Page 1 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)
CHAPTER 1
T he Private Diary of Sophia Hawkins
The Untamed Duke has returned. He slipped back into London last night, a predator present but unseen, lurking from afar. I anticipated his arrival with excitement, eschewing the fear others would expect. Fear would show weakness, vulnerability already assigned based on my gender. I am not defined by what others believe. The man who would harm my brother will face a challenge as he has never known.
I will claim victory.
“Who is he?”
“Where did he come from?”
“He is extraordinary.”
Yes, he was.
The questions came from every corner, whispered behind bejeweled fans, hissed under tightly clutched dance cards, glistening in fervent eyes. They were a tangle of debutantes’ whispers, matchmaking mamas’ hisses, eager swains’ bemoans, each desperate to solve the night’s grand mystery. The man’s exact features were protected by a gleaming obsidian disguise, covered in onyx, sapphire and deception. Would midnight’s strike solve the mystery, the identity behind emerald eyes? Perhaps. Yet for her, it was unnecessary.
She knew who he was.
Massive. Powerful. Muscular. Controlling. Dominant. But most of all…
Dangerous.
A hundred ladies watched him. A thousand voices whispered his praises. Assessing. Calculating. Desiring. Lady Sophia Hawkins, sister to the Duke of Bradenton, would admit to the first two, never the last, as she lifted the cut crystal goblet of fruit punch to her lips. It was cool and refreshing as it slid down her throat, a welcome foil to the sweltering warmth a perfect crush always inspired.
Despite its balminess, the Colesworth Masquerade was spectacular. Lit by hundreds of candles nestled in cascades of crystal, the ballroom was a storybook come to life, with whimsical paintings brushed on every gilded wall. The ceiling was high and domed, held by columns and curves reminiscent of an ancient temple. The refreshments were just a sampling of the evening’s seven-course meal, yet the display dominated an entire corner, piles of steaming delicacies, interspersed with fruits painted by nature’s hand.
Garbed in finery, crowned by decorated masks, the guests sparkled as brightly as their surroundings. They danced to a perfectly timed waltz, performed by masters of pitch and harmony. Gracious laughter and boisterous conversation punctuated every note, from the crowd watching the crowd watching the crowd. Yet there was no one the crowd watched more than the mysterious lord.
“He is the finest specimen of man I have ever seen. No mask could hide such handsome features.” Lady Constance Welleby’s hushed whisper reached far more than the half-dozen debutantes who leaned their tightly corseted bodies forward. Dramatic perhaps, yet her assessment was not incorrect.
Coal black hair shimmered under the lights, dark and gleaming, so rich it invited a woman to run her hands through it, to ascertain if it was truly as thick as it appeared. He towered over almost everyone, his shoulders broad, his chest expansive, his power evident by the muscles that strained the crisp black suit. He was dominance defined, this man who took control.
The man who hunted her family.
Lady Constance fanned herself, gazing at the scribbles on the back of her dance card. “I am waiting to be introduced so he may reserve a dance.”
“Do not raise your hopes.” Lady Hannah let her own fan dangle limply on her wrist. “He has not danced a set all night, and he resists all attempts at conversation. Both lords and ladies have approached him, yet he grants few words.”
“Yet not severely enough for the cut direct.” Constance swatted her fan lightly towards Hannah, her bright smile belying any animosity. "Not all of us hide from our suitors. Although you weren’t able to avoid them all, I see.”
Hannah drew her dance card against her skirt, concealing the offending name. It was unnecessary. Everyone knew Michael Colborne, the Duke of Crawford, played unrelenting suitor to the reluctant debutante.
Such was not something Sophia would ever tolerate. “His identity will be well-known by the end of the night.” His anonymity was not a purposeful secret, simply an artifact of his recent arrival, obscuring mask and distaste for words. Yet sooner or later, someone would whisper his name, then that whisper would crash over the guests like the waves of the ocean. Overexcited debutantes and eager mamas would battle to capture the ducal prize. Yet to her, he was an enemy.
And she didn’t even know why.
“He’s watching you.”
Sophia twisted so quickly, the fruit punch sloshed in the glass, just missing her pale blush dress, before splashing onto the swirling marble table. A great save indeed, as her mother would have lamented the ruination of the gown that perfectly complemented her blond curls and sapphire eyes.
