Page 1 of The Duke’s Price (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #18)

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T he Duke of Richport was bored. Carlos was not as much fun as he remembered. To be fair, nothing had truly amused Perry Frampton, Duke of Richport, since he had fled from England just ahead of embarrassment, scandal, and possible retribution.

Certainly not Carlos’s plans to seduce his cousin’s governess. Miss Ruth Henwood was eminently seduction-worthy. Perry guessed her to be in her mid-thirties, but she had the kind of bone structure that meant she would be beautiful in her nineties, and a figure of which most women could only dream.

“I will, of course, bed my cousin as soon as we are married,” Carlos said.

Wait. What? “I thought you were going to promise the governess that you would allow your bride to grow up a little before demanding your marital rights,” Perry said.

Carlos snorted with disdain. “A promise to a woman. Who regards such a thing? Not I.”

Pouring another drink was better politics than commenting. Perry never made promises. Not to women; not to anyone. But—perhaps it was a vestige of his upbringing as a gentleman —he firmly believed that promises made must be kept. “A gentleman’s word is his bond,” and all that.

Carlos paid no attention to Perry’s silence. “No, no. I cannot wait. Bella must have children, enough to secure the throne. It is my patriotic duty to plant them in her as soon as possible. I shall have them both, and expect to get pleasure from both, I promise you. Bella will be fifteen soon enough, and is ripe for the plucking. Fiery, too. I shall have to school her to show her who is master. I think I shall have to teach discipline to the governess, too. There is fire, I believe, under that starchy English reserve.”

Undoubtedly, and Perry wanted to be the one to uncover it. Not to quench the flames, either, as Carlos would, but to pour fuel onto them and warm himself at the conflagration. He took a sip from his drink.

“What will Princess Isabella’s people think of your marriage?” he asked. Carlos would be inviting a conflagration of quite a different kind if the citizens of the principality of Las Estrellas thought their princess was being badly treated.

“My people love me,” Carlos boasted, emphasising the word ‘my’. “I am their war hero. I saved them from Napoleon.”

Carlos had, it was true, led a cadre of guerillas in the mountains, taking the war to the French troops in all kinds of devious ways. He had clearly forgotten that those left at home in this small mountain principality had defended it against invasion not once but nine times, even expelling four invasions—one each by the Spanish, the English, and the French, and the final one eighteen months after the war by an army of deserters from all three nations.

And those domestic warriors had been led throughout the war by the father of the same princess he wanted to ‘school’. The prince had given his own life in expelling the third invasion. By that time, his daughter aged nine, was ready to take up her father’s mantle, with the help of a private committee of advisers which included retired soldiers as well as Madre Katerina, the Mother Superior of the local convent.

By the time of the fourth invasion, in the turmoil after the war, that committee included Ruth Henwood, the princess’s governess. Carlos might be a hero to those he led, though Perry had his own opinion about that, but the bulk of the population preferred the heroines who protected their homes. The princess was a warrior, as were the women who supported her. Teach the governess discipline? Perry resisted the urge to snort. Carlos was likely to wake up with his throat slit if he tried.

Carlos, when he and his men finally sauntered back from Paris three years ago, had used his authority as the princess’s guardian to replace all the women on the council, including the princess, with his own men. Spanish men, for that matter, not Estrellasans. Apparently, the population was unhappy with the change.

“I am certain you will do the right thing,” he said, utterly convinced though he was of the opposite. But Carlos was his host, and no guest with any pretension to manners would tell his host to pull his head out of the dark orifice into which it had been improbably stuffed.

It was time for him to leave Las Estrellas. He did not want to see Carlos bring his plans to fruition, which he would, for no one here was likely to stop him before he had done his worst.

Nor did he want to be included, as Carlos’s guest, in any retribution that followed, as it would, for the people loved both the princess and Miss Henwood.

