The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  Leo left for Paris that night, much to Constance’s relief, no doubt, and never lived under the same roof with her again.

  Though he’d never wished her dead, the plain fact was that he was a widower.

  And now he was free.

  Free to pursue what had been left unfinished. Since learning from Gilles of Richard Matchet’s passing, knowing Suzanne was alone in the world and surviving on the coins she made as an apothecary, he was even more eager to bring her back to Montbrison.

  The timing was finally right. And he was going after this—after her—with a vengeance.

  All he needed now was favorable news from Gilles.

  “Your Grace?” His servant’s voice grabbed Leo’s attention. At the doorway of the room stood somber-faced Isaac. An elderly, tall, thin man, Isaac had been in service to his family since Leo could remember. “My lords.” Isaac bowed to Bernard and Daniel before promptly returning his attention to Leo. “Monsieur Gilles awaits you in your private apartments, Your Grace.”

  Leo was already stalking out of the room before Isaac had finished his sentence. At a brisk pace, he exited the study, crossed the large vestibule, and climbed the stairs two at a time, arriving on the second floor in the east wing in no time.

  Throwing open the door to his private rooms, he found Gilles seated in one of the upholstered chairs near the hearth in the antechamber.

  Gilles came to his feet in a quick, fluid motion, despite his stocky build.

  Upon seeing his man standing there, knowing he had news at last, Leo was hit with a sudden uncharacteristic pang of uncertainty. What if this is a mistake? Perhaps he should have left well enough alone.

  Seven years was a long time. People changed.

  Suzanne might not be the same person he’d once known. She might be nothing like the woman he craved.

  Shoving aside his doubts, he said, “It’s about time. What news have you? Did the lady respond to the offer?”

  Gilles’s full cheeks reddened slightly, and he adjusted the cravat around his thick neck. “Yes, Your Grace, she did.”

  Leo placed his hands on his hips, wrestling with his patience. “Well?” Dieu. Was he going to have to drag each word out of him? Last night, his dream of Suzanne had been so vivid, he could actually taste her soft mouth, and feel the luscious texture of her skin.

  He woke up with his cock as stiff as a spike. Longing for her even more fiercely.

  “What did she say? I want to know—word for word,” he demanded.

  Gilles cleared his throat. A small bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Of course, Your Grace.” He couldn’t have looked more uneasy. Leo had never seen his loyal, ever-competent man so discomposed. “I know how important it is to provide you with an accurate account of her response. And, well, she… You see… She…”

  “Yes? Out with it!” Jésus-Christ. How bloody difficult is this?

  “Your Grace, I-I don’t think that… What I mean to say is, I don’t believe I can put it to you, sir, quite the way she did.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Gilles quickly reached inside his dark green justacorps and pulled out a note from the pocket of the knee-length coat. “Upon hearing her response, I thought it best that she impart her message to you in a note. She wholeheartedly agreed. This is what she said, word for word, just as you requested.” He held out the note to him.

  Leo snatched it from his hand and unfolded it in an instant.

  For the first time in a long time, he was staring at Suzanne Matchet’s distinct handwriting. His eyes quickly scanned her words.

  Your Grace,

  Your man has informed me of your offer. He was quite uncomfortable about relaying my response. It is for his ease that I put it to you here in writing. As to your offer—and I say this with the utmost sincerity—you may take it, and insert it into your exalted posterior.

  Sincerely,

  Suzanne

  Leo’s gaze shot from the note to Gilles. His man was now blushing profusely, his discomfort coming off him in palpable waves. Glancing back down at the words scribed before him, Leo felt the beginnings of a smile pulling hard at the corners of his mouth. He burst into laughter, the sudden jovial sound making poor Gilles jump.

  Leo clamped a hand on Gilles’s shoulder. “You’ve done well.” He couldn’t contain his grin.

  Gilles looked utterly stunned. “I have?”

  “Indeed. I’ll take it from here.”

  Leo walked out still grinning, the note still in hand.

  Gilles’s visit to Suzanne had garnered for Leo all the information he wished to know. Suzanne hadn’t changed. Not one bit. She was still the same feisty, beautiful girl he’d let slip through his fingers.

