Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart

by Sarah MacLean

  Finally.

  He bowed stiffly to the table of women. “My apologies,” he intoned, before turning on his heel and following Nick from the room.

  They did not speak until they were safely inside the earl’s study, but when the door closed behind them, they both started in.

  “First, it’s excellent bacon, and I’m not thrilled I had to stop eating it.”

  “I don’t have time to play games—”

  Nick ignored him and pressed on. “And second, what in the hell were you thinking, speaking in such a manner about my sister?”

  “I am going to marry her.”

  Nick blinked. “Really? Because I’m fairly certain that neither Ralston nor I have given our permission for you to even court her . . . let alone marry her.”

  Fury blazed at the words. “I don’t need your permission. She’s mine.”

  Nick’s gaze narrowed. “May I suggest you rephrase that last bit, Duke?”

  Simon took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm even as every inch of him wanted to pummel Nick. “I should like to court your sister.”

  Nick nodded once. “Much better.”

  “Excellent. Where is she?”

  “I have not given my permission.”

  Simon heard the low growl rising in his throat. He’d never been a violent man, but Juliana’s brothers appeared to be the exception to the rule. “Are you going to give it?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  Simon was through with this family and their insanity. “Why the hell not?” he thundered.

  “Any number of reasons. Shall I list them?”

  “I don’t imagine I could stop you. I’ve had enough. If she’s headed for London, I can still catch her. I can ride faster than her coach.”

  He headed for the door. “You aren’t leaving this house, Leighton. Not in your mood.”

  Simon turned back, shocked. “You think I would hurt her?”

  “No, but I think you would upset her, and right now, she doesn’t deserve it.”

  “You think you can stop me?”

  “I know I can. I do not have to remind you of the caliber of security employed by the Park.”

  Simon began to pace the room. “I’m a duke! How is it possible that the title opens doors the world over, but in this family, it seems only to count against me?”

  Nick grinned. “Our perverse nature. It’s first on my list of reasons why I don’t like the idea of your marrying Juliana.”

  “Yes. Being a duchess is a difficult thing indeed.”

  Nick ignored the dripping sarcasm. “It would be for her. She would hate it. The Beau Monde would never forgive her for flouting their rules. And your precious reputation would suffer for it.”

  He didn’t care. He would slay the dragons of the ton for her.

  In the mood he was in, he would do it with his bare hands.

  Nick pressed on. “And even if she were well behaved—although I’ve never known Juliana to take the meek path—she will never escape the specter of our mother. The ton will forever judge her for her parentage. And you will come to resent her for it.”

  “It’s not true.” But even as he said the words, he understood why they all would think it. They were true, until recently. Until her. Until she’d taught him that there were things that were infinitely more important than reputation.

  “No?” He heard the disbelief in Nick’s voice. Did not like it. “Leighton, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve made it a mission to stay clear of scandal. You have been raised to avoid excitement. You are cold and unmoving and utterly proper in every way.”

  The words rippled through Simon. Cold. Unmoving.

  He did not feel cold or unmoved right now.

  She had rocked him to his core.

  And then she had left him.

  Nick pressed on. “You have lived your whole life keeping your reputation untarnished. For God’s sake, man. You left your sister in the country with us rather than face the fact that she had not lived up to your expectations. And you want me to give my sister over to you?”

  The question hung in the air between them, and Simon knew that Nick was right. He’d spent his entire life judging those with less-than-perfect reputations, less-than-perfect families, less-than-perfect pasts. He had been the Duke of Disdain—swearing that he was above such base and common things as scandal . . . and love.

  Until she’d taught him he wanted her bold ideas and her brash laugh and her too-wide smiles and her scandalous nature that was not so scandalous, after all.

  He wanted her in his life.

  Beside him.

  As his duchess.

  And it would not be a sacrifice to call her such. It would be an honor.

  He loved her.

  Juliana changed everything. She made him want all of it. She made him want to face the messy challenge of love. To embrace it. To revel in it. To celebrate it.

  He would be proud to have her on his arm.

  Would have been long before this morning if he were honest with himself.

  He cared only about having her. About marrying her and giving her children and living with her forever . . . and hang the gossips. He didn’t care how big or brutal her brothers could be. They would not stand in his way.

  “Juliana’s suffered enough . . .” Nick said, his voice quiet alongside Simon’s raging thoughts. “She doesn’t deserve your charity.”

  The words sent him flying across the room, grabbing Nick’s coat and pushing him up against the wall with mighty force, shaking the pictures in their frames. “Don’t you . . . ever . . .” He pulled Nick from the wall and slammed him back again. “Ever . . . refer to what I feel for your sister as charity. She is bold and beautiful and brilliant, and you are lucky to breathe the same air she breathes.” His anger was so acute, he could barely get the words out. “She thinks herself unworthy? It is we who are unworthy of her, and if you call her a scandal one more time, I’ll destroy you. With visceral pleasure.”

