Page 3 of The Cursed Duke (Wayward Dukes' Alliance #19)

July 22, 1815

Club Damnation

43 St. James Place

Mayfair, London

“What the devil?”

Giles Fitzroy, 3 rd Duke of Steppingford stared at the announcement in the newspaper he’d been reading for the past thirty minutes, and thought he’d possibly imbibed in too much brandy.

Some of the club members who were also reading in the same room glanced his way.

It was the Duke of Eggleton who asked the obvious.

“Is something amiss?”

He snorted. “As if you haven’t already seen the notice? This damned paper is already a day old.” When a sympathetic grin curved the other man’s lips, he glared. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Rattling the paper, he glanced about at the rest of them. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

Eggleton snickered. He was of the same age as Giles—five and forty—but Giles seemed much more advanced due to the shock of silver in his hair. His father had it as had his grandfather, and it arrived around their mid-twenties.

It was just another reason that he was cursed, which was how he explained all the odd and disappointing things that had befallen him in his life.

“I wanted the fun of seeing your reaction when you discovered it,” his friend said as he rested an ankle on a knee. “No doubt there is an official invitation waiting for you in a pile of post at home, but the real question that remains is what are you going to do about it? Honestly, it could have been an error, and if it was deliberate, then it’s egregious.”

“It is, but there is no reason for it.” After all, he had been away from England for the past ten years and had only returned to London in the past few weeks.

“Ah, then you didn’t leave for the subcontinent after giving out empty promises to young ladies you didn’t intend to fulfil?” So much sarcasm rose on the inquiry that even Giles had to see the humor in it.

“No.” One corner of his mouth twitched with the urge to smile, but he quelled it. “There is a reason I’m unattached.”

One of the other dukes, who went by the moniker of Nottingham because he was an honorary duke, chuckled. “Because you’re a bitter, brooding man who prefers to sit alone in his house, either plotting revenge on the men who’ve wronged you or wishing atrophy and decay on the women who’ve broken your heart?”

“Do shut up.” No one needed to know how close to the truth that was.

Eggleton huffed. “Please don’t say you have come back to England for revenge. Ravenhurst just recently did that, and I believe we are all still stunned from the outcome of that particular tale.”

While murmurs of agreement went through the men assembled in the room, Giles frowned, for he hadn’t heard the story. “Be that as it may, no. I haven’t come home for revenge.”

Nottingham’s grin widened. “Then love, surely.”

“Hardly.” With short, annoyed movements, he folded the newspaper and then laid it on a nearby rose-inlaid table where a brandy decanter rested next to his empty crystal glass. “Love is that last thing I wish to involve myself in.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “I came back to England because my work in India was completed.”

That was only about half true.

“Leave him be, boys,” Eggleton said with the wave of his hand. To Giles, he asked, “So what do you intend to do about, who was it?” He grinned. “Miss Hannah Masterson and her family who have so daringly put such a damning notice in the papers?”

“I don’t know.” Some of the anger at first seeing the shocking blurb had faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He briefly closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his club mates were staring at him. “As much as I want to give her a dressing down—and I will—there is a small part of me that says I should marry the chit anyway.”

“What?” All three men openly gawked at him.

“It’s not that far-fetched.” He shrugged. “I am five and forty. Being in India to take care of my father’s estate there—and everything that entailed that wasn’t business related—has made me think about my own mortality.”

Eggleton groaned. “It is no good for a man to think.”

“Indeed.” Giles poured a measure of brandy into his glass and then took the tumbler in hand. “Yet time stops for no one, not even a duke.” He sipped the amber liquor and relished the burn of it in his throat. “Miss Masterson is as good a match as any.”

Nottingham stared. He shoved the fingers of one hand through his dark hair. “Do you know anything about her or her family?”

“I do not.” He shrugged. “However, it would appear she’s still young enough to bear an heir. Possibly.”

“Uh, from the gossip I’ve heard ‘round Town, Miss Masterson just turned thirty and is quite unwanted.” This from another man with an honorary title of duke—the Duke of Udolpho, taken from the book the Mysteries of Udolpho .

“It could be worse.” And he followed the statement with another sip of brandy.

Nottingham laughed. “Well, there’d be no scandal in bedding her if you’re married, for we all have heard the stories of how you’ve been a cad and a lover of some skill.”

He shook his head, ignoring that claim. “There is that. I haven’t enjoyed a good fuck for a few months, though. Truth to tell, I don’t desire taking a virgin to bed, but in this instance, there’s nothing for it.”

Eggleton sipped his own drink. “Then simply seduce her, bed her, then leave her. There will be other women to wed. And you could roll that into a lesson for her audacity of thinking she was marrying you.”

The idea held merit. “While that might cause too much drama and I don’t need the scandal, I will need an heir at some point. Might as well get it all done together. Afterward, I can move her to one of my country estates. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.” Truly, he was tired of thinking about it.

Nottingham gawked. Again. “You’re mad.”

“Perhaps, but sometimes involving oneself in someone else’s insanity makes one forget about one’s own.” And he wasn’t interested in offering his heart up for love again. The first time had ended with horrendous results, and he refused to suffer a broken heart a second time.