“I am for my bed, Carlos,” he said. Also, not true. He planned to go up and walk on the castle’s battlements, and clear his head. He raised his glass in farewell. “Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow, my friend.” Carlos returned the salute. “Shall we go hunting? I had a report of a sighting of wolves up on the mountain.”

Wolf hunting. Oh, joy. Perhaps it would rain. Perhaps a large earthquake might hit the castle and solve everybody’s problems. “How delightful,” Perry said.

Ruth Henwood stood on the battlements of the castle and looked out into the night. She was stuck like a rat in a barrel, and the Duque de la Sombras had his guns fully loaded and aimed.

She could run, of course, but that would leave her pupil Bella to the girl’s wicked guardian’s non-existent mercies. Besides, he would probably send people after her, and she doubted she would even reach the border.

If she took Bella with her, she would guarantee the recapture of them both, for the duque would leave no stone unturned until he had his princess back again. She was daughter to his foster sister, and therefore no relation, though she called him uncle, and her father had named him her guardian. Without her, though, he had no legitimate role in the principality’s government.

Ruth could get Bella out of the castle. She thought it possible, even likely, she could get her out of the town. But after that? Two women on their own, in a country where their faces were as well-known as if they were members of every household? And even if they made it out of Las Estrellas, how would they fare in Spain or France, with little money and no way to cover their tracks? Impossible.

Her other choices were even less palatable. She could continue to refuse the duque’s advances, but only for as long as he allowed her to do so—she could tell he was losing patience, and one day she fully expected him to take her by force. Probably somewhere in private, for he was still enamoured of his own reputation as the kindly uncle who loved his niece and fought to save her from the evils of Napoleon’s army.

Refusing him would not protect Bella, either. As her legal guardian, he had given consent to their marriage. A man approaching forty. Bella was only fourteen. Furthermore, she did not like her uncle. “He makes my skin crawl, Ruth,” she said. “And he is cruel. He beats his servants. Also, he is disrespectful, not only to me, but to you and to Madre Katerina.”

Madre Katerina was the mother superior of the town’s convent of Carmelite nuns, and a member of the Council that had ruled the principality during the war.

Bella was correct. The duque acted like a gentleman when he was being watched by men of status, but in private, or when only women or servants could see him, he was rude, cruel, and offensive.

She had one chance to protect Bella. Except she did not believe that would work either. He had made her a solemn promise— “On the bones of my sainted sister,” he said—that if she would come willingly to his bed, he would put off consummating his marriage to Bella.

Since Ruth had Bella’s word for it that her uncle had despised his foster sister, she had more than her instinct to say his promise was not worth a handful of beans.

“Miss Henwood, good evening.”

The voice that interrupted her musing was far from welcome. “Your grace,” she said. The Duke of Richport was as wicked a rake as Sombras, or so said his reputation. She knew this, but apparently her body was of a different opinion. Or perhaps, now she was in her mid-thirties, she had become susceptible to rakes. Certainly, this reaction to a man had never happened before.

She hoped she was successful in concealing her shiver of appreciation of the man’s smell and his physical presence.

The duke came up beside her, so she had to shift to avoid being plastered to his side. A far more attractive proposition than it should be, and an exaggeration, besides. At most, his elbow would have brushed hers, and perhaps her skirts might have lingered against his legs.

And there she went again, with thoughts that no respectable governess should tolerate for a moment.

“Stars above in the sky and below in the valley,” the duke commented. “It is as if we wander among the celestial orbs, Miss Henwood. No wonder the land is called Las Estrellas.”

Whimsy, Ruth had not expected, but he was right. With the Valle de las Estrellas in darkness, the lights in the township below the castle did look like stars. Just a few of them. People in Estrellas were far too hard working, as they rebuilt what had been destroyed by the long war, to stay up this late at night.

“I find this view restful at the end of the day,” she commented.

