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Page 2 of Tantalizing the Duke

Ice filled Milly’s veins. Twice before, her father had decreed his plans for her to marry, but she’d been able to talk him out of moving forward. Today’s decision was a fait accompli. How would she escape?

“I’ve also written to Susan—” Father began.

“What?” Lady Kingsland screeched.

Father went on. “While there isn’t time for her to come to Town and help you shop for your trousseau, she can prepare to accompany you to your wedding.”

Milly suddenly understood what men meant when they mention the parson’s noose, and she felt it tighten around her neck.

“I would recommend you stay here with us,” Father paused when his wife gasped, then continued, “but I’m sure that’s unnecessary. I trust you to behave until it’s time for us to travel. You’ll avoid going to Sutcliffe’s, of course. In fact, it’s best if you remain home in the evening for the next few weeks.”

Her father knew of her membership to Sutcliffe’s club? She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He probably had a membership for himself. He didn’t seem the gambling type, but her very existence proved he was the sort of man who would take advantage of the private rooms available at the club. In those rooms, one could have a discrete meeting with one or more person of one’s choosing, or choose the more elaborate rooms outfitted with scandalous toys and accessories.

Milly hid her smile. Sutcliffe’s was exactly the sort of place she needed to go, and the sooner, the better. Watching others through the peepholes, seducing a young buck with fucking on his mind… either of those would calm her nerves and allow her to think more clearly. She must make a scheme, quickly, to avoid marrying Crampmoore.

The meeting ended when her father left the room, his wife following like a shadow. Milly found the butler waiting in the hallway to escort her to the door. “I’ve sent for a hackney cab for you, Miss Nichols,” he said when Kingsland was out of earshot.

“Thank you, Addams. You always take care of me.”

The familiar trappings of wealth surrounded Milly as she walked to the entry, but they always seemed gaudy to her, a blatant display of what she’d been denied growing up. She’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, a natural child. Baseborn. She’d heard it all over the years. Eventually her skin thickened enough for it not to bother her, but she felt sad for her poor mother, Susan. She was such a kind woman. Milly couldn’t imagine her mother seducing anyone, and she put all the blame for the affair with Kingsland on his hands. While Mama had a comfortable life, thanks to Kingsland, she should have had more.

She should have had a loving husband.

Milly would never know a life like that, either, but she no longer cared. She enjoyed having a man’s hands on her and his turgid member in her. A variety of men was preferable, so her heart didn’t grow too fond. She rarely returned home unsatisfied at the end of an evening. But it appeared her visits to Sutcliffe’s would end soon. In the meantime, she planned to spend as much time there as possible.

For a woman born ruined beyond redemption, there was no better refuge than Sutcliffe’s Gentleman’s Club, and Milly felt strangely at peace among the roguish horde. Anyone who gambled there might raise an eyebrow or two if Polite Society knew. Those who entertained themselves in other areas were scandals waiting to be exposed. She passed the gaming tables, where the ever-amorous bachelors leered, intent on winning her eye, and perhaps a moment with her body. Her thoughts were only of her father’s threat to see her wed to Crampmoore, a man both despicable and dull. She needed a scheme, a savior, and she needed it quickly. A conversation with her dear friends, Lady St. Ervan or Lady Longford, might guide her, though she imagined their advice would do little to calm her mind’s urgent cry.

She scanned the large, main gaming room, hoping to find one of her friends at a table or nestled on the divan. Amongst the gamblers, she noticed a few sharp eyes tracking her every step, and she wondered if anyone knew of her impending marriage. The crowd’s murmur continued with no one calling attention to her, and she spied a familiar plume of feathers bobbing among the tables in the distance.

“There she is, our dearest scandal!” called a sprightly voice as Milly approached. Verity, Lady St. Ervan, waved her over with enthusiasm. “We were certain you’d make an appearance tonight.”

“Verity and I had a wager,” added Betty, the vivacious Lady Longford. “I do believe I’ve won. Here you are before teatime.”

Milly settled into a chair at the card table between her two friends, her spirits buoyed by their easy warmth. “Was it such a difficult bet?” she asked with mock offense.

“We feared you might mourn the loss of Lord Wasing,” Betty said with a giggle. “Have you heard? He and some poor girl escaped to Gretna Green.”

“Never mention that odious creature to me again.” Milly said with a groan. “I’ve worse news, however. My father has arranged for me to wed Lord Crampmoore. They read the banns next week! What am I to do? I came here hoping for a handsome scoundrel to divert me. Surely one must lurk within these walls, even at this early hour.”

“Several, I should think,” Verity observed, eyeing the room with interest.

“You don’t plan to marry the baron, do you?” Betty asked.

“I can’t. He’ll have me dead in six months, like the others.” Milly could hear the desperation in her own voice. “But what can I do? My father plans to take me to the church himself.”

Her friends exchanged knowing glances, leaning in conspiratorially. Betty tapped her fan against Milly’s arm, her expression both amused and sympathetic. “Might I suggest an excellent scheme? Marry someone else.”

“Betty’s right,” Verity chimed in. “There’s no better way to guarantee you can’t marry Crampmoore.”

Betty added, “Don’t waste your time and arrange a faux betrothal. It’s a waste of time. You’ll end up married in the end, like Longford and I did.”

The three women laughed. Milly recalled when Betty and Lord Longford found themselves in a scandal of their own, right here in the private rooms of Sutcliffe’s. Now they were among the happiest couples Milly knew.

She sighed, allowing her posture to sag only for a moment. “I had hoped there was a better solution. Why can’t I just become some man’s courtesan? I’d enjoy entertaining him when he wished, while spending the rest of my time how I pleased.”

Verity shook her head. “The only way to keep your father from forcing you to marry is to marry someone else.”

“It’s not an entirely miserable state, you know, marriage. We’ve both enjoyed it twice,” Betty said. She and Verity had been widows with no plans to marry again when they met their current husbands.

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