For a long time, shocked silence took over the room.

Finally, Eggleton nodded. “Whatever course you take, we’ll support you, if only to lord it over you at a later date and tell you how much of a nodcock you are.”

Giles made a crude hand gesture. “I appreciate that. Thank you.” It was good to be back among friends. “My first order of business is to crash the engagement party. Since it’s for me, after all.” And he could assuage his mild curiosity before venting his spleen.

July 24, 1815

Masterson House

Portman Square

Mayfair, England

Giles entered the drawing room of the Masterson House with a frown. Apparently, the family to whom he’d suddenly found himself embroiled with didn’t have enough coin to have to buy a townhouse with a ballroom, so this celebration was a rout in a stuffy drawing room in the middle of summer.

How droll.

If they had bothered to include him in the scheme, perhaps he would have lent them the use of his own townhouse, which did, indeed, contain a ballroom. But he shoved those thoughts out of his mind, for he was intent to seek out the fiancée he didn’t know he had, and that was a fairly easy task, since she was undoubtedly the woman who appeared about to cast up her accounts.

Interesting.

As he stood on the fringes of the crowd, he studied her. The woman wasn’t bad looking, which was surprising, for usually budding scandals such as these involved horse-faced ladies who couldn’t otherwise catch a husband, but in the case of Miss Masterson, she was pleasantly plump or perhaps a bit larger, and clad in a gown of silver taffeta that displayed her décolletage to advantage. He wasn’t displeased at the prospect of taking her to wife, though the color did nothing to amplify her eyes or skin. He certainly wouldn’t be bored in the bedroom, at least for a while. However, it was her eyes that held his attention. Good God those large, lake blue eyes were like fantastic jewels. She might be fifteen years his junior, but she certainly didn’t appear that way. There was a maturity there he appreciated. The more he observed, the more he found.

For example, her semi-full lips were the color of deep pink roses his mother kept at his country estate, lips he oddly couldn’t wait to taste… or see employed in other endeavors, such as wrapped around his shaft while he thrust into her mouth. Ignoring the sudden surge of pure lust that went through his body, he brought his mind back to the fate of his elderly mother.

She was a soon-to-be dowager duchess in her eighties, but she was still alive and kept busy with her gardening and causes. How would she feel about Miss Masterson? That remained to be seen, but he rather thought she would encourage the match, for his mother always had harsh words of criticism about the shallowness of how the ton was growing these days.

It was time to introduce himself as well as discover how this Drury Lane production had come about.

With slow, determined steps, he made his way through the crowd, and when he gained the top of the room where Miss Masterson stood with who he assumed were her parents, he narrowed his eyes, for they were quite living up to the notoriety they’d instantly gained by perpetuating this lie.

“Ah, you must be Baron Frowley and Lady Frowley,” he said with a mild growl moving through his voice, for he wanted them to know that he knew this was naught but a farce. “I am the Duke of Steppingford, your apparent soon-to-be son-in-law.”

Oddly, both of them were enthusiastic in their greetings, and what was more, they seemed far too genuine in their actions, but it was the soft gasp from their daughter that instantly gave away the source of the bit of fiction. He turned to her, pinned her with his gaze, and while a blush infused her pale cheeks, he nodded.

“And here is my lovely fiancée. My apologies for the late arrival,” he said as he scooped up one of her hands and brought it to his lips. It shook within his grasp.

Fear shadowed her eyes as she stared up at him. Why would she exhibit such emotion if not because he’d come to the party and was moments away from dressing her down. “Welcome, Your Grace. It is, uh, good to see you.” A tiny waver threaded through her voice, but the tone was melodious enough.

When her parents attempted to pull him into conversation, he cleared his throat. “While I realize you have many questions, all of that can wait, and Frowley, you can call on me at my townhouse tomorrow to discuss contracts, but the whole of my attention tonight will belong to Miss Masterson.” With them put in their place, he guided the woman’s hand through his crooked elbow. “Let us go somewhere more private for a quick chat. After all, this is our engagement party, and I am a duke, so whatever my prerogative is should be followed, hmm?” He lifted one of his eyebrows, daring any of them to object.

Was it toying with her like a cat to a mouse before he would destroy her and her family for the audacity of putting forth such a bammer? Perhaps, but he was enjoying himself.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the baroness said with an awkward courtesy. “We are so excited that you’ve chosen our daughter, for we have long despaired of her ever marrying, let alone landing someone so high on the instep.”

Ah, that was how the wind blew, eh? To Miss Masterson, he said in a lowered voice, “Is there somewhere we can go to talk where we won’t be overhead?”

“Yes.” It came out on a gasp as she nodded. “The rear garden, but if guests want air, they’ll utilize it, so you can move to the public square beyond. It’s separated from our garden by a tall brick wall.”

He grunted a reply but didn’t let her squirm from his hold. The faint scent of apple blossoms wafted to his nose. Perhaps a scent for a much younger lady, she no doubt had no other perfume, for that was what everyone in her connection bestowed upon her.

Oddly enough, it suited her.

