Cinderella and the Duke

by Janice Preston

  ‘Could we not have the banns read in the normal way and marry in church?’

  ‘That will take weeks. I do not know if I can wait that long to claim you as my own.’

  She pushed her fingers through his hair and kissed his lips. ‘Patience is a virtue.’ She smiled at him, then feathered kisses along his strong jawline. ‘I was thinking more of Olivia and Nell. We do not want to steal attention from their come-out balls, do we?’

  He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Hmm. That is a good point. I shall agree on one condition.’

  Rosalind lifted her brows.

  ‘You remain here. At Beauchamp House, where I can be certain you are safe.’

  Two days later

  The instructions were clear. She was to wear her riding habit and meet His Grace by the front door at five that afternoon. Mystified, Rosalind did as she was bid and arrived in the entrance hall as the longcase clock opposite the staircase struck five. Leo, dressed in immaculate breeches and tailcoat, waited at the front door.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Leo crooked his arm and escorted Rosalind to the pavement, where Conqueror and Kamal, coats gleaming, were held by a groom.

  ‘To the park.’

  She looked around as they halted next to Kamal. There were no other horses.

  ‘Alone?’

  Leo set his hands to Rosalind’s waist.

  ‘Together. It is time to introduce my future Duchess to London society.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  5 May 1812

  The open-topped barouche, drawn by six gleaming chestnuts, turned the corner from Conduit Street into St George’s Street. The portico of St George’s, with its vast pediment atop six Corinthian columns, came into view and Rosalind’s heart thumped in her chest at the sight of the crowd that had gathered. Inside the church, Leo waited. And, when they had said their vows, they would be man and wife. And she would be a duchess!

  Freddie, handsome and debonair in his dark grey tailcoat and light grey trousers, squeezed her hand.

  ‘Nervous?’

  Rosalind smiled. She could not speak, her mouth was too dry. The horses came to a standstill and the crowds parted to leave a clear path all the way to the huge church door, before which waited her bridesmaids: Nell, Olivia and Susie, dressed in lilac satin and clutching posies of white jasmine and violets.

  Another figure waited with them. He was also dressed in a dark grey tailcoat and light grey trousers, but he was a stranger—stooped and elderly, tweaking at his white neckcloth as though unused... Rosalind gasped, her hand to her mouth. Freddie had already alighted from the coach, with the help of a footman, and he now waited to assist her to the pavement.

  ‘Freddie? Who is that man?’

  Freddie tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and, slowly and steadily, with Freddie leaning heavily upon his crutch, they ascended the steps. Rosalind forgot the crowds, forgot the occasion, even momentarily forgot the love of her life who awaited her inside the church. She had eyes only for that stooped figure.

  As they drew nearer she knew.

  ‘Grandpa!’ Tears swam, blurring her vision. ‘It is you.’

  The old man hobbled forward and took her face between his gnarled hands.

  ‘My beautiful bab.’ His voice caught and his own eyes grew moist. ‘I never thought to see you again.’

  ‘But, how... Where...? Freddie! How did you find him?’

  ‘Not me, Ros. The Duke. In Birmingham. He wanted to give you something money can’t buy.’

  Rosalind threw her arms around her grandfather and hugged him tight. ‘Oh, I am truly the happiest woman alive. I did not even know if you were alive or dead, Grandpa. Look...’ she stepped back ‘...I still have the locket you made for me.’

  He smiled, shaking his head. ‘And you’re wearing it on your wedding day, bab. You should be wearing precious jewels: diamonds and pearls.’

  ‘This is more precious to me than all the diamonds and pearls in the world, Grandpa. I promise you that.’

  ‘The Duke thought you might want Grandpa to walk you down the aisle, Ros. Speaking of which...it is time we went inside.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want an old man like me spoiling the occasion,’ Grandpa said.

  ‘You will make the occasion, Grandpa, truly you will...but... Freddie, what about you?’

  ‘Don’t you mind about me, Ros. I shan’t mind.’

  ‘I shall have you both,’ Rosalind declared. ‘One on each side of me to walk me down the aisle. My family. I shall be so very proud of you both, but I should still like Freddie to give me away.’

  Freddie beamed and Grandpa nodded his approval.

  They entered the church, arms linked. And there, waiting, was Leo. Tall, handsome and ducal, with Vernon by his side, both of them clad in the same dark and pale grey combination as Freddie. He turned as she walked up the broad aisle between the wooden box pews. A smile of pure joy lit his face.

  I shall be the proudest man alive when I see you walk down the aisle to me, my sweetest treasure.

  And she could believe every word he had whispered the night before, when they had kissed goodnight before going, for the last time, to their separate bedchambers. A low cough from a pew distracted her. Aunt Tring, her mouth pursed, as though she had swallowed a wasp. Rosalind hadn’t wanted to invite any of her mother’s family, but Leo had persuaded her that she would gain far more satisfaction from rising above their petty behaviour than in emulating it. And he had been right.