“I’m certain it just looks that way…” She pivoted and froze .
His gaze pierced her, raw scrutiny blazing with determination and purpose. It challenged her, dared her to stand against the warrior in gentleman’s clothing. Motives remained unknown, yet his goal burned clear. Victory.
“He is looking at you.” Hannah’s voice was low, concerned. Unlike whimsical Constance, she would not imagine attention that didn’t exist. “He hasn’t moved.”
No, he hasn’t. Suddenly thirsty, Emma grasped her drink, tilted it to her lips.
His gaze tightened.
Sweetness soured her stomach. She shifted in deliberate slowness, replacing the glass on the table, and jutting up her chin. He thought he could intimidate her? She glared.
The corners of his mouth quirked up.
“My goodness.” Constance fanned herself with the golden edged fan, her wrist flicking in a blur. “You’ve quite caught his eye.”
Whatever his interest, it was not her appearance. She attracted her fair share of suitors, yet the ton was rife with lovely ladies whom he had not afforded but a moment’s glance. She was not his true target.
She’d waited weeks, and then months, for his return. Of course, Edmund had succinctly forbidden her from approaching, talking or otherwise communicating with the man, stopping only short of inhabiting the same planet as him. Of course, she had nodded her agreement.
Of course, she had no intention of actually obeying.
She supposed she should consider herself lucky. Edmund had kept her two younger sisters in the country this season, with their aunt. Of course, her sisters would much rather be running among the trees, and truthfully, so would she.
Now was her chance. Usually Edmund watched her like a mama bear her cubs, yet he was off addressing a “situation.” Clearly the matter was urgent, yet when she’d asked, Bradenton had not wanted to bother her with gentlemen’s business. For once, his overprotective nature provided the perfect opportunity.
“He’s moving.” Constance’s eyes grew wide. She pointed a trembling finger weighted with sapphires and diamonds. “Towards us.”
Light gasps punctuated excited chatter, as the ladies puffed, preened and pranced. Gowns were straightened, hair smoothed, lips plumped. That it would be inappropriate for them to converse without having been properly introduced no longer mattered, as their numbers and the sheer allure of the man swept aside any and all considerations.
Sophia stood frozen, even as he strode through the ballroom, his boots echoing against the hard floor in synchrony to the heart slamming against her chest. She sucked in a breath of heavily perfumed air, straightened as tall as her petite stature allowed. If he thought to challenge her, he would learn, she was far more powerful than any man believed.
The crowd hushed around them, as secretive glances transformed to blatant stares. The ladies stopped moving, yet through it all, his gaze never wavered. He stared directly at her, asserting his authority, seizing power over any who would dare defy him. Then he was right above her.
He. Was. Massive.
In her memory’s eye, he hadn’t been this large, this powerful, this determined. He stood a head above her, wearing the guise of an aristocrat, yet there was nothing domesticated about him. The scent of amber and bergamot tested her senses, enveloping, possessing, as he delved just a hairsbreadth from scandalous.
“Lady Sophia, so good to see you again.” His voice was deep and strong, with a slight Scottish tilt that warmed her insides like a crackling hearth on a winter day.
Small gasps rose like breaking waves. She hadn’t wanted to admit she knew this man, or that they had, in actuality, been properly introduced.
He reached for her. Like the rest of him, his hand was large and powerful, tanned from the sun. “Dance with me.”
It was a command, not a request, an order, not a question. Inappropriate most definitely, scandalous, perhaps, for there was no semblance of an offer in the confident words. Had it not been the perfect opportunity to further her goals, she would have denied him in an instant, with a beautiful cut direct that would have stunned the ton. Yet she would not relinquish the opportunity to learn more about this man.
“I would be most honored.” She slipped her hand into his warm one, and for a moment, it seemed she was offering more than mere minutes. Instinctively, she pulled her hand back, yet he did not relinquish his hold.
She was captured.
“Is this how you assume power?” she whispered, as he led her to a gleaming dance floor. It was a waltz, and his arms tightened all around her, stealing her senses and blocking her vision. “You command others to heed your wishes?”
