The Temptation of the Duke (Regency Romance)

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Zounds! What was he doing here? Hadn’t she told him to leave her be? Wasn’t he getting married in a few days? What would Lady Alicia think if she knew he was here? All right, that last one was a silly question. Clearly, Lady Alicia didn’t care what her intended was doing or who he was visiting, but still… Certainly he had more important things to do than to make a trip out to the country to call on someone who didn’t want to see him.

  She sighed. That wasn’t true at all. She wanted to see him, be near him, hear his voice—but only if she knew he was going to be hers. And not just because Lady Alicia called things off.

  But she hadn’t called things off. She’d come back, according to the girls in the sweet shop. Blast it all. She’d just have to talk to him to find out why he was here. She would never be able to puzzle it out on her own.

  She dared to peek over the windowsill again, but all that remained in the drive was the town coach, crested with the Somerset seal, and its horses and driver.

  Grace quickly dressed herself in the only dress she could manage without a maid, and tried to make her hair look presentable. Goodness, did he have to call so early?

  Once she was ready, she bounded down the stairs and found His Grace in the small parlor eating cake and drinking tea with her mother. They both looked up when she entered the room, but no one spoke for a moment. The air was charged with questions and hopefulness.

  Evan finally stood and bowed to her; Grace curtsied in return.

  “What brings you to Essex, Your Grace?” she managed, breaking the silence.

  His eyes, so clear and mesmerizing, stared right into her very soul. “I’m inviting your family to my wedding.”

  Do not cry. Do not cry. No matter how cruel this may seem, you must keep your chin up. Chin. Up.

  “Ahem. I’m sorry,” he said. “That is to say, I’m inviting them to our wedding.”

  Grace surreptitiously pinched herself behind her back. Perhaps she was still asleep. Surely, that was the case. She was only dreaming. Why on earth would Evan show up at her home and invite her family to their wedding? They weren’t getting married.

  Wake up. Wake up!

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” her mother said, standing from her chair at the small round table and planting a kiss on her daughter’s cheek as she passed to the door.

  Grace certainly felt the kiss upon her cheek. And she could smell the sweet vanilla cake from all the way over here. But how on earth could this be real?

  “I asked you to leave me alone,” she said once her mother had quit the room.

  “You’ll have to forgive me…I’ve never been very good at following other people’s orders.”

  “Then it’s probably a good thing you’re a duke.”

  Evan chuckled. He was so handsome when he laughed, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, and that smile… Grace had to look away. She’d lose herself completely if she didn’t.

  “Grace,” he said, his entire demeanor turning serious. “I know what you asked—I’ve thought about what you said to me, about how I must have made you feel. I am a complete and utter idiot.”

  She stared at him for a moment, in awe of this humble man she saw before her. “Go on.”

  “When you turned me away at the assembly, it awoke something inside of me. It made me realize…well, as my sister put it: when you love someone, you fight for them.”

  Grace remained silent. Had he just admitted to loving her? No, she must have misheard him. She’d not let herself hope—not yet.

  “And then, I came up with the most preposterous idea.” He shook his head, laughing. “You may thank my sister for pointing out the flaws in my logic and bringing me to my senses.”

  “And what does that mean?” Grace dared to ask. “That you’ve come to your senses?”

  He closed the small space between them and took her hands in his. They were so big and warm—she wanted to feel them around her waist, cupping her chin, stroking her hair. She wanted his affections in the worst way possible.

  “It means that—” he dropped to his knee and tipped his face up to look at her. “I would be honored, Grace Clarke, if you would become my duchess.”

  Grace closed her eyes, willing herself to wake from this dream. It couldn’t be real. She was a nothing, a nobody from a little town in Essex. It wasn’t possible a duke—the most handsome duke that ever lived, to be sure—knelt in the middle of her parlor, asking for her hand in marriage. Asking her to be his duchess. A moment she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl—surely she must still be dreaming.

  A tear eked from between her closed eyelids and streamed down her cheek. In the next moment, Evan stood and engulfed her in his warm embrace. His hands caressed her hair, so gently, as if she were a child.

  “Why are you crying, my sweet Grace?” he asked.

  She shook her head and a snort of laughter escaped her throat amidst the sobs. “I don’t know!” Evan laughed too. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she continued. “Or that, when I did, you’d be married to Alicia, with a babe on the way, perhaps.”

  “What an imagination you have.” He snaked his hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Grace’s heart raced at the same time her body practically sighed with relief. She’d missed him, missed his touch, his voice…everything. She thought she’d never see him again, let alone feel his arms around her. He tipped her chin up forcing her to look into his pale blue eyes. “It’s you I want, Grace. Now…will you please say yes before I die of anticipation?”

  Grace couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up inside of her. “Yes!” she cried at last, the joy overwhelming her. Part of her wondered if he’d gotten the approval of his mother, but most of her didn’t really care anymore. She’d not let anyone get in the way of her happiness.

  In the next moment, Evan rounded the table and picked up a large box from the floor that she hadn’t even realized it was there. He placed it on the open end of the settee. “This is for you,” he said. “Open it.”