People nodded and smiled at them as they left the drawing room, but neither of them talked on the way down the stairs. In fact, conversation didn’t spark until they’d finally reached the small garden at the rear of the townhouse. Then, away from the laughter and buzz of conversation, Giles halted her in the middle of the grass and brought her around to face him.

“How the devil did this engagement come about, Miss Masterson?” There truly was no sense in delaying the inquiry. Though, after hearing her mother’s parting statement, he could puzzle out the scenario.

“I…” Immediately, her gaze dropped to the knot of his cravat. “I… Well…” She cleared her throat. “It started on my birthday a few days ago. I turned thirty. The dinner was the one time a year when my family should have celebrated me.”

“And?” He crossed his arms at his chest. “You lost your mind and invented this bit of fiction, knowing all along that I wouldn’t go along with it?”

“I had no idea you were a real person!” With the most spirit he’d seen from her yet, Miss Masterson flung arms up in the arm and brought them quickly down as if in frustration. “I plucked your name from the air or my imagination as it were, because my older sister decided to announce the fact she was increasing with her first child, and then had the gall to tell me I would probably succeed as an aunt where I hadn’t in making a match.”

Well, damn. His chest tightened. “I see.” He hadn’t expected to feel a twinge of sympathy for this woman. “And let me guess. After that, your mother ran with the story and it kept growing out of hand, getting away from you before you could contain it.”

She nodded but took a few steps backward from him. “Yes.”

Silence reigned between them while the heat of the summer night felt heavy against his face and the back of his neck. Perhaps it was because he had always had expectations pressed upon him and knew what it was like to never live up to those things his father had put on his shoulders, slowly Giles relaxed. “That sounds horrid. All of it, I mean.” He tugged the gloves from his hands then tucked them into a waistcoat pocket.

“It was… is. In many ways, I feel… trapped all the time,” she said in a small voice as she fisted her hands in the sides of her gown.

One of his eyebrows rose in surprise. “So do I.” Which was one of the reasons he left India after being there for ten years.

“I am dreadfully sorry for what I did, and truly, I didn’t know you actually existed.” As she raised her gaze to his, fear and embarrassment mixed in her eyes, made slightly luminous from tears welling there. In the golden illumination coming from the windows of the townhouse, he discerned a faint smattering of brown-gold freckles on the high points of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “So please, if you must be enraged, don’t do it in front of Mama and Papa’s guests. It would destroy my parents, and they don’t deserve that.” Just as quickly, she dropped her notice to his cravat once more. “They mean well, and just want to see me taken care of and settled. This is my fault alone, not theirs.”

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” The woman needn’t answer, for he knew she hadn’t. No, Miss Masterson was no doubt a loving daughter, following the rules as docilely as she could, never arguing because she didn’t wish to cause tension in the family.

“I have not.”

He nodded. “And when you were inventing this bit of fiction, did it ever occur to you that you might have accidentally pulled a real title out of the air?” As he spoke, he stalked her over the grass. The buzz of nocturnal insects thrummed in time to the rush of his pulse in his ears.

“No, I… I just wanted them to pay attention to me, for them to be proud of me for once.”

For fuck’s sake. Now there was a kinship between them, a gossamer thin connection, and he could almost feel her pain. For each step he took, she scuttled backward until the brick wall at the end of the garden prevented her full retreat. “Come with me, little rabbit,” Giles whispered, and reached around her head to press the latch on the gate.

“But why?”

“I shall show you.” Once he had her in the space of the square that stretched out into the darkness, he quickly maneuvered her into a natural break between the ornamental trees, took her into his arms, and claimed her lips with his.

And she stood stock still, with her lips clamped tightly together.

He pulled back with a frown. “You have never been kissed.” It was a question.

“I have not.” She wouldn’t look at him.

It was as if he stood on the razor’s edge. Quite honestly, he should give her the dressing down that he’d planned for putting them both into scandal, but after hearing her explanation and seeing the dejection in her eyes as well as hearing it in her voice, that tiny connection between them started to strengthen.

Or perhaps he was a nodcock. “Why is it that you have reached such an advanced age and no man has attempted to kiss you?”

She shrugged and still didn’t look at him. “I am never what any man desires. This is just how life is.”

If he were an honorable man, he would walk away right now and leave her there untouched, but he had never claimed he was honorable or even a hero. Perhaps years ago when he was younger, but not any longer. “That is quite a shame. However, since it is the night to celebrate our engagement, I plan to not only kiss you but show you why men are generally arses.” Then, he tugged her back into his arms, encouraged her chin upward until their gazes collided, and he brought his lips crashing down on hers.

This time, he refused to let her keep him out with a tight jaw. It took a few moments, but he finally convinced her to relax in his hold until her lips softened, and she began to mimic what he did to her. Impressive that she was a quick study. Oddly, he wanted to know how much knowledge she could soak up, and he wanted to teach her more than how to kiss, for her lips were lovely and soft as a rose petal. They would, indeed, be lovelier still wrapped around his shaft, and he desperately wanted that too.

Now.

Perhaps this night wouldn’t be such an inconvenience after all. Curse be damned.