“I have no need to command.” His voice was low and dark, as he studied her with a thoroughness that defied every shield she dared erect. Suddenly her corset was way too tight, its knotted laces stealing her breath. “I take what is mine.”
The musicians’ melody pierced the air in an explosion of notes, and then they were in motion. His hold did not loosen, as she swirled and twirled, caught in the maelstrom of a single man. She fought for air in a tight throat. “Clearly you refer not to me, Your Grace, as we barely know each other.”
“Indeed?” he murmured. “Yet you did not hesitate to dance with me just now. As usual, no one is watching you properly.”
Red edged into her vision. “If you have not noticed, I am a grown woman.”
His lips curved upward. “I noticed.”
Her heart took a pause, then restarted at thrice normal speed. “As an adult, I do not need watching.”
“I disagree.” He edged closer, bringing his power, and his heat. It seeped under her clothing, dampening the skin underneath. “Were you under my care, I would not allow you to dance with strangers bearing covert plans.”
Covert plans? His hatred of her brother was undisguised, yet his actions towards her were far more clandestine. “Your schemes have no bearing on me. I will dance with whomever I wish.”
“Not anymore, you won’t.” His fingers tightened ever-so-slightly. “Your watchers have neglected you for too long. I plan to correct the situation.”
How. Dare. He. “You have no power over me. I only agreed to this dance because of your threats. You will cease your hostility towards my family immediately.”
“Careful, my dear,” he whispered. “The ton is watching. We wouldn’t want them seeing you upset.”
For once, he was correct. The gossipmongers already had enough fodder with their unlikely dance. She could scarce afford more. “Most people think you are a suitable, if not enviable match. They believe you to be a gentleman.”
“Are you insinuating I am not a gentleman?”
In official terms, he was indeed a gentleman, his title unarguably legitimate, his inheritance legally and properly conveyed. His father had been a duke, and he was the eldest son. Yet, underneath, he was anything but civilized. “A title does not make a gentleman.”
He leaned just a little closer than proper. “You may be right.”
She swallowed. Every challenge she flung, he rearranged to his benefit, before pitching it back with knifelike precision. With every note, she grew closer to the dance’s conclusion, and with it, her opportunity to discover the truth. “Why not focus on the many debutantes vying for your attention? Most men enjoy the benefits granted by their position and…” She waved her hand. “Other attributes.”
“Other attributes?”
She gestured once more towards his long, well-muscled body. “You know.”
“I do not know.” His astute expression belied every word. “Would you be so kind to explain?”
“Even you must be aware of your qualities.” Specifically, he possessed the body of a Greek God. Not one of the minor ones, but the one who ruled everything, or perhaps the one who was the strongest of them all. Possibly the one who carried the world on his shoulders. In any case, he could not be ignorant of his attributes, or that every woman in London noticed.
No doubt he was being intentionally difficult. “If you wish for diversion, pursue the thousands of ladies eager to be the next Duchess of Foxworth.”
“Thousands?” His gaze was unwavering. “There are scarcely that many in attendance.”
“You have far more admirers than fit in these walls.” It was true. The guests may not know his identity behind the mask, however the ton was well-aware of the new Duke of Foxworth. A handsome, wealthy duke was every debutante’s dream, every matchmaking mama’s fantasy. “Focus on your countless pursuers and leave my brother and me alone.”
“I cannot do that.” He pulled her closer, as heat flared, as iron muscles took control. “Once I commence a pursuit, I do not rest until I am victorious. I’m not nearly done with Bradenton–” He lowered his gaze. “Or you.”
Her breath caught. What was he pursuing?
Or was it whom?
“You needn’t worry about my romantic endeavors.” He spun her closer. “I already have the perfect duchess in mind.”
Another inexplicable burst of emotion electrified her. “That does not surprise me. No doubt you will be endlessly possessive and overprotective.” Her brother was the same, although he’d softened somewhat since his match with Priscilla. This man, she imagined, would never waver.
“I’ll admit I’m possessive.” The dance picked up speed. “I care for what is mine.”
Mine? He couldn’t possibly believe– She stood taller, even as she reached only his chest. Clearly, he was trying to distract her. “Why do you hate my brother?”
A sliver of surprise shone, before it melted away. “What makes you believe I hate your brother?”
