The Bachelor Duke (The Bachelor Series Book 1)

by Cecilia Rene

  O’Brien was a tough as nails Irishman whose father was the third son of the former Duke of Summerset. One would never know his English heritage upon speaking with the man as he spent most of his life in Ireland, until he moved his family to London nearly twenty years ago. A proud man, O’Brien wanted no connection between himself and the Summerset title, as his father’s family allowed his family to starve in Ireland.

  Over the years, O’Brien and Remington became friends. He found it strange that he was friends with most older gentlemen but could barely occupy the same home with his father when he was alive.

  The establishment had small alcoves lining the far walls. Dark burgundy drapes, upholstered chairs, and sturdy tables made the room elegant enough for Remington’s tastes. It wasn’t as glamorous as White’s, but it was more suited for a younger aristocrat that enjoyed boisterous, lively conversation. It wasn’t a gaming hell or a brothel; however, if one wanted those services, a word to a footman could lead to other entertainments.

  Most younger gentlemen admired O’Brien’s work ethic and refusal to acknowledge his connection to the Summerset title. On the outside he was an Irishman, but he was also of English nobility.

  Remington took a sip of his brandy. He had one mission on his mind—avoiding Lady Olivia St. John until the end of the Season. It would prevent him from doing something rash, like claiming her in front of all of society by ravishing her plump lips and curvaceous body.

  “There you are! Have a drink with me. I’m celebrating!” Heartford announced, too boisterous for Remington’s mood.

  “And what exactly are we celebrating?” He eyed his friend suspiciously, as one of the young O’Brien boys came over to serve them.

  Heartford raised his glass. “A toast to Lady Julia St. John—”

  “What are we celebrating?” The Earl of Windchester demanded as he pulled out a chair and joined them.

  “Lady Julia St. John for some apparent reason.” Remington had an idea of what Heartford planned to announce.

  “Before you interrupted me, I was going to toast to my intended. I have asked to enter into a courtship with Lady Julia.” Heartford raised his glass then took a hearty drink.

  “Well, congratulations are in order!” Windchester raised his arm to signal for a drink.

  Griffin O’Brien walked over and poured another glass of brandy for Windchester.

  Remington raised his drink, taking in his friend’s happy disposition and the twinkle in his eye. The man even sat up a little straighter than normal. In that instant, he envied Heartford, especially since he was able to do the one thing that Remington had vowed to himself that he would never do.

  Commit himself to another person.

  “Well done. I am surprised you wasted no time.” Remington tipped his head toward Heartford.

  “She captured me from the start. I saw no need to delay my life another second without her in it,” Heartford answered joyfully.

  Remington felt a pang of jealousy, for Heartford knew exactly what he wanted in life—Lady Julia St. John.

  “Here’s to your courtship, and may your marriage be better than mine.” Windchester took a hearty sip of his drink.

  “Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult,” Remington replied, causing both men to laugh.

  “It should not. Tell me, have you heard from your sister?” Windchester inquired in a casual tone.

  “I received a letter from Lady Evers stating that she was enjoying a long holiday in France and shall return within a month,” Heartford said.

  “No doubt she has company. I know she’s your sister but choosing to openly bed whomever she pleases isn’t the smartest idea.” Remington shook his head, not understanding how someone would want to be the talk of society.

  Windchester scowled openly at him, taking Remington by surprise. “What do you expect? She married a man old enough to be her father. Her real father never acknowledged her.” Windchester listed off each point on his fingers.

  “To be honest, he barely acknowledged me, and I was his heir.” Heartford interrupted the long list to add his opinion.

  “Yes, well at least you inherited everything, she has nothing but a widow’s jointure.” Windchester gave him a look of disdain. There was no trace of his usual jovial disposition. “Not to mention the fact that the man that she was told was her father simply ignored her and his precious heir disowned her in front of all of society. Now her stepson practically ignores her like the plague.” Windchester glared at his friends, his cheeks heated with anger.

