let her slip away.