The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  She made her way back to the music room, cringing at the excruciating sounds coming from the pianoforte in the corner, as though the instrument was being beaten into submission by the raven-haired woman on the bench.

  “I see we still need to work on hiding your emotions.” James sidled up behind her, his breath hot on her neck. He stood with his back to the wall. He was far too close to her for society’s standards, yet she certainly wouldn’t tell him so.

  “What can I say? I’m a work in progress,” she murmured. “One success at a time.”

  His voice was so low that only she could hear him over the raucous tune. “I’ve handed off our bounty to Archer.” Deacon Drake attended the party, and he’d take the note to Wickham. Soon, they’d arrest Rivers for his treason.

  “So that means we’re free to take our leave?” She didn’t bother to keep the hopefulness from her tone.

  Because she stood directly in front of him, his hands were not visible to the greater crowd. He took advantage of this, squeezing her rear. “Precisely, Your Grace.”

  She felt his grin against her skin, and she spun around. “Good. Because I am quite ready to leave.”

  “Do you remember when I told you that there were things sweeter than revenge?” He placed his hand on her arm, leading her toward the exit. “I think I shall show them all to you tonight.”

  Acknowledgments

  There are books that are easy to write. This book was not one of them.

  I am thus eternally indebted to the kind, wonderful people who took time from their own busy lives to help me beat this manuscript into submission.

  Eileen Richards, who always makes me laugh, even when I’m in the middle of a breakdown. Thanks for reading this when you were on your own crazy deadline! Emma Locke, who gives me the best line edits ever and keeps me sane. Morgan Edens, Erica Ridley, Tracey Devlyn, and Christy Carlyle all read this book on a super tight deadline, and for that I am extremely appreciative. Gaylin Walli, Kristine Wyllys, Isobel Carr, Kristen Koster, Alyssa Alexander, and Elisabeth Lane all helped me out with research.

  I am also very grateful for the support of my family. My mother, for understanding when I don’t call for a week that I’m not dead, I’ve simply flung myself into a new story. To my husband, Kevin, for picking up every last bit of the slack—and then some—while I wrote for long hours. And to my grandmother and my brother, for always saying they’re proud of me.

  I am blessed to have a fantastic editor in Meghan Hogue, who never flinches no matter what craziness I throw at her. All mistakes in this manuscript are of course my own.

  Thank you to my Romance Writers of America chapter, Heart of Carolina, for their continued Book in a Week events, through which I wrote most of this book. Thank you also to Sarra Cannon and her online sprinting group, which often motivated me when I needed that final kick.

  The original concept of this series was “Regency spies meets the Birds of Prey comics,” so I am thankful to Chuck Dixon for creating my favorite vigilante team, and to Gail Simone for her strong writing of Huntress, Oracle, and Black Canary—the basis for the three Spencer sisters. If you’re a Birds fan, you might notice homages throughout this series.

  Thank you to Rachel Platten for the tune “Fight Song,” which inspired Vivian’s story arc. Also thank you to my constant music muses, Taylor Swift and Gaslight Anthem, who have been the soundtrack for every book I’ve written so far.

  And lastly but never least, thank you to you, reader. Writing is my full-time job now and I never thought that could be possible. Thanks for helping me to live my dream.

  Covert Heiresses

  I Spy a Duke is the first book in Covert Heiresses, which features four women that by day are the talk of the ton, and by night, England’s top spies. Though each book is a standalone, it is best read in order for optimal character development.

  To keep up to date on Covert Heiresses, sign up for Erica’s newsletter and get exclusive excerpts, contests, and more

  http://bit.ly/mlem4

  Covert Heiresses Series

  I Spy a Duke – available now

  For Your Spy Only – 2018

  A Spy Never Surrenders – 2018

  Spies Are Forever – 2019

  Books by Erica Monroe

  The Rookery Rogues

  A Dangerous Invitation

  Secrets in Scarlet

  Beauty and the Rake

  Stealing the Rogue’s Heart

  The Lady Rebels

  Covert Heiresses

  I Spy a Duke

  Darkest Regency

  The Mad Countess

  The Determined Duchess

  The Scandalous Widow

  Anthologies and Boxed Sets

  Mystified (featuring The Mad Countess)

  Charmed at Christmas (featuring The Determined Duchess)

  The Rookery Rogues: Volume 1

  Suspenseful Starts

  Sign up for Erica’s newsletter and receive a free, exclusive short story!

  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Erica Monroe writes dark, suspenseful historical romance with an emphasis on social issues and women’s rights. She was a finalist in the published historical category for the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Romantic Suspense, and her books have been recommended reads at Fresh Fiction, Smexy Books, Smart Bitches Trashy Books, and All About Romance. When not writing, she is a chronic TV watcher, sci-fi junkie, and comic book fanatic. She lives in the suburbs of North Carolina with her husband, two pit bull mixes, and a cat, where she drinks too much coffee and

  Erica loves to hear from readers, so please feel free to contact her at the following places:

  Daring Dames Reader Group

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  Red Door Reads

  The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

  Christina McKnight

  Copyright © 2017 by Christina McKnight

  Cover Image by Period Images

  Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1-945089-20-2 (Electronic Book)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945089-20-6 (Electronic Book)

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Christina@christinamcknight.com

  To Theresa and Debbie~

  You’re always there when it counts.