  They stood there like that for long minutes, Simon breathing heavily, before Nick said, calmly, “Well. That was unexpected.”

  Simon took a deep breath, attempted to regain his calm.

  Failed.

  He loved her.

  With stunning, undeniable force.

  Simon let Nick go and stepped back.

  She was all he wanted. He would give everything for her. Without thought. Without regret.

  Because without her, he had nothing.

  “I’m going after her. Try to stop me.”

  “But Leighton . . .” Nick’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re betrothed. To another.”

  Betrothed to another.

  He cursed, the word harsh and wicked.

  He’d forgotten about Penelope.

  “I’ve made a mistake.”

  Georgiana lifted Caroline from her cradle and met Simon’s gaze with a feigned look of shock. “Certainly not. Pearsons do not make mistakes. Consider me, if you will. Perfect in every way. A shining example of good behavior.”

  “Juliana is gone.”

  Georgiana did not appear surprised. “I heard that.”

  “I was an idiot.”

  She sat in the rocking chair next to Caroline’s cradle. “Go on.”

  He did not know where to begin. Did not entirely understand how everything in his life had gotten so completely away from him. “I—” He stopped, dropped into the chair across from his sister, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and said the only thing he could think to say. “I love her.”

  “Juliana?”

  He nodded, thrusting one hand through his hair.

  “Then why are you marrying the wrong woman?”

  An ache started deep in his chest at the question—the only question that mattered, to which he did not have an answer. There had been so many excellent reasons when he’d devised the plan, and now it seemed that none of them carried much weight.

  “I don’t know.”

  Geor
giana rocked back and forth in her chair, back and forth, her soft words belying their importance. “You do not love her.”

  “I did not need to love her. And yet . . .” And yet he found he could not help but love another. He put his head in his hands. “I’ve made a mistake,” he repeated.

  He could not back out without ruining Penelope, and she did not deserve such treatment.

  “Simon . . .” There was a softness in his sister’s voice. Care that he did not deserve.

  He loved Juliana.

  Juliana, who haunted him with her flashing eyes and her quick wit and her brilliant mind and her fiery temper and those smiles and promises and kisses that made him want to worship her for as long as he drew breath.

  “You can have her, Simon. Neither of you is married. Betrothals can be broken.”

  He shook his head. “Not without ruining Penelope.”

  Georgiana shook her head. “Lady Penelope is daughter to a double marquess with an estate the size of Windsor. You think she cannot find someone else? Someone who might someday care for her with more than passing interest? Someone who is not in love with another?”

  Of course someone would marry her. But Simon would not be the one to throw her to the wolves. “I cannot.”

  “You are far too gentlemanly for your own good!” Irritation flooded her tone, and Caroline stirred in her arms. Georgiana quieted immediately. “You have it in your power to make both you and Juliana happy. Forever. And, I assure you, Simon, there is no prize in marrying a man who loves another.”

  The words, so tempting, shook something free in him. “I don’t care about the scandal. I don’t care about the lady! All I care about is having Juliana in my life! But if I do this, if I ruin Penelope, what will Juliana think of me? How can I ever ask her to trust me with her name if I am so callous with another’s?”

  His words hung between them in the quiet nursery for long minutes before he said, “I cannot do it. Not without being less of a man for Juliana. Not without being less than she deserves.”

  Even as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he would never be what Juliana deserved—someone who would see her brilliance and beauty and worth from the very first moment—someone who would place her well above himself from the very beginning. Someone without his faults, without his arrogance, without his failings.

  But he would be damned if he would give her up.

  He’d found her.

  And he wanted a lifetime with her.

  “At least give Penelope the opportunity to choose, Simon.” She watched him carefully, taking in his anguish. His conflict. “She deserves a chance to choose. And God knows you and Juliana deserve the chance at happiness.”

  That part, at least, was true. Hope flared. “Do you think there is a chance that Penelope will release me?”

  Georgiana smiled, and there was something in her eyes—a knowledge that he did not entirely understand. “I do.”

  They fell silent, and he watched Caroline, asleep on his sister’s shoulder, her little mouth making soft, sweet motions while she dreamed. And he imagined another child, with dark hair and sapphire eyes, asleep on her mother’s shoulder.

  He closed his eyes at the image, longing spiraling sharp and deep.

  He wanted that child. He wanted that family.

  Wanted their life to begin.

  Immediately.

  But first, he owed his sister an apology. “I made a mistake with you as well.”

  “Only one?” He scowled, and she grinned. “To which mistake do you refer?”

  “I should not have left you here. In Yorkshire.”

  Georgiana considered the words for a long while. “I wanted to be here.”

  “Yes. And you could have stayed here. But I should not have left when I did. The way I did. I should have been more concerned for you. And less for the scandal.” He went to the window and looked out over the heath. “I cannot change it. But I am sorry.”