It was not entirely dark on the battlements. Here and there a lamp cast a pool of dim light, and she could see that Richport’s glance at her was amused. “Is that a hint that my absence would be appreciated, Miss Henwood?” he asked.

It would, but not for the reasons he might suppose. “You are a guest of a castle, your grace,” she said, and turned to leave.

“Please,” he said, “grant me a moment of your time. I came looking for you, because I wanted to warn you.”

Warn me of what ? She did not ask the question, but merely waited.

“Sombras has no intention of waiting to consummate his marriage to the Princess Isabella,” said Richport. “He is lying to you, Miss Henwood. He plans to have you both.”

Ruth shut her eyes for a moment. It was as she thought. The duque could not be trusted. Was there no hope, then? “How do you know this?” she asked. “He told you?”

The duke nodded. “He says he does not regard a promise to a woman.”

Ruth had another question. “Why are you telling me this?” The two men were friends, after all. Yet here was Richport. She did not doubt the truth of what he said—she had suspected Sombras would not honour his promise for long, if at all. And if there was a trap in Richport telling her, she could not imagine what it might be.

Standing as she was with the nearest lamp behind her, she could see a brief uncertainty in his eyes. It extended to his tone as he replied. “Why indeed? Perhaps because I am yet a gentleman in that one matter. I do regard promises—to men, women, children, animals—as binding. That is why I do not make promises. His plans offend honour.”

The duke chuckled. “And listen to me, prating of honour, like an untried cub.” He shrugged, and turned back to look at the view. “Perhaps it is that we are both English. The only English people in all Las Estrellas.”

“Whatever your reasons, your grace, I thank you,” Ruth said. “It is as well to be warned. I can at least prepare Bella for the worst.”

He cast her another glance. “You will give in to him then?”

“Will he give me a choice?”

“No.” Just the one quiet word, but the regret in it started another thought in Ruth’s mind.

“Will you?” she asked.

He turned fully to face her. “Will I give you a choice? What would you have me do? Run my host through with a sword?” His voice was carefully devoid of emotion, giving no clue to his thoughts or feelings.

“Nothing so blood-thirsty,” Ruth assured him. “I am about to trust you with a secret, your grace.”

He grimaced. “If you must do such an unpleasant thing, call me by my name, Miss Henwood. I am Death. De-Ath, if you prefer. It is one of my names, and the one by which I am most often called.”

Ruth knew. She and a former charge had looked Richport up in the castle library’s copy of Debrett’s. Perran Albert Kendrick De-Ath Frampton, Duke of Richport, and a string of lesser titles. De-Ath was a Belgian name of two syllables, but he was more commonly referred to by the English word with the same spelling. And Perran was a Cornish name that meant Black. Had his parents known they were calling him Black Death? If so, they had a very twisted sense of humour.

She ignored the invitation. “I think I can get Bella out of Monteluz without Sombras being aware. I need money to spirit her across the border and then through Spain or France to a port where we can take a ship to England. Will you make me a loan of the money, Your Grace? I will be able to pay you back once I am in England and with my friend and her family.” She had her savings, and she was certain her former pupil, friend, and sister of the heart, the Countess of Chirbury, would give her refuge, and reimburse Richport.

“‘Will you make me a loan of the money, Death?’” said Richport.

Ruth sighed. She had no patience for games when her life and Bella’s were on the cusp. “Will you make me a loan of the money, De-Ath?” she obediently repeated, though she gave his name the correct pronunciation.

He gazed back out across the valley, his face in shadow again so she could not see his expression. Was he thinking about it? Or had he dismissed her?

After several minutes, she turned to leave the battlements. Ah well. At least I tried .

Miss Henwood was leaving. Was Perry going to do it, or wasn’t he? It was unlike him to vacillate. “Miss Henwood,” he said, just as she was about to step through the door into the tower behind him. “I have another proposition for you.”

“Yes?” Her voice was cautious. Wise woman! Beware wicked dukes bearing gifts.

