Page 1 of Tantalizing the Duke (Wayward Dukes Alliance #22)

CHAPTER ONE

M illy 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.”

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.

“It’s different for me. I’ll have to move to a village where no one has heard of my father, or my own mishaps, or my husband will be a laughingstock.” Milly’s lips pinched into a thin line. “I must marry a man who doesn’t desire children, so they aren’t tainted with my illegitimacy.”

Glancing about, Milly made sure no one was listening before adding, “And I’m uncertain I could be satisfied with one man for the rest of my life.”

The other two women laughed loudly enough to draw attention. “You haven’t experienced the right man, dear girl,” Verity said.

“I’ve sampled so many, I can’t believe there’s one who would tempt me above all others,” Milly rejoined, biting her lip. “Perhaps I should offer my hand to the highest bidder. The winner at one of those tables, perhaps?”

The suggestion hung in the air, met with incredulous delight. Verity gasped, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and amusement. “Oh, Milly, do you really wish to end up with another Crampmoore?”

“It’s tempting fate, isn’t it?” Milly admitted, her bravado fading.

“You might marry a gambler with more debts than titles,” Betty warned, still smiling. “I thought you’d sworn off both.”

Milly conceded with a rueful chuckle. Her friends’ laughter mingled with the racket of the room, but even the clamor couldn’t drown out her silent resolve. She knew the peril of an impulsive choice, yet the prospect thrilled her more than it should.

“Be patient,” Verity counseled. “Betty and I will see that you find the perfect match. Someone generous, with fewer former wives than Crampmoore, and possibly with children.”

Betty sighed. “Poor things. Imagine having a mother who runs off to Sutcliffe’s every week!”

“And quite enjoys herself, at that,” added Verity. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “A dreadful woman. Where will they ever find such a scandalous bride?”

Milly smiled coyly. “But what if I can’t wait for you to rustle up this magnificent man?”

“Then take one for the night and leave the rest to us,” Betty said with a playful wink.

“We’ll speak to our own friends, of course,” Verity assured her. “There’s bound to be a willing widower or two. And you know some men adore a wife who craves pleasure.”

“Just so long as that wife isn’t seen as damaged goods,” Milly said, unable to mask the flicker of doubt.

Berry shook her head. “Perhaps you need to be reminded of how appealing you really are. Which of these cads shall we trust for the task?”

Milly surveyed the room, contemplating her many options. “The most handsome, naturally. Or at least the least insipid.” She feigned consideration, then added with girlish defiance, “The lot of them, if I had my way.”

Her friends laughed. Milly rose from her seat, the weight of her predicament replaced by the lightness of renewed hope. Even in jest, her scandalous vow to win freedom kindled her spirit, a blazing revolt against the drear future her father had planned. She resolved not to act rashly, as she had promised, but let herself be swept up by desire in the very first rogue’s embrace.

With a teasing glance over her shoulder, she blew a kiss to her companions, then made her way toward the stairway to the private rooms.