Page 1 of Only a Duke (Ladies Who Dare #6)

Ashford

Talbot residence

L ouisa Talbot shut her eyes as she drew in the aroma of warm, honeyed milk.

She could never get used to country hours.

She had trouble sleeping so early. She had trouble sleeping, period.

A warm glass of sweet milk usually helped.

As did lavender-scented pillows, but she’d forgotten her favorite pillows in London and the ones the servants had prepared here lacked the same soothing potency.

It was either mulled wine or milk tonight.

“It’s good that I learned to heat my own milk,” she mused.

She’d done so almost as soon as she was tall enough to reach for a pot that hung on the wall.

Not that she was allowed to back then, but she still loved to sneak into the kitchen to watch their cook prepare their meals.

She’d even learned to bake bread at one time.

And she could fry an egg to perfection.

There was something magical about the kitchen at night, when not a soul roamed about, and candlelight cast flickering shadows over the well-worn surfaces.

But more than meals, this was where all the gossip took root.

Louisa herself had oftentimes stoked the flames of these little sessions.

Until her stepmother had caught her and scolded the servants.

After that, she’d abandoned their daytime teas.

Alas, she missed those times.

She held the cup with both hands, allowing it to warm her palms and she shifted more comfortably in her seat at the rough wooden table. The entire space smelled of spice, bread, and the last remnants of the evening’s dinner.

Comforting.

Perhaps this was why she was drawn here. Of all the rooms in the house, no matter the estate, the kitchen held the most pleasant memories.

A kitchen felt like home.

And she could use a bit of homely comfort as her mind drifted back over her recent conversation with her friend, Theodosia King, who had visited to drop the stolen betting book of White’s onto her lap. What on earth was she supposed to do with the thing?

Keep it hidden, yes.

But the Duke of Mortimer could come calling and request the book at any moment.

The. Duke. Of. Mortimer.

He was another matter entirely.

Louisa almost laughed.

A Cavanagh set foot in a Talbot residence?

How spectacularly ridiculous. Their families were sworn enemies and had been for decades.

Years and years of bad blood had spilled between them until it flowed like an unnavigable river dividing them into two territories.

And to try to cross this river would mean being drenched in blood.

Not that she kept up with all the accounts of wrongdoing and offense, but she’d heard her father bluster over that family’s existence since she could remember, warning her to stay away from anyone bearing that cursed surname.

Plus, she’d simply rather not rub shoulders with a man such as him.

There were three sorts of men she avoided at all costs: fortune hunters, criminals, and men with great power—them most of all.

Certainly the powerful included kings, princes, and dukes, but it wasn’t limited to them.

Thankfully, one could spot a powerful man yards away, which of course, suited Louisa since it made them easier to avoid.

Memories of a dark, enclosed space flashed across her mind before Louisa forcibly pushed them back down. She took two swallows of milk, willing her racing heart to slow.

“Botheration,” she muttered. “Why did that memory have to resurface right now?”

Almost ten years had passed since her kidnapping on her tenth birthday.

She could remember very little about that episode except the darkness—she recalled an abundance of that.

And the memory brought along with it a rather harrowing feeling.

It was also after that her struggle with sleep had started.

As the years crept by, she had glimpsed more of the world—her father’s world—and the truth began to take shape, cold and inescapable. That night had never been about her. She had simply been a pawn. A means to an end. A hostage to their ruthless ambitions.

Such was the dark world of powerful men at times.

Men such as Mortimer.

Fortunately, their families were mortal enemies the likes of Shakespeare’s Montagues and Capulets, though with only proverbial bloodshed. However, Louisa was no Juliet, and she doubted the duke could be mistaken for Romeo.

In all likelihood, His Grace would call on another heiress to collect the book from her in his stead. She needn’t worry that he would cause havoc in her family by calling on her. Did she?

Urgh.

She already had more than enough drama with her stepmother’s theatrics. Lawks, that woman should have become an actress. God only knew how Lady Camilla had beguiled her father, but Louisa could see straight past that woman’s false smiles.

She took another sip of milk.

