A Duchess a Day

by Charis Michaels

Declan wiggled his hands free and leaned back on his palms. “I cannot believe it. When you’d lost all hope before she appeared, I honestly had no idea what we would do. I was a moment away from racing us both out the door. Your original plan brought to bear—to bolt. I thought we could go to Italy. Or America.”

  “Yes.” She leaned back so they were shoulder to shoulder. Their legs swung from the edge of the bench. “It was nothing short of phenomenal. We could not have planned it more beautifully if we had plotted for a hundred years. If we had every girl in England from which to choose. My mother actually came to my room after the party to comfort me in my loss. She was appalled by the duke’s behavior and thought I’d be suffering some humiliation or heartbreak.” A sigh. “They really do not know me at all.”

  “I know you,” he said. “And I love you.” He rested his face against her ear, breathing her in.

  “I love you too,” she said softly, wistfully. With no warning, tears threatened. They’d done it, they’d actually done it. They’d found a way to free her of Lusk and be together. They’d saved the forest.

  “What did you tell your mother?” he mumbled into her hair.

  A heavy sigh. “I simply said, ‘I want to go home. To Castle Wood. To my house and my apples and the crofters.’ ”

  “Staying as close to the truth as possible,” he said. He kissed her neck and she shivered.

  “It is entirely the truth. It leaves out only one thing, which is you. I reckon . . .” She pulled away, trying to see him in the dim light. “I reckon that after several weeks, you can seek me out, and we can tell them? There will be outrage, histrionics, gnashing of teeth. But it will be too late.” She grinned at him. “I love that we’ve made it too late.”

  He nodded. “I’ll make certain it’s legally binding before we tell them.”

  “When the dust settles, you may relocate your family to Castle Wood.”

  He gazed at her. “You are certain? About my father and the girls?”

  She laughed. “When have I ever seemed uncertain to you? It was our arrangement. I would never renege on our arrangement.”

  He kissed her. A kiss of gratitude and possession and love.

  Helena put her hand on his thigh, and it occurred to her, I have my hand on his thigh.

  I can touch him.

  I can touch all of him.

  He is mine.

  She could touch both thighs, and then she could slide her hands up his thighs and touch the bulge that had so intrigued her in his tight yellow livery.

  Casually, as a little test, she squeezed his leg.

  Declan leaned farther back. He was splayed out beside her, and he looked to her with an expression of And what will we do now?

  Her heart began to pound.

  “Just one question,” she asked, holding her hand still. “Did the colorful and clever Miss Knightly Snow ever lure you in?”

  She slid from the bench and pivoted over his knee, facing him. She landed squarely between his thighs, her belly flush with the edge of the table.

  “What do you mean?” His face was playfully thoughtful.

  “I mean . . .” she began, returning her hand to his thigh, squeezing, “. . . that the two of you seemed very familiar. Clearly she is fond of you. Unless I misunderstood, she’s been stalking not me but you these last weeks.”

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he drawled, “she’s not the sort of girl I fancy.”

  “She appears to be the sort of girl that everyone fancies. You should have seen the men up and down the table, my own father included, watching her.”

  “I only fancy one sort of girl,” he said, closing his legs around her, squeezing her, “and I married that girl, which is a bloody miracle.”

  Helena rose on her toes to kiss him, and when he leaned down to reach her lips, he hooked his hands beneath her arms and pulled, sliding her off the floor. Helena leapt, tucking her knees on either side of his hips. He plopped her down on his lap in a rustle of silk. She’d not changed out of the dress from dinner.

  Their mouths met, and he traced her shoulder and back, her waist and bottom, with palms flat and fingers wide. When he reached the tangle of her skirts, he dug beneath, searching for her legs. Helena held her breath, waiting for the moment when his hands slid against bare skin.

  When he moved his hands up her calves, he rasped, “No stockings?”

  “Nothing but the dress,” she said between kisses.

  “Nothing?” he said, his voice cracking. He reached between them and undid his breeches.

  She sucked in a little breath. “Nothing,” she sighed.

  “I was hoping for the white gown,” he said, running his hands over her breasts, kissing her again. “I cannot lie.”

  “The white gown was for when I had nothing left to lose. Now . . .” she kissed him so deeply, “. . . now I have everything to lose.”

  “God, I love you,” he said, and he freed himself and lifted her up, settling her down on him slowly, so slowly. “You deserve a proper bed,” he bit out, straining to hold her and love her at the same time.

  “I need you,” she moaned against him.

  “Whatever you need, my lady,” he whispered into her ear, “I am here to serve.”

  Epilogue

  Declan and Helena Shaw walked through the shady bower of Castle Wood hand in hand. Springtime had awakened colors so vivid nature glowed all around them.

  Declan was grateful the verdant forest seemed to forestall speech. He was struggling with what to say. They walked in silence, enjoying the dappled sun, as he searched for the correct words.

  “The duke and Miss Snow called on us last week,” Helena said, breaking the silence.

  Declan chuckled. Knightly Snow had been a means to an end, but it thrilled them that, six months on, the combustible couple of Lusk and Miss Knightly Snow had endured.

