Page 1 of The Duke’s Defiant Angel (Dukes Gone Dirty #1)

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T here were two types of gentlemen in attendance at the Daltons’ ball, those looking for a lady to fuck and those hoping to wed.

William Cooper, the Duke of Raffian, had always prided himself on being a member of the former, far more desirable club. His friends, too. But alas, that was no longer the case.

“Are you certain this is wise, Raff?” the Marquess of Hayden slurred beside him. “You can’t really mean to wed.”

Benedict gave a huff of amusement on his other side.

Raff shot Hayden a sidelong glare. He clearly wasn’t taking this new mission seriously if he was already so far in his cups.

“I’ve made my decision, Hayden,” Raff said. “And you’re meant to find a wife this season, as well, if you’ll recall.” He turned his glare on Benedict, the new Earl of Foster. “We all are. We had an agreement.”

Hayden frowned, rocking dangerously far back on his heels and nearly bumping into a society matron, who scowled at all three of them as she passed.

“Pardon me, my lady,” Raff said on his friend’s behalf.

The older woman’s scowl faded fast. “Oh, no need to apologize, Your Grace. We are so grateful you and your friends decided to join us this evening.”

“Is that so?” He searched the woman’s round face for any hint of recognition. For the life of him, he could not recall this woman, but she seemed well acquainted with him.

“Oh, yes, Your Grace.” Her voice was so high and cheerful it bordered on shrill, no doubt to be heard over the clamor of voices around them in this ballroom crush. “My nieces would be delighted to make your acquaintance,” she continued, her eyes lighting with a fervor that made his stomach twist with dread.

He took a sip of his drink. Perhaps Hayden had the right of it. Some spirits might help ease this torture.

Word had spread quickly, it seemed, that the three infamous rakes were finally ready to settle. It was a good thing they’d banded together to get through this Season because the marriage-minded mamas were circling like hawks.

So far, he’d had an earl’s daughter, a viscount’s niece, and a duke’s cousin paraded before him—a veritable cornucopia of marriageable young ladies.

And then there was the main course, as it were. The Viscount Dalton’s only daughter, who, rumor had it, was a diamond of the first water.

The ton had been chattering on about her beauty and grace for weeks now leading up to the start of the Season, and Raff had to admit even he was mildly intrigued to see what all the fuss was about.

“...and then, of course, her sister, my youngest niece,” the older woman was saying. “She’s a delight to watch on the dance floor. Such grace. Such manners. I’m certain you’ll agree.”

She looked to Hayden, whose gaze was unfocused as he wobbled precariously in place. Then to Raff, with a simpering smile he did not even try to return. Last, she looked to Benedict, but her gaze darted away quickly—rudely, even—at the sight of his scars.

“We look forward to meeting them,” Raff finally said, for the sole purpose of urging her along.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” Benedict growled as the matron finally walked away with promises of introductions to her nieces.

This ball marked Benedict’s first outing in society since the catastrophic accident which had left him the new earl.

It seemed he hadn’t missed it.

Not that Raff could blame him. Events like this evening’s ball were tedious enough without the stares and the whispers that followed in Benedict’s wake.

“I already told you, Benedict,” Raff said. “If one of us must fall, we all go down together.”

Benedict’s answer was a grunt.

“Awfully sporting of us, I’d say,” Hayden said, a drunken grin spreading lazily across features that the more dimwitted ladies of the ton referred to as angelic.

If that angel in question were Satan, then perhaps Raff would agree.

Hayden’s taste for debauchery only rivaled Raff’s. But, all the ladies of society saw was that the Marquess of Hayden was unusually handsome with his thick brown hair and sharp, regal features. Charming, too.

Benedict, on the other hand…

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” Benedict reminded them as he eyed the growing crowd warily, his low voice curt. “Either of you.”

Raff ignored this. Benedict had always been a bit of a brute, but before the accident that had left him scarred as well as titled, he hadn’t been nearly as churlish.

A wife would help, no doubt. The poor bloke needed someone to help run his household. Preferably someone who was not his mother and who did not blame him for the loss of his father and brother.

A young lady with bright red hair and a hideous smile batted her eyelashes at Hayden as she passed, then promptly buried her head behind a fan to giggle with her friend.