It wasn’t that Louisa hated her stepmother. Though she couldn’t claim she loved her all that much either. The woman was...

Scheming.

Greedy.

Controlling.

Nothing could be done without her approval.

The duchess even dictated Louisa’s fashion.

This was why when she, Lady Ophelia, and the heiresses rebelled and distributed copies of the pages of the betting book in a most public fashion earlier in the season, her stepmother’s fury had nearly set their household ablaze.

If her father, the duke, had not been present...

Louisa shuddered.

Camilla always wore the look of a sweet, doting wife whenever her father entered the room. When they were not in the same room, her entire demeanor turned rigid and disdainful.

Hah! If it hadn’t been for Papa, that woman would have married her off years ago.

But Louisa refused to marry. Not while her brother Leo was still so young and easily influenced.

Louisa couldn’t say exactly what it was, but the way the duchess stared at her stepson.

.. it set off a clamor of concern in her heart.

So, Louisa had taken it upon herself to make sure that her brother did not fall under the influence of their stepmother.

Whatever her intentions—and she could sense intentions—she would keep an eye on the duchess.

Luckily, Papa and that woman were attending several house parties for the next fortnight and she and Leo were here on their own.

Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids.

Lousia swallowed the last of the milk and placed her cup on the table.

That should do the trick, shouldn’t it? She reached for the candle and slowly made her way back to her room.

Tomorrow, she had to decide whether she would keep that blasted betting book or send it to one of the other heiresses for safekeeping.

A sudden chill swept down her neck as she neared her chamber, sending the hairs at her nape to stand at attention. Then—a creak. A thud. A muffled oath.

She froze.

What on earth? Was someone in the house?

A servant?

No, the servants should be in their quarters.

Her fingers moved faster than thought, snuffing out the candle’s flame. The dark unsettled her, but she refused to let it rule her. She rubbed her singed fingers together, her grip on the candelabra tightening.

Someone was in her bedchamber.

Should she scream?

No.

That might rouse her little brother, and who could guess what he would do if he were startled awake and frightened.

He was only ten years old—she needed to protect him.

So instead of retreating, she inched forward, heart pounding, lifting the candelabra, ready to swing.

Hardly an ideal weapon, but it would do in a pinch.

She couldn’t just leave. At the very least, she had to catch a glimpse of this intruder, even if just a fleeting one. Otherwise, she would never sleep again!

This is reckless, Louisa.

So be it. It wouldn’t be the first reckless thing she’d ever done.

She peered through the crack of the door, and her breath caught.

A large, dark, male figure loomed over her writing desk, rummaging through the drawer.

The very air stilled, her hands trembling slightly.

The smart choice would be to retreat and hide with her brother, but her feet refused to move.

They were rooted to the carpet as if some unseen force kept them there.

The dark figure suddenly straightened to his full height, pushing the drawer shut.

Tall.

So tall.

He tapped a gloved finger against his chin.

Louisa couldn’t make out his features with only the moon giving her any light, and the cap pulled low over his face offered no help.

Nothing about his attire gave his identity away either.

From the little she could see, it seemed like plain, country wear.

But from the shape of the man... it was plain that she wouldn’t be able to protect anyone with this feeble candelabra!

Time to retreat, Louisa!

His head snapped her way.

Louisa started, and the candelabra slipped from her fingers. Time stretched impossibly thing as they stared at each other. The sharp thud of the candelabra hitting the ground jolted her from the spell and straight into action.

She turned on her heel and ran.

Away from the west wing. Away from her brother’s chamber. And hopefully, away from him .

*

Oliver Cavanagh, the seventh Duke of Mortimer, cursed.

Cursed his luck.

Cursed his choices.

And, at that very second, he cursed the table that struck his hip as he launched after Lady Louisa Talbot.

A grunt of pain sprang from his lips as he dashed after her.

It was bad enough that he’d broken into a Talbot residence, but being caught by Lady Louisa Talbot, in her bedchamber no less, was the most damnable thing.

He couldn’t explain his actions. Well, he could, but he would sound stark raving mad since there were so many other ways he could have gone about retrieving the betting book from White’s.

So many other choices.