  Her wise, handsome husband-to-be: Leo.

  To her, he would always be Leo. The Duke was for others. Leo was for her.

  She arrived before the altar and smiled into his eyes, love flooding every fibre of her being. Freddie remained at her other side, but Grandpa shuffled across to sit in the front pew and Rosalind checked over her shoulder to make sure he was safely seated next to her stepbrother, Jack, Lord Lydney, who beamed at her. She drew in a deep breath and turned back to face the Reverend Hodgson.

  The ceremony passed in a blur of questions and responses, and then they were declared man and wife, exchanging a chaste kiss at the behest of the rector. Heart near to bursting with happiness, Rosalind took Leo’s proffered arm, ready for the long walk back down the aisle and to the rest of their lives.

  She looked up at him, and their eyes locked. With a slow smile, he straightened his arm, his hand sliding down her silk sleeve to hold her hand. He turned and reached across her to capture her other hand. He tugged her round to face him.

  ‘I love you.’

  No whispered declaration, but bold and assured—a proclamation for all to hear and to marvel over and to report back to those not present.

  ‘You have brought serenity and joy, happiness and passion into my life.

  ‘My friend, my love, my Duchess.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want to miss these other great reads from Janice Preston

  MARY AND THE MARQUIS

  FROM WALLFLOWER TO COUNTESS

  RETURN OF SCANDAL’S SON

  SAVED BY SCANDAL’S HEIR

  THE GOVERNESS’S SECRET BABY

  Keep reading for an excerpt from FORBIDDEN NIGHT WITH THE WARRIOR by Michelle Willingham.

  Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

  You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every
month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.

  Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.

  Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.

  Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!

  Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*

  *New members who join before December 31st, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.

  Click here to register

  Or visit us online to register at

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior

  by Michelle Willingham

  Chapter One

  England—1174

  ‘You cannot ask this of me.’ Rosamund de Courcy stared at her husband in disbelieving shock. ‘It is a sin.’

  Alan de Courcy, the Baron of Pevensham, leaned back against the pillow of their bed. His brown hair hung limply against his face, and his grey eyes were shielded with unending pain. He had grown weaker over the past three months, and though Rosamund prayed each night for his recovery, the shadow of death lingered over him. It terrified her to imagine him gone, for he had been a true friend through her darkest nightmares.

  Now he wanted her to lie with another man to conceive the child they so desperately needed. The very idea was unthinkable.

  ‘We need an heir, ma petite. And I am incapable of giving you one.’ Her husband spoke of the proposition as if it were a business arrangement. ‘I will not let my brother inherit everything I have built. Owen would ruin Pevensham within a year.’

  Rosamund paced before the hearth, her heart racing at the very thought of Alan’s command. How could he even imagine she would betray him in that way? She was a woman of honour, not an unfaithful wife.

  Whispers of guilt pulled at her conscience, reminding her of the mistakes she had made as a young woman. But Alan knew nothing of them, and she had always been true to him during their marriage. She had paid the price for her sins, but the heartbreak haunted her still.

  ‘I have been nothing but loyal to you,’ she insisted to Alan. ‘For three years, I have obeyed you. Why would you ask this of me?’

  ‘Because you do not want Owen to inherit, either. You know what he would do to you when I am gone.’ His voice held a trace of ice, and she understood his unspoken words. If Owen took possession of Pevensham, he would force his unwanted attentions upon her. She suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

  ‘But...to lie with another man when I am married to you? You ask too much of me. I could never do such a thing.’ She closed her eyes, gripping the edges of her skirt. The union between a man and a woman was not painful, but she had never enjoyed it with Alan. He had been so careful, treating her with such gentleness. But there was no thrill of passion between them, hardly more than a gesture of marital comfort.

  Alan had tried to please her, though he’d sensed her distance when he had claimed her body. Because of it, he had not asked that she share his bed often. And in the half-year since he’d fallen ill, she had not lain with him once.

  ‘I have asked Warrick de Laurent to come to Pevensham. He will be here within a sennight.’

  An icy chill suffused her skin, and she felt light-headed for a moment. Warrick was the man she had loved since she was a maiden. Tall and strong, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, she had wanted him desperately. Never had she forgotten the fierce warrior who had haunted her dreams. Or the way his kiss had awakened her body, arousing her blood.

  ‘I cannot lie with him,’ Rosamund insisted. For if she did, it would threaten the very foundation of her marriage. Her throat constricted with a flood of memories she couldn’t face. She had closed off her heart to what would never be, accepting Alan and becoming a proper wife.

  For him to ask this of her evoked such a fury, she could hardly speak.

  Alan knew what this would mean. He knew it, and yet he was forcing her to confront the past.