“I have a yacht moored in Collioure, just across the border from Spain in France. I will escort you and the princess to my yacht, and then transport you to England.”

“You will?” The hope in her voice tugged at the dried-up shrivelled vestiges of his conscience. Ridiculous. He was a villain. A villain with some gentlemanly standards, but a villain, nonetheless. If he was going to betray his friend and go to the trouble of a no-doubt uncomfortable dash through the mountains and countryside, then someone had to pay.

“I have a price,” he said.

Miss Henwood did not flinch. “Which is?”

“We will travel as a family—husband, wife, and daughter. Or, given she looks like neither of us and you do not look old enough to be her mother, my daughter, and your step daughter, perhaps.”

Miss Henwood took the few steps back to his side before commenting. “That seems sensible.”

There was one point that should be made clear at the outset. Perry was not doing this as a favour, but as an exchange. “We shall travel as husband and wife in every way except the church blessing on the arrangement, which shall be temporary, Miss Henwood. Until we arrive in England.” By which time, no doubt, he would have tired of her, as he had of all others.

“I see.”

That was it. Neither yes nor no. Perry began laying out plans as if she had already agreed. It was a strategy that had worked for him time out of mind, both in amorous and business negotiations. “If you can get the princess out of the town, it is probably best if I appear to leave Las Estrellas. For Barcelona, perhaps. That way, they will be looking for a woman and girl, not a family. Tell me where to meet you and when, and I shall be waiting.”

Her frown deepened as she thought.

“I shall get the pair of you away to safety, Miss Henwood, and protect you with all my considerable resources until you are safely in the hands of your friend and her family,” he said. It was a vow, he realized. Was he in his dotage or suffering a second childhood? He was becoming a knight errant!

“You will protect me from everyone except you,” said Miss Henwood, the sarcasm heavy in her voice.

She was being coy. He was far too experienced not to know she found him attractive, and surely, she must be in her mid-thirties. She could not be so innocent that she regarded the perfectly natural acts he had in mind as dangerous.

However, it was not in his interests to point out her duplicity

“I shall tell Carlos in the morning that I have a mind to move on,” he said. Once my people and I are out of Las Estrellas, I’ll send most of them along the road to Barcelona. From there, they can cross the border for Collioure. I’ll write a note for them to deliver to my yacht. My valet and I will circle the country and wait for you—where?”

“La Camino del Lobo,” she said, naming the highest pass out of the principality, which was surrounded by mountains. “Bella and I will be there in… four days. Or I shall send a messenger.”

He had her! Did she realise she had just agreed to be his lover? To test her, he said, “A kiss. To seal our bargain and as a deposit in your account.”

Miss Henwood sighed, very much as if he was an annoying child who must be tolerated. However, unless the shadows misled him, she also blushed.

He said nothing, but waited for her to initiate their embrace. She waited, too. Was she playing games with him? That was not what he expected of her, but then women were unaccountable creatures, in many ways.

After a long moment, she said, “Well? Are you going to kiss me?”

“No,” Perry said. “I don’t owe you a kiss. You owe me one. I am waiting for you to kiss me.”

Instead of pouting, frowning, arguing, or laughing at his nonsense and giving him a kiss, Miss Henwood frowned, looking worried, but leaned forward and gave him a peck which would have fallen on his cheek if he had not turned his face to allow their lips to meet.

It lasted less than a second, and was over. Miss Henwood looked relieved. “I will say good night then, your grace.”

“Death,” he insisted, “and the toll required was a lover’s kiss. That was not a lover’s kiss, Miss Henwood.”

He almost laughed at her huff of annoyance. “De-Ath, then,” she said, the stubborn woman. “What am I supposed to know of lover’s kisses, De-Ath? I have been a governess since I was seventeen.”

Her irritation had him adjusting his assumptions about her experience. “You have never shared a kiss? No randy fathers or adult sons? No sweethearts on your days off?”