“I shall never survive this Season,” Hayden said with a sigh.

“This is our first ball,” Raff said. “Don’t tell me you’re already waving the white flag.”

Hayden scoffed. “Just don’t see why the hurry, that’s all.”

Raff’s jaw clenched. The hurry, as Hayden put it, was for Benedict’s sake, a point he’d prefer not to callously point out in front of the earl.

Besides, if Hayden weren’t so soused, he’d remember why they’d agreed to this and why now.

“Are you sure we couldn’t put this off for one more Season?” This time, Hayden tipped sideways as he spoke. He might have ended up on the floor if Benedict hadn’t caught him by a shoulder and set him upright.

“Not one of us is getting any younger,” Raff said. “We’ve already put this off as long as we can.”

“Yes, yes,” Hayden said with a wave of his hand that would have smacked Raff in the nose if he hadn’t moved out of the way. “I know we’re not young lads anymore, however?—”

“Benedict needs a wife, and we all know it,” Raff said, losing the battle with tact. His friends knew him well enough to know it had been a losing battle to begin with. He was not known for his diplomacy. And why should he be? He’d inherited the dukedom at a young age and had become accustomed to having his way with a single command.

Having to explain himself and his decisions, even to his friends, was not a part of his nature. It was as vile a thought as asking for permission or begging for forgiveness.

He was, as Benedict liked to point out, a stubborn and high-handed arse.

Not that Benedict was much better. Perhaps not high-handed, but the man was terse, at best. And that was how a friend might describe him. His short temper and curt manners might not have counted against him when he still had his dark, brooding good looks. But now…

Well, the title would have to suffice. Benedict certainly wouldn’t be winning a bride with his looks anymore, and definitely not with his boorish manners. Still, there were plenty of ladies who’d overlook all that to be a countess.

Raff’s gaze swept over the crowd for just such a lady. A kind one, preferably. One with an abundance of patience and good humor. Someone sweet and gentle who could provide some comfort in that drafty, morbid old estate in the country where Benedict had been spending all his time.

No such woman magically materialized before him. More the pity. He took another swig of his drink. He wasn’t enjoying this outing any more than his friends.

Hayden was still wearing a sullen frown, and Raff patted his shoulder in commiseration. “Sorry to say it, but you need a wife, too, old chum.”

“And you, Raff?” Benedict asked. “Isn’t it high time you wed, as well?” For the first time all night, there was a hint of amusement in that low growl of a voice, and that had Raff smiling slightly.

It was mocking amusement, a jest at his expense. But Raff was relieved to hear it, all the same.

“And me,” Raff agreed. “I have but one true duty to the dukedom, and I well know it.”

And alas, to sire an heir required taking a wife.

If there’d been some way around that, Raff would have been the first to find it.

“What about Malcolm?” Hayden asked, his lower lip sticking out like a petulant child. “Why doesn’t he have to join us in this marriage business?”

The Earl of Fallenmore’s heir was typically the fourth member of their pack, and his absence tonight could be felt.

Benedict’s brows came down as he turned to Hayden. “Because Malcolm’s already engaged, remember?”

“Oh yes. I’d forgotten. That viscount’s daughter from the neighboring property.” Hayden’s gaze grew distant. “That must be nice. Having a pretty young thing all picked out and waiting for you.”

Raff gave a huff of amusement. “You’d rather your parents had arranged a match for you when you were still in the nursery, eh?”

Hayden ignored that. “Bloody good luck on his part,” he muttered. “I’d bet Malcolm’s down at Vestry Lane even now, laughing at us.”

Benedict gave a grunt in return.

Vestry Lane was a stretch of London that held a world of sin along its seedy cobblestone streets and back alleys. What had started out as a few blocks filled with gaming hells, brothels, and pubs had become a haven for gentlemen of all classes and stations, seeking to satisfy their vices.

Ladies, too, he supposed. Though most who visited Vestry Lane could hardly be called ladies in any true sense of the word.

That was likely where Malcolm was off to this evening, and it was where they all wished they could be. Where they would be if Raff hadn’t insisted that this was the Season he finally did right by his title and produced an heir.

It was time, though, for all of them.