  He wanted her back in his life. And in his bed. Having mastered the art of seduction long ago, he’d seduced her once, claiming her innocence and ultimately breaking her heart in the process. But he was the one who was different now.

  And this time, things were going to be different.

  This time, he was going to show her the depth of his desire. And what she meant to him.

  This time, he wasn’t about to let her get away.

  Chapter 2

  “A chicken?” Lucille’s brow furrowed with her dismay, deepening the grooves on her aged face. “That’s what she paid you? A chicken?”

  “Now, Lucille, don’t badger Suzanne,” scolded Rosalie, Lucille’s sister, always quick to come to Suzanne’s defense. Rosalie set a bowl on the long wooden table before her sister. “Focus on crumbling the mint.”

  Suzanne calmly walked past the two older women in her employ as they stood near the floor-to-ceiling shelves of spices, herbs, and dried roots that ran the length of one of the walls in her apothecary shop. She knew Rosalie was trying to distract Lucille by suggesting a task that would keep her busy.

  A futile endeavor.

  Nothing actually distracted Lucille from offering up her opinion. On everything.

  Repeatedly.

  Though Suzanne had come to adore the opinionated woman over the years, Lucille could be trying at times.

  Suzanne stooped to give an affectionate pat to Gaspard, her gray cat. Lying in his favorite spot near the fire, he stretched lazily with an approving purr. “That was merely a gift. Madame Dubois assures me she will have the funds by tomorrow, Lucille. I wasn’t going to deny her young son the nutmeg oil he needed for his stomach ailment.”

  “Yes. Yes. She’s quite right, sister,” Rosalie said. “She can hardly deny a sick child.” She shoved Lucille’s bowl of mint, still untouched, closer to Lucille, trying to encourage her to start working.

  Lucille simply ignored it. “You wouldn’t have to worry about coin if you had accepted the duc’s offer.”

  A streak of cold anger shot down Suzanne’s spine. A purely reflexive response at the mention of Leo. The arrogant aristo who thought he could snap his fingers and she’d come running—after all these years—to do his bidding, with no regard whatsoever for all the hurt he’d caused.

  Apparently, the mighty Leo d’Ermart simply woke up one morning and decided to reappear in her life, bold as could be—and sent his personal secretary to deliver his offer, no less.

  How very thoughtful.

  The man’s gall was outrageous.

  Tamping down her ire, she gave Gaspard another pat. He purred contently. “I’m not worried about coin. There’s no need to be.” Suzanne cast Lucille a reassuring smile over her shoulder. Since her father’s death, she’d managed just fine.

  “But… But…I just don’t understand it,” Lucille continued, unrelenting. “He has plenty of wealth. You make concoctions for so many others. Why not make the perfumes he’s requesting? He is willing to pay a vast sum. An offer from a duc does not come around every day!”

  Because his offer is nothing but a ruse.

  She was no fool. The generous funds Leo was offering her to create perfumes for his two sisters—meant to be gifts—had a condition: she was to come to Montbrison t
o create them.

  The offer was bogus. A mere pretense to get her to his château.

  Knowing the rake as well as she did, his true motives were without a doubt of a disreputable nature. She refused to be duped by his little ploy. She’d experienced his stinging trickery before.

  It had taken a long time for her heart to mend and harden against Leo d’Ermart. It had been years before she’d finally managed to wrestle him out of her daily thoughts. And heart. She resented it that yesterday he’d intruded into her mental peace once more—thanks to Gilles’s visit.

  The best thing a woman could do was to stay far away from the notorious roué.

  And that was exactly what she intended to do.

  She rose, firmly shoving all thoughts of Leo from her mind.

  Over the fire simmered a concoction of juice from unripe poppies and herbs. She gave it a gentle stir. It was a remedy for nervousness and insomnia she was preparing for the blacksmith’s wife, Madame Clavel, who swore by Suzanne’s elixir. Science had always fascinated her. It was one of her greatest passions. Though, as a woman, Suzanne knew she could never be a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences.