  She crossed the small distance to the settee and pulled at the ribbon around the box. Her breath caught and tears pricked her eyes when she lifted the lid.

  “Evan, it’s…this is a…but how…?”

  “I do hope it fits,” he said. “I think you and Hannah are of a size, are you not?”

  Grace pictured Hannah with her trim waist and delicate arms. She wasn’t sure she was quite as trim or delicate, but with any luck—

  “St. George’s is still reserved for this Saturday at ten o’clock,” he went on. “I know it’s soon, but I went ahead and procured a special license. We can wait, if you’d rather have the banns—”

  “Mama!” she called, refusing to let him ramble on. She was positively shaking with excitement. “Mama, come in here, please.”

  Her mother burst through the door, a slight bit of alarm on her wrinkled face, with Cassie on her heels. “What is it, dearie?”

  Grace ran to her, beaming, and threw her arms around her. “I’m going to be married, Mama.”

  “Glory be.” Mama hugged her back, while Cassie stood agape behind them.

  “You’re going to be a duchess?” her sister asked, shock and awe in her tone.

  “Indeed, she is,” Evan spoke up. He wore a smile that could span the width of the Thames.

  “On Saturday,” Grace added, returning his smile with one just as wide.

  “Satur—Oh, welcome to the family, Your Grace.” Her mother crossed the small room and gave a gentle hug to her future son-in-law. “Mr. Clarke will be so pleased.”

  Evan stayed through lunch and then announced that he must start back for London. Grace walked him out to his carriage, eager for a kiss. She knew she’d get plenty of them in her future, seeing as they were getting married and all, but she could never have enough.

  “You’re smiling awfully widely,” Evan said to her as they strolled down the little walkway toward the drive.

  “As are you.” She stopped and turned to him. He caresse
d her arms, causing goose flesh to break out over her skin. “Are you happy?”

  “I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire life, and it’s all thanks to you.”

  That brought a blush to her cheeks. “Go on,” she said, seductively snaking her arms around his middle.

  “I haven’t forgotten what you said to me on our first walk in the garden.” He splayed his hands across her back, and all she could think about was that night at the Rollesbrook Ball. Her body heated, and she silently prayed for the next three days to go quickly so she might find herself in that position again. “What are you thinking about?”

  Now her cheeks must be truly aflame. “Not a walk in the garden,” she admitted, laughing with embarrassment.

  A sly grin came to Evan’s lips. “You are a naughty little minx, aren’t you? I should have known about you that first day, when I caught you eavesdropping on your sister’s meeting.”

  “Are you sure you want to marry someone so wanton and depraved?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  He lowered his lips and delved his tongue inside her mouth. She throbbed and ached and wished with all her heart they weren’t standing outside, in broad daylight, where anyone, including her family, could see them. Because she desperately wanted more than just this kiss.

  No more words were exchanged once Evan broke the kiss, and for that Grace was grateful. It was as if the gods had cast a lovely spell over them that words would surely break. He walked away, boarded the carriage and waved goodbye from the window. Grace waved back and then hugged her arms about her, wondering how on earth she got so lucky.

  Sixteen

  The morning of Evan’s wedding wasn’t quite what one would call pleasant. The skies were thunderous and dark, and rain poured from them, soaking the earth and turning London into one big mud puddle. But nothing could dampen his mood. Not even his mother, who sat just on the other side of the parlor.

  “Are you quite all right, Somerset?” her shrill voice broke into the silence. They were all dressed and ready to go to the church, so they sat in the parlor, awaiting the carriage. “You’re bouncing about like a child on Christmas morn.”

  “I think it’s rather natural for a man to be a bit excited on his wedding day, don’t you? Especially when he is going to marry his one true love.”

  Mother rolled her eyes, of course. “A man ought to be better at concealing his emotions.” She smoothed her skirts with a tinge of annoyance and then looked disdainfully out at the rain. “Those damned French have—”

  “Addled my brain?” Evan put in. “Yes, I’ve heard.”

  Silence fell between them, though it was short lived.

  “Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this, Somerset?” she asked. “Love matches rarely work out—”

  At this Evan roared with laughter. “And you think a marriage to Lady Alicia, who was already cuckolding me, would have worked out well?”

  “Well, a good marriage certainly doesn’t indicate faithfulness, if that’s what you’re getting at. Your father and I weren’t faithful to one another a day in our lives, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t good spouses.”

  Evan refrained from making a remark about Father’s proclivities. “Now I must ask, Mother, what excuse do you have for your addled brain?”

  The duchess sat up straighter and pointed her hooked nose into the air. “Hardly addled. We married for the right reasons back then—certainly not for something so foolish as love. I just hope Miss Clarke has enough sense to bear you sons.”

  “And what if she bears daughters?”

  His mother tskd and turned toward the window again. “Then she shall suffer the same disappointment I did. I’ve always regretted not being able to produce a spare. We’re very lucky you were made of such sturdy stuff.”

  Evan bristled at the way his mother spoke so callously of marriage and children, as if Hannah was nothing and no one to her. Hannah would probably say she already knew that, but he was certain it wouldn’t sting any less to hear it spoken in such plain terms.