She frowned again. His guess that she was thinking about what to tell him was confirmed when she said. “I suppose, if we are to be intimate, you ought to know. I have never shared a lover’s kiss. I have had lust’s kisses forced on me, but have managed to avoid anything more than rude slobbering and even ruder fumbling.”

Her disgust dripped from the words. Perry was suddenly very pleased he had demanded she take the lead in this first encounter. She would soften to him all the sooner if he behaved differently to those who had offended her.

What fools those slobberers and fumblers were! He had never forced an unwilling woman, though he had seduced more than a few into willingness. As he would Miss Henwood. As he had intended for the lady he had tried to abduct just before he left England. Lady Charlotte had turned down his honourable proposal, and he had accepted his dismissal. Then he had seen her early one morning leaving the home of that notable rake the Marquess of Aldridge, looking noticeably debauched.

He had waited, expecting an announcement, and when none came, he had had her kidnapped, to accompany him on his exile. As his duchess, for she was a well-born lady, the granddaughter and niece of a ducal house.

He had misread the situation, for Aldridge had rescued her. Perry had fled the country more rapidly than he had intended. In a foreign port some time later, he heard that the pair had married after all. Ah, well. Ancient history, and Perry had never liked dwelling on his mistakes. Especially with such a delectable lady before him.

“Well, then,” he said. “In this, let me be the teacher, Miss Henwood. You had the right idea touching your lips to mine. Do so again, but let your lips linger. When you are comfortable, open your mouth, and I shall open mine. You can explore my lips and even my mouth with your tongue, if you wish, but if that is too much for a first lesson, then go only to the second step. Touch me with your hands, if you wish. For this first time, I shall keep my hands behind my back.”

He put them there and, for good measure, clasped them together so they would not stray.

Once again, he waited while Miss Henwood considered the matter. Some vestige of conscience stirred. He should tell her he fully intended to help her whether or not she paid his price. After all, he did not make a practice of seducing virgins, though he occasionally allowed a venturesome virgin to seduce him. In part, it was a matter of good sportsmanship—in the perennial war that was relationships between men and women, innocents came unarmed to the battle, and picking them off was not the act of a gentleman. Mostly though, it was that they were too much work, and too much potential drama.

He opened his mouth to tell her a kiss was not necessary, just as she leaned closer and put her lips on his. She was not much shorter than him, so he did not have to bend far. Her lips were soft, plump, and tasted of port, which both surprised and delighted.

As instructed, she lingered. After several moments, she placed her hands on his chest and opened her mouth. It took every amount of discipline Perry could muster not to take over the kiss, but he was rewarded when her tongue slipped between his teeth and touched his own.

At first, she proved her claim of innocence, but he showed her what to do and she copied him with increasing enthusiasm and skill.

Perry had been intimate with the greatest whores in the British Isles, Europe, and the Near East—with both those courtesans who made their living by pleasuring men and those ladies whose rutting was purely about their own pleasure.

He was torn between running away as fast as he could and gathering her closer. He held himself still, all except his own mouth, which was busy giving her all the satisfaction within the reach of his considerable experience.

When his control began slipping from his grasp, he brought the kiss to an end, slowly closing his mouth and dropping kisses along her lip before standing straighter to take his mouth out of her reach.

“You are a very adept pupil, Miss Henwood,” he said. “Thank you. I look forward to further lessons.” Any thought of a different, more honourable course had been burnt to ashes in that inflammatory kiss.

“Once we are safely in France,” she dictated. Her voice trembled. She was not as calm as she tried to appear.

And thank goodness for that. His knees felt weak, and if she had been unaffected by the kiss, he might have leapt off the battlements and ended it all. Well, no, he wouldn’t. Not that. But he would have been very disappointed.

There was no question that this demure governess had vanquished his boredom and given him something delightful to think about. For the first time in many years, the future, particularly once they were out from under Carlos’s hand, looked bright.