“Do not play coy with me,” she hissed. “Your animosity is clear for all to see. You tried to engage him months ago, before you were called to Scotland. Now you’ve returned, and your quarrel is just as strong. Why do you seek revenge against a man you don’t even know?”
“I may not know the celebrated Duke of Bradenton, but I am well acquainted with his actions,” he growled lowly. “My disagreement with your brother does not concern you.”
“How can you say that?” She brushed against him, as he decreased their distance. “Why are you dancing with me?”
He hesitated, even as he spun her. When they exited the curve, he bent down. “I am dancing with you despite your brother. You cannot escape me, Lady Sophia.” Fiery heat enveloped her. “Do not even try.”
Around her, the world blurred, centering on the gentleman warrior who would dare assert control. It should have brought fury, terror and frustration, yet the previous two were succinctly absent. The third was present in copious amounts, yet other unbidden emotions overshadowed it: Exhilaration. Anticipation. Excitement.
“Not. Your. Choice.” She flexed her fingers, as the musicians quickened their pace. Soon she would escape. “You have everything a man could ever want: a title, wealth, admiration. Already ladies are pursuing you, and the guests do not yet know you are a duke. Although I imagine that is changing rapidly.” The audience now pointed at them, an ever-increasing number deciphering his identity. Soon all would know the mysterious man as Kenneth Macleod, the new Duke of Foxworth. Then the matchmaking frenzy would truly begin.
“They see the duke, not the man.” For a mere sliver in time, he sounded ill at ease, before his control snapped back into place. “I am forever bound to a title I abhor.”
How could he be anything but exuberant? A duke’s life was filled with privilege, lived atop a golden pedestal by the sole virtue of a fortunate birth. “Most men would do anything for a title, yet you are the opposite. Of course, you are something all on your own.” She clamped her mouth shut. She had not meant to share that.
“Indeed?” The slightest tint of amusement entered his voice. “What exactly is something?”
Uncivilized. Dangerous. Tempting.
She would never admit such traitorous thoughts. No doubt he would take every mistaken admission and use it for his own purposes. “Difficult, volatile and exasperating.”
He shrugged. “That is a reasonable assessment.”
What was wrong with him? Most men were aghast, angry even, when she showed her more spirited facets. It was a splendid strategy for discouraging unwanted suitors. “Aren’t you incensed?”
“Why would I be? It is a fair calculation.” Danger lurked in his eyes, hidden yet present. “Am I not responding the way you hoped?” Now he made no attempt to hide his amusement. “Your efforts to aggravate me are failing spectacularly.”
Yes, they were. “Explain the grievance you have with my family.”
He regarded her carefully. This was not a man who acted rashly, or without thought. It made him all the more dangerous. “Our family has a past that must be remedied. My interaction with you is a separate entity, and perhaps unwise, if one were to worry about unintended warnings to one’s foes.” His gaze sharpened. “Yet I find the reward quite worth the risk.”
His words tangled in her mind. What role could he possibly see for her? “Of what past ills do you speak?”
“That, my lady, is between your brother and me.”
“I think not.” She forced her expression to remain neutral, on a dance floor as much a stage as any London theater. “Tell me, Your Grace, do you believe ladies should be protected from anything more dangerous than the prick of a sewing needle?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why–”
“A sewing needle is far too dangerous for the fairer gender.”
“I see.” She scraped her fingers against the fine fabric of his suit. It was luxurious, supple and all-too-tempting, just like him. “If I didn’t know better, Your Grace, I’d think you were trying to get a reaction from me.”
“You are quite ravishing when angry. However, if you prefer I shall endeavor to arouse other emotions.”
Heat flared, as he aroused other emotions.
Hard muscles rippled under her fingers. “I wish I could be more forthcoming, yet I must hold my secrets close if I am to accomplish my goals, at least until the path is set.”
Her stomach lurched, even as his hold solidified, as if he recognized her unease and steadied her. Every iteration brought her closer to him. “I have two goals, which I previously thought conflicted. Now I realize they converge perfectly.”
“I imagine I will not like either.” She matched each step with one of her own. “What are these goals?”
“The first regards your brother.”
“You admit it,” she breathed. “You seek revenge against the wrong man. Edmund hadn’t even met you before your recent arrival.”