  But that didn’t stop her from striving to know more than the men who were—thanks to her father who’d encouraged rather than discouraged her thirst for knowledge. He was simply a brilliant physician who’d understood her need to feed her mind.

  He wasn’t like the other private physicians who tended to the aristocracy.

  Her father disliked their conventional treatments. Especially bloodlettings and purgatives. He’d noted long ago that the lower classes’ more natural, less invasive remedies had a far better success rate.

  And he’d adopted those treatments in his practice early on.

  She had him to thank for her interest in scientific experiments and her knowledge of the healing properties of plants. Knowledge she’d expanded on, improving many of his treatments.

  Much to his pride and delight.

  “But he’s a duc…” Lucille was still lamenting. “I’ve never seen you turn away anyone who requested your services. Why turn him away?”

  The subject of Leo d’Ermart was far too emotional and not one she was going to discuss with Lucille. Or anyone. Nor was she going to admit to just how much satisfaction she’d derived from writing Leo that note. The man deserved to be knocked off his perch. It felt good to be the woman to do so.

  His comeuppance was long overdue.

  She’d dealt with the matter. And she was glad to be rid of him.

  For good.

  “Lucille, I’ve made my decision. Do leave the matter be.” She felt confident that the sale of her medicines and perfumes would be more than adequate to see her through the winter. Moreover, her newest scientific advancement had worked wonders. A stick dipped in sulfur and one dipped in phosphorous, when struck against one another, created a flame. She’d begun selling her matchsticks four days ago with some success already.

  A further boost to her funds.

  If only her father had been around to see this latest scientific achievement. What she wouldn’t give to have him there for just one more Christmas. As it was, she dreaded the upcoming fête. It would be hollow and empty, her first without him.

  His death had left a profound ache in her heart, as intense as the pain she’d felt over Leo years ago.

  She didn’t need to add to her grief by reopening old wounds.

  Discouraging Leo had been the right thing to do. The highhanded aristo had no place in her life anymore.

  Lucille threw up her hands and finally began crumbling the dried mint in the bowl. “Who refuses a duc?” she muttered.

  Therein was the core of the problem. Seven years ago, Suzanne hadn’t refused him, fool that she was.

  And look how badly that turned out for you.

  “Now, sister.” Rosalie swiped a strand of salt-and-pepper hair off her forehead. “If Suzanne doesn’t wish to take coin from some old potbellied duc, then that is her choice to make.”

  Suzanne gave the concoction another stir as the image of a paunchy Leo d’Ermart formed in her mind’s eye.

  Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?

  Unfortunately, the mere presence of a potbelly would be no deterrent to the females who flocked to him. His extraordinary wealth and power was like an aphrodisiac. He’d still draw female attention everywhere he went. And he had been busy. Last year, one of her father’s patients had brought her a number of copies of the various Paris papers to enjoy. Leo’s conquests had made plenty of fodder for the gossip sheets.

  A sudden clattering of horses’ hooves against cobblestones grabbed her attention. The sound rose quickly, getting louder with its rapid approach, obliterating the din of the townspeople moving about on foot and in carts outside.

  This was a team of horses.

  A large one.

  A team of horses that had just come to an abrupt stop directly on the other side of her shop’s door.

  Suzanne tensed, unable to shake the sudden dread that crested over her. Deep in the pit of her belly, she was gripped by a strong, unshakeable feeling that she knew exactly who had just arrived. Large teams of horses were not an everyday occurrence in Maillard.

  No. Impossible… She’d unequivocally rebuffed Leo.

  It couldn’t be him. Could it?

  Lucille bolted for the window before Suzanne could stop her. “There’s a carriage with six horses here!” she all but squealed. “That’s a DUC!”

  Rosalie wasted no time darting to her sibling’s side. She let out her own shriek of excitement. “There are definitely six horses. It is a duc! Oh, my… I believe he’s coming this way!”

  The door suddenly opened.

  Suzanne’s stomach dropped.

  Three large men—including Gilles—entered her shop, one by one bowing to her briefly. Just as the third stepped to one side, a gust of winter wind stole into the room.