  If she let Warrick touch her, she would no longer be able to trust herself. It would be impossible to guard her feelings and behave as if the union meant nothing. Even the memory of his touch made her pulse quicken and her body tremble.

  For a time, Alan was silent. She heard only the sound of his laboured breathing and the rustle of sheets. ‘I know you did not want to marry me, ma petite. I was never the man you wanted.’

  No, he wasn’t. Everyone had known it, though she had obeyed her father’s command and married the man of his choosing. There had been no other way.

  The pain in Alan’s voice weighed upon her, cooling the anger. She remained beside the hearth, closing her eyes as she chose her words carefully. ‘You have always been kind to me. I could not have asked for a better husband.’

  But the arranged marriage had forced her to put aside the broken dreams and start anew. Warrick had joined the king’s forces, fighting in Normandy, and she had not seen him again. Instead, Rosamund had accepted this new life with a man who cared for her, and it should have been enough.

  He expelled a sigh. ‘The words do not make it true, Rosamund. I know you wanted to wed Warrick de Laurent.’

  It was far more than that, she thought, but didn’t say so.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ she said quietly. She couldn’t understand why Alan was bringing up the ghosts of the past. ‘When you took me as your wife, I tried to be everything you wanted.’

  ‘And you have been, Rosamund. But I was never what you wanted.’ His voice was quiet, rimmed with sadness.

  She hated to hear it, for this man had become her friend as well as her husband. Alan had never raised a hand against her, and he had given her dominion over the castle and household. ‘You have always been good to me.’

  ‘But we have no children,’ he said softly. ‘And now, we will find another way. There must be a child to keep Owen from inheriting Pevensham.’

  She didn’t stop the tears now, for it had been nearly three years since she had delivered a babe that was stillborn. It was a resounding ache in her heart, and time had never diminished the emptiness. Perhaps the loss might have faded if she had carried a child to term, but after the death of her daughter, she had never conceived again. It was as if God were punishing her for her disobedience as a young maiden.

  A part of her was grateful that she had not become pregnant again. The idea of bearing another child terrified her, for she had given birth too soon. All the pain and blood had resulted in nothing but death.

  ‘Look at me, Rosamund,’ Alan demanded. When she turned, his expression held apology. ‘It was my fault, never yours. I was not a virtuous man before we wed. I had my share of women, maids, and willing serving girls. Not once did any of the women bear a bastard child. And there were many opportunities.’

  He was trying to blame himself, and she didn’t want that. ‘Both of us share the failure.’

  ‘You have already conceived a child once before, and you will do so again. But I know that the only man you would take into your bed is Warrick de Laurent.’

  The blood roared in her ears, and she turned away again. Battered emotions poured across her soul at the thought of letting him touch her. ‘I cannot. And he will not agree to this, either.’ She couldn’t imagine that a man as proud as Warrick would let himself be used in that way.

  ‘I will ask him,’ Alan said quietly. ‘He may agree to it with adequate compensation. I want him to marry you when I am gone. He will defend Peven
sham from our enemies, and he can protect you from Owen.’

  Rosamund gripped her shaking hands together. He had everything planned out, didn’t he? One wicked night of sin, a man to take his place, and a child who would inherit everything under the pretence of being a true-born heir.

  Tears of anger and frustration burned in her eyes at the thought of this deception. ‘Alan, no.’

  ‘I am going to die, Rosamund. Both of us know it.’

  She didn’t want to face it, though she feared the worst. It was easier to imagine that it wouldn’t happen. She could bind herself with this life and shut out harsh reality.

  ‘I have prayed for you—’

  ‘Prayers will not change it. But before I go, I can ensure that Owen never inherits my property. I will provide someone to protect you, someone who would give his life for yours.’

  She moved to sit beside him on his bed. Fear gripped her hard, even as she took his hand in hers. ‘Do not ask me to betray you, Alan. I will not. You deserve better than this.’

  ‘So did you.’ In his tone, she heard compassion and love. ‘I wanted to marry you, Rosamund, and God help me I did everything to make you love me.’

  ‘I do,’ she whispered.

  ‘Not in the way you loved him.’

  Rosamund bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. He was right, though she wanted to deny it. She had loved Alan like a brother, and their marriage rested upon pillars of friendship and affection, but not love. For the past three years, she had tried to make the best of her marriage and forget about Warrick.

  Alan squeezed her palm, and before she could protest, he touched a finger to his lips. ‘I know you care for me, Rosamund, and I will take that with me to my grave. But before I die, you must obey me in this.’ His face hardened. ‘You will do everything possible to ensure that we have a child to inherit. Swear to me that you will lie with him.’

  She said nothing, not wanting any part of this devil’s arrangement. It was unthinkable, and if the adultery were discovered, she could lose everything.