  “Good Lord, man, I didn’t know you felt so passionately about the lady.” Remington raised an eyebrow at his friend.

  “I do not. I was only stating the cruelty of her situation.” Windchester ignored the questioning looks.

  “There you are, Karrington. I wanted to check for myself that the rumors aren’t true.” Baron Bromswell interrupted the group friends.

  Remington took a deep breath, not wanting to acknowledge Bromswell’s existence. His hand tightened around his glass, and his jaw clenched. He felt a throbbing in his head at the effort he was using to ignore the baron. Any time they were in each other’s presence Remington wanted nothing more than to pummel the man bloody.

  “What rumors would that be, Bromswell?” Remington finally spoke, his words coming out clipped.

  “Do not pretend with me! You know perfectly well I am speaking of the rumors about you and Lady Olivia. Tell me now, do you plan to court her?” the pompous Bromswell demanded, always believing that he was higher than his station.

  Remington eyed the man with disgust. The events from that dark night long ago entered his mind again, and his distaste deepened. Bromswell removed his gloves, glaring down at Remington as if he were the duke and Remington the baron.

  Bromswell came from a family rich in history. Two of his ancestors served in the court of Henry VIII, a fact that he constantly reminded anyone that would listen.

  Taking a sip of his brandy, Remington fought the urge to punch Bromswell in the jaw in front of every gentleman in the club. “My plans are of no concern of yours. I suggest you find another heiress to unleash your cruelty upon.”

  Bromswell let out a sinister laugh that caused Remington’s blood to boil. Visions from that long-buried night assaulted him, but instead of long, flowing red hair, the lifeless body had flowing blonde hair and luscious curves.

  “You call it cruelty. I call it sport.” Bromswell shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “I have plans for the lady and her dowry, so I suggest you put an end to the endless chatter and do not approach her again. At any rate, I plan to make an offer to her father.”

  Remington stood to face the other man, his body looming over Bromswell’s much smaller, thinner frame. “You have no say if I approach her or not—”

  “I will very much have a say, as she will be my intended. I plan to court her, and I will make my intentions known tonight at the Ratchford Ball, so do not approach Lady Olivia again.” He eyed Remington for a moment before turning and leaving.

  His body shook with the revelation that Baron Bromswell planned to court Lady Olivia. He should be happy that she would no longer be a distraction for him, but what fate would she have as Bromswell’s wife?

  Taking his seat, he tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his abdomen at the news that Bromswell may soon have Lady Olivia St. John. Remington rubbed his chest, his mind running with wild with the choice he needed to make.

  “Why do you always tolerate that ass of a man?” Windchester questioned, shifting his large body forward.

  Remington licked his now dry lips, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. He had never revealed to his friends the worst part of himself. A secret that only Bromswell and Mother Di knew.

  “Tolerating him is better than running him through with my sword.” Remington forced a laugh at his own joke.

  “It may be best to run him through than for us to have to deal with him.” Heartford countered, nodding his head in Remington’s
direction.

  Windchester’s eyes shifted to Remington suspiciously. “Tell us what in bloody hell was that about now?”

  Remington shrugged his shoulders. “Bromswell has it in his mind that I will come between him and Lady Olivia’s courtship.”

  “Well, he obviously does not know that the Bachelor Duke will never marry.” Heartford tapped the table, causing Windchester to laugh with him.

  Remington’s smile was tight, a mask to hide his true emotions. His thoughts focused not on the loathsome title but on Bromswell’s true intentions. How could he save another innocent from his cruelty?

  Livie painted on a smile, remembering to be welcoming and charming as she entered the townhome of Lord and Lady Ratchford. Her parents conversed with the older couple. Lord Ratchford and her father were old acquaintances that went to Eton together. They greeted each other fondly with hearty laughs and handshakes.