“You’ll thank me,” Raff said with the unwavering confidence for which he was known. “Once you have your heir and your spare, and you go back to tupping that widow of yours with a clear conscience.”

“I s’pose you’re right that we’re not getting any younger,” Hayden agreed with a resigned sigh.

“Quite so,” Raff said. Truthfully, this had been a long time coming. There was little expected of any of them anymore—years of being rakish, irredeemable cads had ensured that. For Hayden and Raff, particularly, they’d ensured the real work of running their estates was being well handled by solicitors and estate managers and the like. They were little more than figureheads these days. But sadly, siring a legitimate heir wasn’t a task they could delegate.

As the eldest of them all, the clock had been ticking on Raff’s bachelorhood for years now. The need to sire an heir had been hanging over him like an executioner’s ax, and there was no putting it off any longer.

But his life would not end with a wife, he reminded himself, even as his gut coiled with dread.

Just as soon as this business was dealt with, he could get back to the gaming hells and brothels on Vestry Lane, while his wife’s belly swelled with his babe.

He took another swig of his drink. The sooner they got this marriage business sorted, the better for everyone.

“That Everton chit won’t stop staring at me,” Hayden complained.

“She’s staring at me ,” Benedict said.

No doubt he was right. Raff had caught any number of ladies and gentlemen stealing glances at the scandal-ridden new earl. But this rabid curiosity on the ton ’s behalf was at least partially Benedict’s fault. Raff had been trying to get him out of his country estate and back into society for months now. The longer he’d hidden away, the more curious the ton had become about the formerly dashing rake who was now covered in scars and burns from the fire.

Raff shifted so the Evertons and their daughter were staring at his back. “This doesn’t need to be torture,” he said. “We just need to get it done. And at least none of us is in need of a substantial dowry, we’ve no lack of good connections to make up for...” He threw back the last of his drink in one fortifying gulp. “No father with a bit of sense would deny us.”

Hayden murmured something indecipherable in agreement, and even Benedict gave another grunt of acknowledgment.

“So, in short—” Raff cast his arms out wide. “These ladies are ours for the taking. All you have to do is choose the one you wouldn’t mind bedding more than once, and we’ll be done with this whole sordid affair.”

A stir on the far side of the ballroom had them glancing over. The crowd shifted, gathering around the bottom of the curved staircase.

Everyone was waiting to catch a glimpse of her. Miss Evangeline Dalton. The talk of the town.

Raff set a hand on Hayden’s shoulder when he went lopsided again. “Steady, old chap. There will be plenty of time for real fun later, once we’ve done our duty for the night and?—”

His words died in his mouth as a young lady made her descent on the staircase at the far end of the room.

Hayden was saying something about what he planned to do when they escaped this place. Benedict muttered something about how he couldn’t dance with a woman if she was too terrified to look at him.

But Raff was barely listening to either.

His gaze was ensnared as a slim figure in a pale gold gown descended the stairs. Her hair was as pale as moonlight, her skin creamy. Her cheeks and lips were tinged with pink, and even from where he stood, he could see the perfection of her face. From a lush cupid’s bow of a mouth to the delicately arched brows...she was perfection.

A living, breathing work of art.

And that was just her face. He let his gaze move over the rest of her hungrily, drinking her in from the magnificent curve of her breasts, to the long, slender neck, and down to the tiny waist, where her gown nipped in before cascading out and over her hips.

What he would not give to see the curves of her bottom half.

Indeed, his mouth had gone dry from wanting. He wanted to see all of her. Those succulent curves spilling over in his hands, the downy curls that covered the heart of her femininity, the soft curve of her thighs as they spread for him.

All of it. All of her.

He wanted it all.

“I told you she was pretty,” an elderly gentleman said to his friend.

Heat clawed through Raff’s veins, spreading to his limbs and making his cock so hard it had his jaw clenching in pain.

Pretty, they’d said? What a tepid word. She wasn’t merely pretty. She was dazzling in her beauty.

She was incomparable. And he’d never wanted anything more.

Raff’s lips curved up in a smirk.

As simple as that. He’d been so dreading the ordeal of seeking out a bride, and he’d found her just like that.

This was the one.