In an instant, his entire countenance changed. Unabashed fury lit his eyes, apparent even under the mask. It sparked unease and alarm, yet not for herself. Somehow instincts still insisted this man was no threat to her.
“You have no idea of the pain Bradenton wrought.” His eyes darkened. “There will be retribution.”
“How dare you threaten my family.” She inhaled anger, exhaled courage, defying the urge to shout her fury. “Are you planning to call out my brother?”
For the briefest of moments his eyes widened. For once, her abruptness had surprised him.
“I considered it.”
Her heart skipped a beat, as unease changed to raw fear. Her brother was an honorable man, and would let no challenge go unanswered. “I will not allow it.”
“It is perilous to place yourself in two men’s quarrel.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your habit of confronting danger stops now.”
Who was this man who thought he commanded her? “Do you intend to challenge Edmund?”
He took a moment to answer, as they soared through the dance, in perfect synchrony. “No. As furious as I am, I am not a man who resorts to violence, unless no other choice exists. I know where such impulsiveness leads.”
Relief loosened her muscles.
“Yet justice must be attained.”
She missed another step. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a debutante on her first day of dance lessons, stumbling through steps she had known for years. “I shall thwart whatever you have planned.”
His lips curved into a humorless smile. “You do not have the power to stop me.”
He had no idea of the power she wielded. “You claim Edmund wronged your family, yet you reveal no details. You promise revenge, yet you refuse to share your mysterious retribution. You, sir, are trying to scare me.”
“I have no desire to frighten you.” His gaze didn’t waver. “Bradenton took something irreplaceable from me. I plan to do the same to him.”
“What could you possibly take–”
A commotion sounded from the corner of the room, and she turned. Edmund had entered, followed by Priscilla, and as usual, the crowd descended upon the golden couple. Her brother greeted people, even as he searched the room, no doubt looking for her.
It was obvious the moment he saw her. His eyes flashed, his lips etched a deep frown. Displeasure turned to anger, and anger to fury. He strode towards them.
Their time was nearly at an end, yet Foxworth paid no heed. “I shall steal one of his most precious possessions.”
She followed his gaze back to her sister-in-law. Her breath caught in her throat. “You plan to harm Priscilla?”
“Of course not.” His deep rumble was aghast. “I don’t plan to harm anyone, and most certainly not her. I would never upset a woman in her condition.”
“A woman in her condition?” Sophia blinked. “You don’t mean–” She stopped, breathed. That she’d almost blurted out personal matters in the middle of Lord Colesworth’s ballroom was proof of this man’s tumultuous effect. “Even if it’s true, how could you know something like that?”
“I notice things.”
Conversation rumbled louder, as Edmund neared. She had only seconds before he arrived, and she hadn’t garnered anything of use. “If Priscilla isn’t your target, then who is?”
“Are you certain you want to know?”
She nodded.
“As you wish.” He pulled her closer, capturing her nearly flush against his tall, powerful body. Heat flamed, as he whispered, “I plan to use his–”
“Sister.” Edmund Hawkins, the Duke of Bradenton, sliced through the conversation, his voice sharpened with pure fury. He pierced Foxworth with the blade of his gaze, then reached for her. “I’m cutting in.”
Sophia had no choice but to accept her brother’s intrusion, releasing one powerful man for another. Behind the mask, Foxworth’s eyes were a green wall, while her brother’s were stiff and grim. Around them the conversation quieted, as the ton got a second act to their now three-person play.
Foxworth bowed. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Sophia. We shall finish it later.” He turned towards the duke, and his eyes hardened into emerald shards. “We will speak soon, Bradenton.”
“That is a certainty.”
Edmund put his arm around her, launching a hushed lecture likely to last into the night and beyond, yet the words melted together. Foxworth stole her focus as he cut a path through the dance floor, even as the guests whispered his name. With his identity now known, the crowd savored their elucidation, yet a single question burned:
What had he planned?
“Are you going to challenge Bradenton?”
