Page 1 of Second Duke's the Charm

Prologue

Spring 1814.

Tess Townsend was accustomed to men falling at her feet metaphorically, but this was the first time one had ever done it literally.

And on her wedding night, no less.

The decrepit Duke of Wansford—her husband of less than a day—lay prone on the rug, but unlike many new bridegrooms, he was not drunk.

He was dead.

When he’d entered Tess’s bedchamber ten minutes ago, the lascivious look he’d cast her had turned her stomach. She’d just opened her mouth to tell him to go away, when he’d clutched at his chest with an expression of faint surprise. He’d staggered sideways, knocked over a table, and dropped to the ground like a stone.

Despite her dislike of the man, Tess had instinctively rushed forward to help, but instead of lurching to his feet, or taking the opportunity to grope her, he’d simply lain there, eyes closed, limbs slack.

With a growing sense of alarm, Tess had shaken him,then slapped his cheek. Belatedly realizing she couldn’t recall his Christian name from the ceremony, she’d hissed, “Wake up, you!” and pressed her fingers to his neck in search of a pulse.

To no avail. He was definitely dead.

A wave of incredulous relief rose in her chest, swiftly followed by guilt. She’d prayed for a miracle to save her from this dreadful marriage, but she’d never envisaged anything as drastic asthis.

Indeed, when nothing had happened that morning to interrupt her vows, she’d taken matters into her own hands, and placed a loaded pistol under her pillow.

Her father might have forced her to the altar, but Tess had no intention of allowing the lecherous old duke his “husbandly rights.” She’d half hoped that if she threatened to shoot him, he’d demand an annulment on the grounds of her insanity. Better to be considered mad for the rest of her life than submit to his repellent touch.

Whether such a plan would have been successful was now a moot point: the man wasn’t in any state to demand anything, ever again.

An insistent pounding on the bedroom door made Tess start—until she remembered the desperate plea she’d issued to her two best friends. Ellie Law and Daisy Hamilton had sworn to do everything in their power to save her from the unwelcome attentions of her new husband. The three of them had met at Miss Honoria Burnett’s Ladies Academy as children, and as far as Tess was concerned, they were far more her family than the father who’d treated her so shabbily.

“Your Grace, you must come!” Ellie’s urgent voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door. She’d affected an accent, to sound like one of the servants. “The dower house is ablaze!”

Tess stumbled to the door and swung it wide. With a frantic look up and down the corridor, she seized both girls by the arm, and hauled them inside.

“Quick! Before someone comes!” She slid the bolt home behind them.

“Are we too early?” Confused, Daisy glanced at the door connecting the duchess’s room to the master’s suite. “Is the duke still in his rooms?”

“No. He’sthere.” Tess pointed at the body on the floor, which was half-obscured by a wing armchair.

Ellie stepped sideways to get a better view, then sucked in a breath. “Oh, Bloody Hell. Tess, what did youdo?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear! He came in, leered at me, and collapsed. He’s not breathing.”

Daisy, always the most practical of the three of them, knelt and put her ear to the duke’s scrawny chest. After a tense moment she sat back on her heels with a sigh that was more irritation than dismay.

“She’s right, he’s dead.” She sent Tess a wry glance. “Considering how fetching you look in that robe, my love, I’d say it’s no surprise.”

Tess bit her lip. A lifetime of comments had made her aware that most people considered her beautiful. With her dark eyes, pale skin, and lustrous hair, she’d lost count of the number of times she’d been compared to a Renaissance masterpiece or an ancient Greek deity. She supposed she must take after her mother, who’d died when she was a baby, because she bore only a passing resemblance to the dissolute scoundrel who was her father.

Guilt tightened her chest even more. The duke was—had been—awful, but the thought that she might have caused the demise of another human being, even inadvertently, was unsettling.

“You think I killed him?”

Ellie snorted. “Of course not. His own lechery killed him. A man of seventy-two has no business wedding a girl of nineteen. His shriveled heart probably gave out from all the excitement. It serves him right.”

Daisy grimaced. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Thankfully not.” Tess shuddered at the thought of the man’s papery skin and rancid breath. She’d truly had a miraculous escape.