  “Hannah is lucky, too, that she made the match she did,” his mother went on, much to his frustration.

  “She’s the daughter of a duke. I hardly think she was the one to gain.”

  “She may be that, but her personality leaves a great deal to be desired.”

  “Oh, is that why Beeston has a wandering eye?” Evan asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “Perhaps. But he’s a man, Somerset. It is to be expected.”

  It was a wonder Evan kept his hands to himself, but truthfully, he didn’t want to meet Grace at the altar with blood all over them. Part of him was eager to defend himself, defend his own sense of honor. But another part of him knew that if he did, he might say something to incite an argument, and he didn’t care to argue on his wedding day. Best to ignore her, and let the cards fall as they may.

  Thankfully, the butler pushed through the door a moment later and announced that the carriage was ready. Two footmen hovered around the duchess with umbrellas to protect her from the rain on the short walk from the door. Evan waited until she was settled and then jogged quickly to the carriage himself and climbed aboard. It was a longer and bumpier ride than it should have been to the church, but that was to be expected in this kind of weather.

  They arrived at St. George’s to find its steps littered with people. Good God. Was it such a scandalous occurrence for a duke to marry a commoner? The crowd standing in the rain answered that question for him, he supposed. Blast the gossip columns—they’d called it “the wedding of the year,” and now everyone wanted to see.

  While his mother went to settle on the front pew, Hannah rushed to him, the color high in her cheeks and a beaming smile upon her face.

  “How is my dear brother on this fine morning?”

  He smiled back at her. “I’d be better if there weren’t a hundred people clamoring to see my wedding, but otherwise…I’m quite possibly the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  She threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I’m so glad.” She stepped back again and said, “She’s ready.”

  He pulled his watch from his pocket—the one his father had given him years ago before Evan’s voyage to France—and ran his thumb over the smooth glass. It was time.

  While Hannah left to retrieve Grace, Evan made his way to the altar to await his bride. In just a few short moments, she would be his.

  ~*~

  Grace turned this way and that, staring dumbstruck at her reflection in the mirror. The gown Hannah had fitted for her was perfect in every way—simple white silk that gathered just below her bust, with a satin ribbon, and fell to the floor in a cascade of fabric. The sleeves were made of a sheer muslin, through which one could almost see the skin of her arms. The bust line was modest—which one would expect in a church—and her hair had been swept into an elaborate coiffure, stunningly executed by Suzie, with shimmering diamond clips throughout.

  Grace swallowed. She hardly recognized herself. But this was her—a soon-to-be duchess. It didn’t seem real.

  The door swung open and Hannah appeared, her smile still wider than Grace had ever seen it. She was positively glowing today, clearly happy for her brother. “It’s time,” she said.

  The butterflies in Grace’s belly started to beat about frantically. She nodded. “I’m ready.”

  They started to leave, but then Hannah stopped abruptly and shouted, “Oh, I nearly forgot!”

  Grace waited as Hannah reached into her reticule and pulled out a tiny gold coronet, studded with diamonds. “Here,” she said. “I wore this on my wedding day. I thought it would be lovely in your hair.”

  The gesture threatened to send Grace into tears, but she fought against them. She didn’t want to meet Evan at the altar with puffy, red eyes, after all. “It’s beautiful,” she choked out. “Are you certain you want me to wear it? It’s so very precious.”

  “Positive,” Hannah replied, the smile never leaving her face.
She gently placed the coronet on Grace’s head, and then held out the small bouquet of white, cascading lily of the valley and ivy. “Shall we?”

  Grace took the flowers and then followed Hannah from the antechamber to the back of the nave. The pews were filled with a good many members of the ton, as well as her own family, who took up a row all on their own. Even James and Stevie had paused their rabble rousing for the day to attend, and Grace was rather pleased to see they were nicely turned out for the occasion. Muffled sounds came from outside, and Grace assumed it was the crowd of people she’d heard about that currently inhabited the front steps of the church. Just a couple months ago, she was a no one—just a poor relation. And now here she was, the cause of a great stir in London as she walked up the aisle to marry a duke. It almost didn’t seem real, which was why she kept pinching her hands beneath her bouquet.

  She turned the corner at the end of the pew, and she could finally see him. Evan. He stood beside the minister, a small grin teasing the corners of his mouth. Grace grinned in return. How could she not? Everything was perfect, and in mere minutes, they would be promised to one another, ‘till death did they part.

  The organist began to play and the crowd hushed as Grace met her father for the journey up St. George’s nave. She looked up at him, and he beamed back at her.

  “I’m so proud of you, my Gracie,” he whispered as they walked, and then he patted her hand that sat in the crook of his elbow.

  “Oh, Papa,” she returned. “I do love you so.”

  And then they were there, and the time for words was over.

  The wizened old minister began to speak. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…”

  Evan smiled sideways at her, and she smiled back, of course. Her heart was so full, so happy in this moment she hardly heard anything the clergyman said as he rambled on about procreation and fornication.

  “Evan, wilt though have this woman to thy wedded wife,” the reverend asked, and Grace could hardly believe they were so near their vows. “…keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”