  Thank you for believing in me and this series!

  Prologue

  Devonshire, England

  December 1813

  Lady Lucianna Constantine sat beside her dearest friend, Lady Tilda Abercorn, formally Miss Tilda Guthton—at least before her morning wedding to Lord Abercorn, a duke. Luci wanted to be happy for Tilda; she longed to feel an ounce of the joy and merriment evident in her other friends—Lady Edith and Lady Ophelia—but she simply could not find the emotion within her. So, for the moment, she settled a less than genuine smile on her face and prepared to send Tilda off for her first glimpse of what a marriage bed held.

  If Tilda’s shoulders appeared a bit too stiff or her posture a bit too straight, none of her friends mentioned it.

  “I truly must return to my chambers before His Grace suspects I have slipped out…before our marriage was so much as consummated.” Tilda leapt to her feet from the lounge.

  When Lady Ophelia giggled, Lucianna joined in. The sound far lighter than he
r normally husky chuckle. It should be Luci preparing for her wedding night, not Tilda, the mere daughter of a baronet. As the daughter of the Marquis of Camden, Luci had always thought she would make a match long before Tilda. Or even Edith and Ophelia. It irked her to see her friend find a match before her father had even so much as mentioned any possible suitors for her.

  Not that Luci would ever consider taking Abercorn, a man old enough to be her father, as husband; however, she’d always imagined she would be the first one to share all the delectable secrets found behind a closed bedchamber door.

  The tall clock nestled between the bay windows had chimed midnight at least five minutes earlier.

  “You will tell us everything on the morrow? At breakfast and not a moment later. I truly must know if everything is as I’ve been told.” Luci suggestively raised one brow, wrapping Tilda in a tight embrace before withdrawing and taking in her appearance from head to stocking-covered toes. “You look breathtakingly innocent.”

  And utterly terrified.

  Quite possibly ready to expire from her nervousness.

  The other women liked to think Tilda possessed a backbone of fortified whalebone, but Luci knew differently. They’d been bosom friends since they could barely toddle about in their families’ townhouses in Mayfair.

  It was Edith’s turn to console Tilda. “You are beautiful. You are smart. And today was a perfect way to start your married life. I only hope Ophelia, Luci, and I are blessed with such generous husbands.”

  Generous husbands? Tilda’s spouse would be lucky to see another five years upon this earth. Luci hoped the man didn’t pass to the hereafter, leaving his widow to care for an unruly horde of children—or worse yet, no offspring, and needing to find a new home when Abercorn’s closest relative and heir came to claim his due.

  “Thank you, Edith. You have always been a great friend.” Tilda found compassion in Edith’s arms, melting into the blond-haired English rose’s hug. It was an emotion Luci struggled to offer—empathy for others.

  She’d been taught from a young age that one fought for what they wanted. If they did not get what they desired, then it was because they hadn’t wanted it badly enough. Or so her father, Lord Camden, had drilled into his four children’s heads since they were knee-high.

  Tilda pulled back, her smile wobbling. “I must hurry. It will not do for my husband to arrive in my room to find that I have fled.”

  Luci slipped her arms through Tilda’s, while Ophelia retrieved her book and followed a few paces behind them. Luci knew Ophelia was there because the girl, no matter how many times she’d been scolded, did not see the need to lift her feet high enough to avoid shuffling.

  “I will extinguish the candles,” Edith called.

  “Always the responsible one,” Luci said over her shoulder with a smirk. The only thing that irritated her more than Ophelia’s sluggish footsteps was Edith’s sensible demeanor.

  Luci pulled Tilda close as they walked toward the main staircase. “Now, Tilly, when I said I want to hear every word, I meant every detail!” she cooed. “Since you insisted on wedding first and rushing the ceremony before your first Season was even half over, you owe us.”

  Tilda’s feet slowed, and the stare she turned on Luci was laced with concern…and doubt. “You know as well as I this match was my father’s doing, not my own. I would have gladly waited until the end of the Season to announce my betrothal.”

  She placed a quick kiss on Tilda’s cheek. “I know, I know. My father would have done the same had Abercorn shown an interest in me.” Luci gently turned Tilda toward the stairs and swatted her bum. “Now, get up there and greet your new husband properly.”

  “Luci!” Tilda hissed. “I must admit, I have no notion what you mean by that.”

  It did not irk her at all that Abercorn favored demure, reserved, soft brunette beauties over Luci’s tall, slender frame and midnight-black hair falling all the way down her backside. No, Luci had no doubt she’d claim a dashingly handsome, witty lord as her husband. She could already picture the envious stares from other eligible men—and unattached ladies. Maybe a prince…

  Tilda started up the stairs, hesitant at first, but Luci gave her a wink when Tilly glanced down at her, which gave the woman the confidence to dash up toward the final landing.