  “Thank you,” she said, simply, and he was struck by how she had grown, by the young woman she had become.

  “I wish I could have fixed it. I wish you would tell me who—”

  She stopped him. “He is gone.”

  “I could find him. We could still repair this damage.”

  “You could not find him,” she said. “Simon, I am beyond repair. Surely you must see that.”

  Frustration flared in him, the urge to protect her undeniable. “It’s not true. So we are too late to find a man to claim the child . . . but you are the daughter of a duke. We could surely find a man to wed you. To be a good husband to you. A good father to Caroline.”

  “Stop.” He watched as she stroked one hand down the baby’s back, an instinctive, soothing touch.

  “You think you can stay here in this little corner of England for the rest of your lives? What will happen when Caroline is old enough to understand? How will you answer her questions about who she is? Where she came from? What will happen when this is discovered? I cannot hide you forever, Georgiana.”

  Georgiana met his gaze, firm and unwavering. “I never asked you to hide us. Indeed, I would prefer not to be hidden. My reputation is ruined, Simon. You can try all you like to change such a thing, but the die has been cast.”

  The words were so simple, as he imagined the truth often was.

  “You deserve—”

  “I deserve to be a mother. I deserve to raise a child who is healthy and strong and who knows that she is loved. God knows we did not have such a thing.”

  “I want you to be happy,” he said.

  Funny, how he had never given happiness much thought until recently. Until Juliana.

  Georgiana smiled. “And I will be, in time. But not in the way you had planned.”

  The irony of the situation was not lost on him. She was sister to one of the most powerful men in England. And still, with all his concern for reputation and honor, he could not change the course of her life. He could not restore her reputation or stop the gossip that would eventually find her—find them all—but he could give her his support. And he could give her his love.

  “Georgiana,” he said, his words thick with promise. “Whatever you want. Whatever you decide. It is yours. You and Caroline—I shall stand beside you.”

  “Are you certain you wish to tempt fate in such a manner?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I am.”

  “I ask because the sentiment may be tested sooner rather than later.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her. “What does that mean?”

  “Only that I wish for one of us to have our happy ever after, Simon. And since it cannot be me, it shall have to be you.”

  Juliana.

  She was his happiness. She was his passion.

  And he could no longer live this passionless life.

  He had to go after her. Now.

  He stood and moved toward his sister and niece. Bending low, he placed a kiss on the top of Caroline’s head and another on Georgiana’s cheek. “I must go. I must get her back.”

  Georgiana smiled. “Mother will be furious.”

  Simon lifted a brow. “Mother will make an excellent dowager.”

  She laughed. “Tell me you plan to put her out to pasture.”

  “It is not an impossibility,” he tossed over one shoulder, heading for the door, thinking only of Juliana.

  “Simon?” his sister called.

  He turned back, eager to follow his love.

  Eager to begin his life.

  “Your betrothal gift is already on its way to London.” Her face split in a wide grin. “Give Mother my regards.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Reputation is all any woman can claim.

  The refined lady protects hers at all cost.

  —A Treatise on the Most Exquisite of Ladies

  There are times when the source of the scandal surprises even us . . .

  —The Scandal Sheet, November 1823

  Juliana went straight to see her moth
er.

  It was late in the evening, long past an appropriate time to make or receive calls, as she stood in the beautiful receiving room of Nick and Isabel’s London town house, filled with Greek and Roman marbles collected during Nick’s time abroad, and waited for her mother to join her.

  There was a statue of Aphrodite and Eros at the center of the room, a stunning depiction of the goddess of love, holding her son in her arms as he reached for something beyond her shoulder. The child god’s every muscle seemed to strain, his arms and fingers extended, his chubby legs kicking out from his mother’s chest, pushing in desire for something he would never reach.

  The statue stood as a pale, beautiful reminder that sometimes even the gods were refused their wishes and that mere mortals were silly to expect anything different.

  The journey from Yorkshire had been terrible, Juliana unable to eat, unwilling to rest until she had put as much distance as possible between herself and Simon . . . as though distance could cure her of the devastating ache in her heart that came whenever she thought of him.

  Which was constantly.

  She had known that running was not the most respectable of actions, but she could not stay in Yorkshire—in that house—not while he tempted her into his arms and his bed and his life. Not when she knew that she would never be enough for him.

  Not when she could not give him that which he held in such high regard—a fine pedigree, an untarnished reputation, propriety.

  All she had for him was a messy past and her love.

  And sometimes, sadly, love was not enough.

  How I wish it could be.

  She sighed, running a finger along the perfectly wrought foot of Eros. She should not be here. Not at this hour, likely not at all. But four days trapped in a carriage with nothing but her thoughts had made her desperate to prove herself.

  She had nearly driven herself mad playing over the last weeks in her head—all the time with Simon, all the conversations, all the moments when he had questioned her actions, when he had saved her from scandal.