  “Oh?” Declan said. “Any plans for a wedding?”

  “They did not mention it and I dared not ask. But they appeared very happy. That is saying quite a lot, considering Lusk has always hated the countryside. I cannot believe she convinced him to leave London.”

  “But why are they in Somerset?”

  “To host a house party apparently,” said Helena. “The first and best of the summer, according to Miss Snow. I think perhaps she has elicited some talk in London, carrying on with the duke yet refusing to commit to a future. The season is not yet over and they’ve fled here. She mentioned she is now in the company of a chaperone.”

  “God bless that poor woman,” mumbled Declan.

  Helena snorted. “Indeed. But they were alone together when they called. They’d ridden to Castle Wood to clip apple blossoms for a bower she hopes to construct for her party. I told her she may return as often as she likes.”

  Declan nodded and they walked from the cover of trees to a sunny clearing.

  Helena said, “They invited us to be guests at the party.”

  “Ah,” said Declan, glancing at her. He hadn’t managed to shake his fear that Helena would eventually regret her life as Mrs. Shaw, Mercenary’s Wife. If she’d married a gentleman, house parties would be a matter of course. He’d rather return to battle than attend a house party at a nobleman’s estate. “And what did you tell her?”

  Helena laughed. “Ah, ‘No, thank you,’ is what I said. Naturally. I vowed never to repeat another society function after that horrifying game of Mirror-Mirror.”

  Declan released a breath. They came to the stump of a tree that Declan had chopped down on his last visit home. The tree was dead and threatened to fall during winter storms, blocking the bridle path. He’d left the stump, a convenient stool in the secluded haven in the wood.

  In the six months since they’d been married, Declan had enjoyed some extended visits home—a week or two—while other visits were only a handful of days. His clients required different levels of security or surveillance, and he felt compelled to take every high-paying job that came along.

  He settled now on the stump and rea
ched for his wife, pulling her to him. He missed her so much when he was away, far more than he’d expected; in fact, he missed her more than seemed sustainable. He wanted to be here, with her, always.

  Before he met Helena, he’d thought taking a wife would interrupt his soldiering. He’d not been prepared for soldiering to get in the way of his marriage. He wanted out of mercenary work. He wanted out of travel. He wanted to be home. But how could he say this? Helena had made no demands on his schedule or the travel. She was sad when he left and overjoyed when he returned, but she did not complain. In fact, she looked after his father in his absence and had taken a gentle guiding hand with his sisters. She was busy with her orchard and the crofters. She was working to rebuild a relationship with her own sisters and parents.

  She was the perfect mercenary’s wife, but Declan could only think: I simply want the wife. Not to be the mercenary.

  Again, he wasn’t sure how to say the words. He already struggled with the nature of his job—gritty, and common, and sometimes violent—and how this impacted his lady wife. But to resign and have no job at all? To retreat to the forest and chop down trees and do her bidding? He saw the irony: it was almost like returning to work as her groom. It felt uninspired and lazy. There was plenty of work to do, but he would provide nothing to their living.

  Girdleston had paid him a fraction of their agreed fee for minding Helena, but it had been enough to set him up in his old life. He’d bought his horse and outfitted himself to work as a mercenary. He’d hired a wagon and workmen to relocate his father to Castle Wood and renovate the gamekeeper’s cottage. Whatever was left, he’d given Helena and then set out to work as hard and as fast as he could for the richest clients.

  The money he earned would keep them all comfortable for the rest of the year, and Helena promised very big profits from her harvest in the autumn.

  After that? Declan couldn’t say.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning against him. Idly, she ran her fingers through his hair.

  “Nothing,” he lied, nuzzling against her breast. “I am drinking you in. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  She dropped her face against his hair. “I spend my days thinking, ‘I wonder what he is doing right now?’ I think about you a hundred times a day, at least. We all miss you, but I understand that your work is important. I want you to be happy.”

  “I . . . I would be happy here, I think,” he said. The words came out in a rush. “If that is something we might . . . consider.”

  Helena hesitated, her hands going still in his hair. Declan listened to her heartbeat against his ear.

  After a moment, she said, “The duke did say one more thing. When he was here.”

  The duke? Declan thought, confused. He grabbed handfuls of her skirt and pulled her closer to him. “What did the duke say?”

  “He said his new foreman believes the forest in this county would be well served by hiring . . .” she took a deep breath, “. . . a sheriff.”

  Declan looked up. “A sheriff? Like the sheriff of Nottingham?”

  “Well, like any county sheriff, I assume. As duke, Lusk is ultimately responsible for the county, and I suppose he has the power to install things like sheriffs and vicars and constables and magistrates. Apparently, at the moment, he requires a sheriff. He mentioned something about highwaymen on the New Road and stolen chickens. Poaching on his land. He wondered if you would be interested in the job.”

