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Page 1 of Tantalizing the Duke

CHAPTER ONE

Milly Nichols sat in the study of her father’s London town house, wondering what had stirred his ire this time. A full month had passed since her indiscretion with Baron Wasing had made the scandal sheets, so surely her stepmother had recovered from her fits of vapors over that. Admittedly, having one’s gown dip low enough to reveal one’s… endowments while enjoying the operetta was a bit incautious. They were in a private box, however, not in the general seating area where everyone could see what they were up to. Wasing’s hands and mouth should have kept anyone from seeing anything indecorous, unless the viewer was determined to see flesh and continued to gawk until he did.

Of course, many of the haute ton thrived on seeing things they shouldn’t, so Milly’s bosom received more praise than the soprano’s solo the following day.

Glancing down, Milly adjusted her décolletage, then lifted her breasts just a bit. There was little sense in attempting to hide something she was proud of, no matter how her stepmother felt about Milly’s figure. The woman was jealous, she was certain, over the beauty Milly had inherited from her mother, who happened to be Lady Kingsland’s maid at the time of Milly’s conception.

Lady Kingsland would have preferred Milly stay in the house Kingsland had proved her mother twenty-three years ago in a village as far from London as one could get without crossing a border or a channel. But Milly loved London and all the men it offered.

“She’s a whore, just like her mother,” came Lady Kingsland’s shrill voice from the hallway. “You must do something!”

“I have the matter well in hand,” Milly’s father, Lord Kingsland, said evenly, just before the door opened. He smiled when his gaze met Milly’s, and he warmly kissed her cheek. “Thank you for coming, darling girl.”

Lady Kingsland snorted before taking a seat in the chair to one side of the desk, but said nothing. She rarely spoke directly to Milly, as if to do so she might lower her standing in Polite Society.

The earl sat behind his desk and smiled again at Milly. “I have news. Indeed, a splendid match has been made. One that shall see you comfortable and well situated.”

Milly refrained from groaning. They’d had this discussion before. “Father, I’ve told you, I have no wish to marry.”

Her father glanced at his wife, his face showing his frustration. “You must understand, my dear. There are certain expectations?—”

“There are no expectations for an illegitimate daughter,” Milly interrupted. “A wedding, no matter how proper, will not make the ladies of Polite Society accept me. I won’t suddenly receive invitations to tea or Venetian breakfasts. They won’t acknowledge me when they see me at the modiste’s. Or rather, they won’t change modiste when they realize I employ the same one who made their innocent daughters’ wardrobe.”

“You spend too much on her gowns,” Lady Kingsland said, still not looking at Milly.

Milly glanced skyward. If the woman had any idea how much money the earl paid for the rooms Milly shared with her friend, Rose, not to mention her allowance, the countess would have had her kidnapped and sent to live in a brothel on the Continent. “No doubt the poor man is just as old and doddering as the last one you suggested. No one wants to marry an earl’s bastard.”

“Millicent!” shrieked Lady Kingsland. She waved a hand before her face as if she would faint at any moment.

Kingsland cleared his throat but didn’t reprimand her. “This one is neither ancient nor feeble. He is a gentleman of some reputation. The Lord Crampmoore.”

The name landed like a blow, but Milly refused to flinch. She turned her gaze to her father, hoping for some reprieve. “Surely not the baron? He’s lost more wives than you have shoes.”

Kingsland sighed. “No other man would look past the latest scandal.”

“No other man would dare marry her,” Lady Kingsland said. Her triumph was undeniable. “We must take what we can get. Though a baron with estates and prospects is much more than she deserves.”

Milly sank back in her chair, her heart racing. It was worse than she had imagined. Crampmoore’s third wife recently died under mysterious circumstances. Her sudden ailment was oddly similar to his first two wives, both of whom died within six months of marrying him. “Father, you cannot expect me to marry him. You cannot hate me that much.”

“We only wish to see you well settled,” Kingsland assured her, though his voice lacked conviction. He sighed, again stealing a glance at his wife. “Crampmoore’s eager for an heir.”

“His child would be marked by scandal, with me as his mother.” The baron’s children would have the ghosts of the three dead wives hovering over their acceptance into society, as it was. A mother with a scandalous conception of her own wouldn’t help ease them into the ton.

As much as she loved children, Milly planned to remain childless. Even if she allowed her father to find her a kind man who lived a quiet country life, where no one knew who she was, there would always be the threat of someone finding out about her past. Or rather, her father’s past. All the silly scandals Milly had been a part of were minor enough to be overlooked outside the ton.

“Perhaps,” Lady Kingsland added, “you ought to consider how this will reflect upon us. We have borne your escapades long enough. There is some peace to be had when you are Crampmoore’s wife.”

“Milly, you must see that this will save us all a great deal of distress.” Father seemed to think she could be convinced to agree to the marriage. Either that, or his decision was final and he didn’t want Milly angry with him.

“And when he buries me, will you feel relief at my being gone?” Milly asked.

“I’ve every confidence that you will manage. The man is no ogre, for heaven’s sake,” Father said.

“He simply marries his wives to death, is that it?” Milly rose and paced the room, fire and despair mingling within her. “And what if I have no desire for the match?”

Kingsland hesitated, knowing too well the storm that could follow. “Do not be dramatic, my dear.”

Lady Kingsland’s voice cut like a knife. “You had better make yourself willing. Crampmoore plans to have the banns read in the church near his country home this Sunday, and I’ve written the vicarage in Kingsland. You’ll be married in Crampmoore’s church in a month.”

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