  A shadow stepped into view at the top of the staircase, a hand grasping Tilda’s arm.

  Luci moved to better see who had stopped her friend. All the other guests had been in their chambers abed for several hours. Not even a servant had been seen since a footman had stoked the hearth over two hours before.

  “No, I swear to it. I did not…” Tilda’s whine sounded from atop of the stairs, a firm shake from her companion muting the remainder of Luci’s friend’s words.

  A shock of greying hair over a red dressing robe came into view, the man’s face coming within an inch of Tilda’s as she pulled back.

  “Tilly?” Luci called as her friend’s foot slipped from the top stair, sending Tilda’s arms swirling as her body fell backwards.

  Tilda’s mouth opened, a bone-deep scream escaping before her head hit the ground, returning the manor house to the silent stillness of a moment before. Then, Tilda’s body thumped three times, finally settling on the polished floor at Luci’s feet.

  Luci stood silently for a moment, her mind racing to catch up with what she’d just witnessed.

  Glancing up once more, she expected the man to hurry down the stairs to help Tilda, but all she saw was a flash of red and then…nothing. He was gone, vanished.

  Her stomach turned as her mind raced to connect what she’d seen at the top of the stairs.

  “Edith!” Lucianna’s pulse raced, her scream high-pitched as she knelt by Tilda. “Ophelia!”

  Another thump sounded on the floor.

  Luci looked up to see Ophelia frozen in her place, her book splayed open at her feet, causing the final thump. Edith rushed in a step behind her.

  “Luci.” Edith stepped around Ophelia. “What is it—“

  She stood, shaking her head gently.

  “No, no, no,” Edith sobbed as she hurried to Tilda. “This cannot be—“

  “He did this.” Luci couldn’t hold back the accusation in her tone. Edith looked away from Tilda to where Luci stood. She pointed toward the top of the stairs, leaving no doubt who had been responsible for this.

  Following Luci’s indicated direction, Edith narrowed her eyes on the darkened landing above them, but Luci knew her friend would see no one lingering in the shadows.

  Abercorn had fled.

  “Whom?” Ophelia squeaked, walking forward to stand behind Edith.

  “That is not important at this moment,” Edith whispered, kneeling beside Tilda, much as Luci had done a moment before. “We must wake her up, make sure she is all right and call for the duke—and a physician.”

  “There is no point.” Luci knelt next to Edith, sweeping Tilda’s hair from her face. “She is gone.”

  Luci held in the sob that threatened to escape. It was imperative that she contain her emotions, at least until the magistrate was called and an accounting of the fall recorded.

  Her dear friend, so nervous—yet alive—only moments before, now stared up at the ceiling, her sightless, vacant, chestnut-brown eyes forever frozen in terror.

  Anger ignited within Luci, and she begged her simmering blood to cool—at least long enough for her to speak.

  “They argued.” Luci grasped Edith’s arm as she reached forward to touch Tilda. “He was up there, and he pushed her. I swear it.”

  Luci was helpless to do anything as Edith took in the mangled sight of Tilda, her white nightshift tangled between her legs, and her head tilted at an odd angle.

  “Wha-wha-what should we do?” Ophelia wailed.

  “We will rouse the house and tell them all what the duke did!” Lucianna shot to her feet once more. “Someone must have heard the commotion.”

  The foyer was deserted except for Luci, Ophelia,
Edith, and, of course, Tilda.

  “You are correct. I heard her scream and then the thump”—Edith visibly cringed at her choice of word, and Luci wanted to comfort her—“as she fell down.”

  “She did not fall.” Lucianna knew her voice reached a dangerously high pitch as she narrowed her glare on Edith; however, she was helpless to calm the rage within her. “She was pushed. By Abercorn!”

  Luci stared between her two remaining friends, her eyes softening, begging them to believe her.

  “How could this happen?” Ophelia asked, collecting her book from the ground.

  “That is a question for him. You saw him, right, Ophelia?” Luci looked toward Ophelia, her loose hair cascading over her shoulder.

  The color drained from the girl’s face, making her pale complexion turn almost green.

  “Tell her what you saw,” Luci demanded. “You were standing right here.”

  “I—I—I was reading.” Ophelia turned to Edith, her book held tightly as if it could protect her. “I swear it, Edith, I did not see anything. I was reading about Xavier and—“

  “What is going on here?” Townsend, the Abercorn butler, bustled into the foyer, his hair askew as if the noise had pulled him from slumber. “Your Grace!” His eyes widened on Tilda as he rushed across the room to where she lay. His hands moved to find her wrist and settled. “No pulse. She has no pulse!”

  The servant shuffled to his feet, teetering for a moment before gaining his balance after the shock of seeing his new mistress dead at the bottom of the grand staircase—on her wedding night.