  Her voice was light and casual, but Declan could hear hope—a very tense, very cautious hope. He squeezed her more tightly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Declan tried to think of conflicts or barriers but his brain leapt to the very great potential of the offer. He would be here, with Helena, with his family. He could use his experience and skill to patrol the forest, to protect, to deescalate violence, and investigate crime.

  He could work without leaving his wife.

  “But was Lusk serious?” Declan asked. Now his heart pounded in time with hers. He smoothed his hands down the backs of her legs. When he reached the hem of her skirt, he delved beneath, massaging her calves.

  Helena let out a little yelp and laughed. “He was entirely serious. I think . . .” she dipped her head and kissed him, “. . . I think taking the job would be a favor to him—and a peace offering. After all we’ve been through. He’s so very in love with Knightly, God help him. He can see now that our five-year betrothal was wretched. He wishes to make amends.”

  “And could you tolerate me?” Declan asked, kissing her, working his hands up the backs of her legs. “Here in Somerset all the time? Home every night?”

  “It is my most fervent wish,” Helena whispered, breathless. She’d gone slack against him. He cupped her bottom in his hands.

  “Mine too,” he breathed. “I cannot leave you again. I cannot.” He devoured her with a kiss.

  Helena cried out, a grateful, breathy sound of delight, and he drank it in.

  “Never leave me again, Declan,” she breathed against his cheek. “Never leave me again.”

  And then they stopped talking and reveled in the soft forest floor, and mild spring sunshine, and each other.

  Author’s Note

  The Awakened by a Kiss trilogy takes inspiration from often-overlooked sideline characters of fairy tales. In the canon of Snow White, this meant taking what very little we know about the Huntsman and finding a foothold for him in Regency England. So what do we know? An evil queen charges the Huntsman with escorting Snow White from the palace, killing her, and returning with her heart in a box. The Huntsman, being noble and just, cannot carry out this task and urges Snow White to run away instead. I jettisoned the notion of evil queens, hearts, and boxes and began poking around early nineteenth-century British history for some reason a young woman might be exiled from Windsor Castle or Kew Palace in the company of someone called the Huntsman.

  The answer came in the many inappropriate affairs of King George III’s third son, William, the Duke of Clarence and St. Andrews. William was the heir apparent, after it became clear that the king’s two older sons, George IV and Frederick, would not have children. To ensure the next in line to the throne, the royal family set their sights on the marriageability (and fertility) of the king’s third son, William.

  William, however, was partial to relationships with women unsuitable to be the future queen (or so believed the royal family). He fathered more than ten illegitimate children, nine of them with an actress named Dorothea Bland. His brothers, the royal dukes, toiled for years to discourage what they considered to be inappropriate relationships and engender favorable matches for their brother, who would eventually be king.

  This family meddling was the inspiration for Miss Knightly Snow’s sojourn to France, escorted by our hero, Declan Shaw. In real life, King George III’s sons (surely) took no such drastic measures, but it was useful to use their anti-matchmaking as inspiration for a mercenary who becomes unwittingly embroiled in palace intrigue.

  Acknowledgments

  It was a delight to tease a Regency Historical out of the fairy-tale tradition of Snow White, and I was lucky that so many people wanted in on the game. Many thanks to my daughter, who thought of casting the potential duchesses with qualities of the seven dwarves. A consortium of teenagers in my house helped me invent the parlor game of “Mirror-Mirror.” My critique partner, Cheri Allan, encouraged me to play up the apples and orchard and foresaw “true love’s kiss” as a Lusk-Knightly transaction. Lenora Bell suggested Declan pose as a servant rather than simply a bodyguard. There are too many, “Oh-and-then-you-coulds” to count. Every suggestion made the book so much better. Thank you to everyone who is willing to indulge me in a brainstorm.

  Collaboration is one of my favorite parts of writing, and much of this magic comes from my talented editor, Elle Keck. Her barometer for winning romance and eye for the big picture takes me out of the weeds and onto the croquet lawn.

  The listening ear and encouragement of writing friends
Lenora, Cheri, Christy Carlyle, and Marie Tremayne is nourishing and fortifying and invaluable.

  My family’s support and enthusiasm is a gift that I reopen every day. Thank you to my husband, my children, my parents, sister, and in-laws. I love writing romance and you love me and I’m grateful we make it all work.

  Announcement

  The next enchanting romance from USA Today bestselling author Charis Michaels in her Awakened by a Kiss series,

  WHEN YOU WISH UPON A DUKE

  Arrives Summer 2021

  About the Author

  CHARIS MICHAELS believes a romance novel is a long, entertaining answer to the question, “So, how did you two meet?” and she loves making up new ways for fictional characters to almost not meet but live happily ever after instead. She was raised on a peach farm in Texas and gave tours at Disney World in college but now can be found raising her family and writing love stories from her screened-in porch in the mid-Atlantic.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  By Charis Michaels

  Awakened by a Kiss

  A Duchess A Day

  The Brides of Belgravia

  Any Groom Will Do

  All Dressed in White

  You May Kiss the Duke

  The Bachelor Lords of London

  The Earl Next Door

  The Virgin and the Viscount

  One for the Rogue

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.