  Ratchford House was one of the grandest homes in London occupying an entire block. Livie eagerly took in her surroundings as they were escorted to a lavish ballroom. She had heard great things about Lord Ratchford’s library and the infamous chess games her father partook in. Having beaten her father repeatedly in chess, she longed for another opponent. She wished she could take on the cheating Lord Ratchford.

  Smoothing out the dark purple gown, Livie tried to calm her nerves, both hoping and dreading that the Duke of Karrington would be in attendance. Beside her, Julia shined in a dark blue gown. The guests turned to stare at the young ladies who had become the talk of the Season. Livie’s steps faltered under the weight of their attention. The whispers and glares made her throat tighten, and she found herself swallowing repeatedly.

  “I have promised Henry the first dance.” Julia stopped behind Livie’s parents as they conversed with another couple.

  “Try to remember yourself, you mustn’t call him Henry while we’re out in society.” Livie was happy that her cousin had entered into a courtship with the marquess, but one really must remember propriety.

  Livie and Julia walked deeper into the ballroom in search of refreshments, leaving her parents to converse with their friends.

  “I will remember myself around others, but only you can hear me,” Julia whispered the last part much quieter for emphasis as they made their way to the champagne table. “Besides, there is word that the Duke of Karrington will attend, although he hasn’t been to a function since our ball. Perhaps there is still hope for you two?” Julia’s gaze swept around the room looking for the marquess.

  Livie sighed, trying not to think of the Duke of Karrington. After all, it had been a sennight since had she first laid eyes on him, and seven days seemed like an eternity. Although, she tried to be welcoming to other gentlemen by accepting their visits, she found that none of them were who she wanted them to be. Every gentleman that did not have dark hair, blue eyes, and the ability to unnerve her with one glance was of no interest to her.

  She knew that she could not be too selective, but Lord Carmichael was a total bore and constantly made remarks about how fortunate she was to have so much male attention. Lord Chamberlain was desperate to marry an heiress in order to save his family lands from ruin. The Duke of Summerset was in dire need for a young wife in which he could produce an heir. He went on and on about how his family’s estate and title were in fear of going to an Irish relative if he did not marry and produce a son. After two of his sons perished in Waterloo and the third died suddenly in the winter, it seemed the duke’s situation was rather urgent.

  Out of all the gentlemen, no one was worse than Baron Bromswell. He unnerved her, and she constantly found herself trying not to be left alone with him for even a few seconds.

  With every caller, she could not help but wish that they were the Duke of Karrington.

  “There is no hope, dear.” Livie wanted to say more on the subject, but before she could continue, her parents walked toward her with Baron Bromswell.

  “Lady Olivia, you look enchanting this evening.” He bowed low.

  Giving him a forced smile, she looked at both of her parents noticing her father’s encouraging look.

  Livie resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her father’s behavior, but she understood that he wanted his family to be taken care of in the event of his untimely death. Like his brother before him. It still annoyed her that he was unable to see past what she thought was Baron Bromswell’s façade. Her father’s only thought was that the gentleman was a suitable match, but Livie felt differently every time his beady eyes gazed upon her.

  “Thank you. It is most kind of you to say.” Feigning politeness, she couldn’t escape the uneasy feeling the baron gave her.

  “May I have the first set?” he asked, ever the gentleman. However, she felt his kind words were nothing but tiny sharp knives pricking her skin.

  “Of course.” She held out her arm so he could write his name on her dance card.

  A series of hushed whispers swept over the ballroom, and all eyes gravitated towards the entrance. Livie’s gaze followed, and her heart stopped in her chest. Standing in all his glory beside the Marquess of Heartford was the Duke of Karrington.

  “Oh, finally, the marquess is here. Uncle, please get his attention,” Julia said excitedly, watching her intended as he entered beside the duke.

  “Do calm yourself, Julia,” Lady Hemstead reprimanded.

  Livie noticed Baron Bromswell’s body stiffen as he watched the duke and marquess weave through the crowd. The closer they came to where she stood, the faster her heart raced within the confines of her chest. The palms of her hands began to sweat inside her gloves. She tried to pull at the fabric to ease her discomfort, but it was to no avail.