He almost pitied the other ladies here tonight, for this delightful creature had just won the role of duchess without so much as trying.

“You all right, Raff?” Hayden said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Raff shook his head. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she reached the bottom of the curved staircase, her eyes cast down demurely, her lips set in a sweet, obedient smile.

“Not a ghost,” he murmured to his friends. “An angel.”

They laughed—no doubt they thought he was in jest. But even if her sweet nature were not so very clear to see, even at a distance, he already knew for a fact that she’d granted him mercy. Truly, this gorgeous little creature had just saved him from what had threatened to be a torturous Season of dancing and small talk and courting.

Now he could skip all of that because his choice was clear.

He’d found his duchess.

The lady in question gazed out at the gathered crowd with wide eyes and pink lips that curved ever so slightly at the corners in a shy smile that tugged at his chest. That sweet, hesitant smile made him want to gather her into his arms and assure her that all would be well.

The swell of her breasts, which he had a far better view of now that she’d turned to face the crowd—that also made him want to gather her into his arms, so he could feel those soft curves pressed against him.

That body was his. Only his. Only he would ever touch it.

A wave of possessiveness swept over him so abruptly, it stole his breath and tightened his every muscle.

Bloody hell. His hands were balled into fists, ready to fight any man who thought to take her from him.

She was his . And he ached to claim her right here and right now.

All at once, his mind was filled with the vision of taking her hard right where she stood on the stairway. He’d hitch up those skirts, spread those thighs, and thrust himself into her, so everyone knew she was his.

He let out a shaky exhale as he battled for control.

The thought was madness, and he knew it. This wasn’t ancient times. He couldn’t just lay claim to a woman and drag her bag to his home.

He straightened his cravat as he kept his gaze fixed on his prize.

Despite the rumors of his rakish ways, he was still a duke. He knew how to be civilized when the occasion called for it. He’d do this the right way.

A searing heat gripped his loins as her lips spread into a wider smile at something her mother said.

Quickly, he amended. He’d do this the right way, but he’d do it quickly. The sooner he had her in his bed, the better.

“She is a beauty, I’ll grant you that,” Hayden said.

“She’s perfect,” Raff said, his voice gruffer and more harsh than intended.

He was dimly aware of his friends exchanging looks behind his back.

But she was his.

His choice had been made.

He didn’t rush to her side, though. He let the other gentlemen crowd ahead as he reveled in the sight of her from afar.

Unlike Hayden, she truly was the image of an angel with her white-gold locks. He could see the bright blue sparkle of her eyes and make out the high cheekbones and pointed chin. This close, he could see that her lips were a luscious red.

She was the picture of decorum and innocence in her pale gown, but her lips…

Her lips made his imagination run wild. Full and pouty, as though she’d been kissed hard and left wanting more. With a shock of heat, he saw it clearly. Those swollen lips parting for his thick shaft. Those pretty eyes widening with innocence, her cheeks turning pink with desire as she took him into her hot, welcoming mouth.

Oh yes, her pretty little mouth was made for him and him alone.

“She’s mine,” he said, lest his friends were forming ideas of their own.

“You’ve already chosen?” Hayden laughed. “But the Season has only just begun.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Raff said, his gaze seemingly unable to be torn away from the delicate little maiden.

She was a rare gem. Precious. Desired. The best that London society had to offer.

“I’m going to claim her tonight,” he said.

“Be reasonable, chum,” Benedict said. “Marriage is a business arrangement. There’ll be negotiations and contracts to deal with. Don’t give her father a reason?—”

“It’s done,” he said, waving a hand to brush aside his friend’s words. Benedict meant well. He was merely trying to keep Raff from giving away his upper hand or making a hasty decision before he’d seen all his cards.

But that was the difference between Raff and his friends.

He was decisive. A man of action. He knew what he wanted, and he got it.

He took it.

Raff strode toward the young lady now, ignoring everyone who tried to stop him to talk and those awaiting an introduction to his lady. He was a man with a singular purpose, and he was not one to be swayed once his mind was made up.

Whether it was a mistress, a whore, an antique, or a hunting dog—he always took what he wanted.

And he’d never wanted anything more than he wanted Miss Evangeline Dalton.