  Suzanne barely felt the chill. She was far too stunned by the presence of the tall, familiar form now filling her doorway. And the breathtaking changes in him that had taken place these last seven years. Gracious God…

  A second breeze wafted in, ruffling the hem of Leo’s long black cloak. Caressing his dark hair.

  Against her will, she took in the breadth of his shoulders, which were wider, even more powerful, his handsome face that was more mature.

  And more devastating.

  Everything about him had seemingly intensified, from the hardness of his chiseled body to the hue of those spellbinding light green eyes. He had a presence and air of authority like never before.

  Before her stood an incredibly gorgeous male who completely dominated the room. One who’s caused you more pain than anyone else ever has in your life.

  And he was more attractive than ever.

  Good Lord. There was no justice. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a potbelly on that flat, firm abdomen.

  Realizing she was gawking at him, she quickly yanked her gaze back up. The moment she met his seductive eyes, a slow smile formed on his lips. He’d caught her ogling him. Suzanne blushed, unladylike expletives blaring in her head. The very ones she’d learned in childhood following the d’Ermart brothers around their vast estate.

  That’s just perfect. He is arrogant enough, and you’ve just fed his conceit further by openly gaping at him.

  He approached, a casual, all-too-confident advance, then stopped directly in front of her, still sporting his beautiful half smile.

  He was even more glorious up close.

  “Hello, Suzanne.” His voice had the same deep, rich sound. Its effect was like warm nectar poured over chilled skin. She quashed the shiver that quivered down her spine—immediately irked at herself for allowing even the slightest reaction to his male beauty.

  It’s that very same masculine beauty and charm that was your downfall.

  She’d learned not to trust that handsome face. Or any man whose eyes always shone with wicked promise.

  �
�It is wonderful to see you again,” he said.

  A slight gasp caught her attention. It came from Rosalie. Or perhaps it was Lucille. The two sisters stood side by side, mouths fully agape, their gazes darting from Leo, to her, and back to Leo once more.

  Rosalie was the first to clamp her mouth shut. She poked her sister in the ribs. “He knows our Suzanne,” she said in a loud whisper. A big, beaming smile formed on her face. “And he’s happy to see her again. Isn’t that delightful, sister?”

  Lucille frowned. “I’m not deaf, Rosalie. I heard him perfectly well.” Lucille’s whisper was just as elevated as her sibling’s was, reaching everyone in the room, including those from Leo’s entourage—if their glances at her elderly employees were any indication. “What I’d like to know is where does he know her from?”

  “Rosalie, Lucille, please…” she reprimanded gently. This was bad enough without their commentary.

  Amusement shone in Leo’s eyes, but he remained silent. Clearly, he’d discerned instantly that the women were hopelessly imprudent busybodies.

  “My father was the personal physician to the duc and his family once.” There. Hopefully that would hush them for a moment or two.

  “Oh, was he?” Lucille’s brows shot up, looking quite elated by this news.

  Rosalie’s reaction was entirely different. At the mention of Suzanne’s father, Rosalie burst into an audible sob. She fished out a handkerchief from her bodice, wiped her tears, then blew her nose loudly before composing herself. “God rest him… That dear, dear man…”

  “He was indeed a fine man,” Leo concurred without taking his eyes off Suzanne. “Your father shall be greatly missed by all who knew him.”

  Suzanne felt the tears rush to her eyes and quickly blinked them back. She wasn’t going to cry before Leo and his men. She was stronger than that. She kept her pain private, confined to the silent tears she shed on her pillow on those rare nights when she let herself cry.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, forcing the words up her constricted throat, a little unbalanced by his remarks. Since leaving Montbrison, she’d continued to correspond with Leo’s sisters. She utterly adored Aurore and Elisabeth. They visited her and her father from time to time, and treated her like sister. They were so different from their eldest brother. There wasn’t a deceptive bone in their bodies. Suzanne knew Aurore and Elisabeth had informed the rest of their siblings of her father’s death. She’d received letters of condolence from each of the d’Ermart brothers.