Kenneth straightened his 6’3 frame, shifting in the too-small seat of the too-small carriage as it rolled over the too-small streets. He inhaled a deep breath of smoke the exclusive street couldn’t quite hide, a taste of the world the ton pretended didn’t exist. Most would adore the outrageously priced coach, as if it captured some measure of success, yet to him its value was measured in the good that money could have provided others. He would have much preferred ride on horse, anyways, limited only by the endless fields of Scotland and the stars above, than be ensconced in the coach like some pampered aristocrat. “That is the second time someone asked me that tonight.”
Adam Edgewater, the Duke of Huntington and Kenneth’s cousin, stretched his long legs in front of him. He wore a dark mask similar to Kenneth’s and carried a large book in his hands, before tucking both into his coat. They shared a set of grandparents, yet were as different as the highlands of Scotland to the streets of London, both in appearance and temperament. With his fair hair and light blue eyes, Adam possessed an almost angelic appearance, calm and ever-poised, while Kenneth inherited his mother’s dark features and the passion of the Scottish highlands.
Kenneth had not known Adam before his father’s demise, yet he was grateful for the relation now. Adam was one of the few lords he respected, and more importantly, trusted.
“Do you have an answer?” For the briefest of instances, concern shone in his cousin’s eyes, eliciting unexpected satisfaction.
Kenneth sobered. He could not afford to let his new position make him soft, not when he had a quest to complete. “Of course I am not going to call him out.”
It shouldn’t matter that so many people assumed he’d happily lodge a bullet in another man’s chest. He’d only recently become good ton , a deceiving moniker indeed, yet he’d always considered himself honorable. Even if Bradenton’s actions justified a duel, he would not deprive a lady of her brother, and another her husband.
“Glad to hear it.” Adam sat back with a sigh. “In the ton, scandal is always a hairsbreadth away. Of course, any action affects the entire family.”
Kenneth grimaced deeply, loosening the noose masquerading as a cravat. Wretched thing choked him all night. “I am all too aware of the consequences the family would endure should scandal arise. Such concerns temper my every action.”
“Yet you wish for vengeance.”
“Of course I wish for vengeance.” He clenched his fists, looking away from his cousin. Outside the street was dark and dank, grimy with animal droppings and far worse. So different than the lush green expanses of his homeland. “My family is forever changed because of his actions.”
“You never met your father.” Adam leaned forward. “You had no interest in the English side of your family.”
“I knew nothing about him.” Kenneth’s fingernails dug into the buttery seat. “It does not mean I wished the man dead.”
“Of course not.” Adam’s voice softened. “Yet you inherited a dukedom. Most would consider it the rarest and most splendid of luck. You are now wealthy beyond compare, endlessly lauded and inordinately powerful.”
“I was already wealthy and powerful.” It was no boast, but merely a telling of fact. His mother’s family possessed vast lands and deep fortunes, ever-increasing due to his gift for management. They were powerful and well-respected, not only throughout Scotland, but also England, before he knew he was related to a duke.
Before he was a duke.
“Now you possess more power and wealth. Scores of ladies are vying for your attention, and everyone wants to celebrate the newly appointed Duke of Foxworth. Enjoy it.”
He did not need people applauding a position and wealth he hadn’t earned. “You are also a duke. Do you enjoy the marriage mart?”
Adam shrugged. “Not the matchmaking, naturally, but the choice of diamonds of the first water? I cannot say it is not an advantage.”
“Yet you have not chosen.”
Adam sat back on the luxurious seat. “In all due time, cousin. And you are one to talk. Unless you have made a decision without informing me.”
The carriage tumbled over a dip in the road, yet Kenneth stayed perfectly still, silent to his cousin’s inquiry. To be successful, one must take bumps stoically, turning them into advantages.
“Have you someone in mind already?” Adam’s gaze turned curious. “All the more reason to discard your quest for revenge, lest it interfere with your pursuit. Tell me, who is the lucky lady who snagged the attention of the mysterious duke?”
Not for an instant did Kenneth consider revealing the truth. “You have my highest respect, cousin, for your kindness these past months, yet I will keep my secrets a little while longer.” He lightened the words with a nod.
Kenneth’s eyes took on a strange light. “It is a mystery, then. I hope you do not mind, but I shall continue to wonder. Solving mysteries is something of a hobby of mine.”
Kenneth inclined his head. His cousin may try, yet he was unlikely to discover the truth.
Not before it rocked the entire ton.