  “Good evening, Lord Hempstead, Lady Hempstead,” the Marquess of Heartford greeted as he joined them.

  “Good evening, Heartford,” Lord Hempstead returned before shifting his eyes to Remington. “Ahh, Karrington, it’s good to see you at another ball.” Lord Hempstead eyed the men fondly.

  “Hempstead, I found an incentive to attend more functions.” The duke stared directly at Livie, causing her lips to part as she let out the breath she was holding. “Lady Olivia, may I have the first dance?” He ignored Baron Bromswell altogether.

  “Lady Olivia has agreed to dance the first set with me.” Bromswell sneered at him.

  The tension was so thick that Livie’s gaze shifted uncomfortably between the group to see if she was the only one who felt it. She caught her mother’s questioning eye and knew she, too, could feel the animosity between the gentlemen.

  “The second set then, if you will be so kind.” The duke’s voice was like honey, creating tingles down her spine. She longed to bathe in his voice as his piercing blue eyes held her captive.

  “Of course.” She held out her arm so that he could write his name on her dance card below the baron’s. She wished that the duke’s name was at the top of her dance list, but she could not outright refuse the other man in front of society. The baron stood beside her, glaring at the duke.

  She wondered what the duke had done to earn such a look. At her debutante ball, they were very hostile towards each other, and now they could barely be in the other’s presence. What had happened between them?

  Livie studied the duke’s features, aware of the heat of his body. The sweet woody scent of sandalwood assaulted her nostrils, and she wished she could bury her nose in his hair.

  “If you all will excuse me. Lady Olivia, I will find you when the set begins,” the baron murmured. “Lord Hempstead, would you be available to have a brandy with me at O’Brien’s tomorrow evening?” He kept his gaze on Remington.

  The duke stiffened as Baron Bromswell continued to speak to her father, his eyes like daggers aimed at the baron.

  “Ahh, yes of course.” The earl’s gaze shifted from Baron Bromswell to his daughter, then to his wife.

  Her father straightened his jacket, his head perked up at the thought of securing another match. Livie knew that her father was proud t
o have the marquess courting Julia, as it was his constant worry that his brother’s child would not make a good match. Now with the baron inquiring about Livie, she was sure by the way her father’s lips widened into a broad smile that he was happy for his daughter as well.

  Livie felt it was rather rude for the baron to bring the subject up in front of others. Her father however seemed to believe Baron Bromswell was a suitable match, but she knew like her, he’d hoped the duke was taking a fancy toward her.

  The baron gave a curt but victorious bow, looking extremely smug and pleased with himself before leaving them.

  “Are you well, Lady Olivia?” Remington asked, concern etched in his handsome face.

  “I am well, Your Grace. I-I just felt a chill.” She blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the pain in her chest, the absolute dread she felt at the very thought of an offer from Baron Bromswell.

  Remington began unbuttoning his tailcoat. She stared at his long perfect fingers as they released each button from its confines. With every freed button, Livie’s heart pounded faster. The constant rhythm felt as if it was moving her body closer to him with each fierce beat.

  “Please, allow me.” He started to remove the garment. Her eyes widened at the sight of his powerful upper body prominently displayed through his shirt and vest.

  Livie licked her dry lips as she tried not to stare at the virile specimen of a man in front of her. She was hot all over and resisted the urge to take her fan out of her reticule, surely that would alert the others to the effect he had on her.

  “Oh, heavens, I cannot. I assure you I am fine now,” she protested, noticing all eyes were on her and the duke’s exchange. The whispers were deafening. His coat was halfway off his large frame, and her gaze traveled the length of his arm where his muscles threatened to burst out of the sleeve.

  She wondered what activities he partook in to be so well-built.

  “Nonsense, you look as if you are freezing. What sort of gentleman would I be if I let you catch your death?” His face was serious, but his voice was teasing. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.