The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  Not that an apology from the Mayfair Confidential would change anything.

  Regardless, he was coming up to snuff. No matter what the marquis asked, Roderick was prepared to comply.

  It struck him as odd he’d willingly agree to any conditions Camden set forth, but Roderick was appalled at his father’s mismanagement of the Montrose estate—and he needed funds as soon as possible if he did not want his creditors to come knocking. What if his father had been working under the guise of doing what was right and honorable, but found himself waylaid in the process or even misguided by those he trusted?

  The sleeve of his jacket moistened, and belatedly, Roderick realized the bottom of the bouquet had opened, and water was saturating his cuff.

  Blast it all, but he shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of procuring flowers…hell, what if she did not favor these exact blossoms? He would look like the fool he already felt he was.

  He switched his hold to the other hand and shook his arm, water splattering the closed door in front of him, only leading to the continued leakage of moisture on his other sleeve.

  Roderick leapt off the stoop to avoid more water marring the entrance. “For the love of—“

  “May I help you, my lord?”

  The tips of his ears heated, and Roderick shuffled his feet to hide the marks on the stoop. It was as if Cook had found him with his hand in the cookie jar.

  He cleared his throat and smiled. “Good day. I am here to call on Lady Lucianna.”

  “My lady is not accepting visitors at this time.”

  As simple as that. Roderick had gone out of his way to do something special for the confounded woman, and she was not accepting visitors.

  He fought to keep his temper under control. Circumstances had changed—he now needed her. Proving a point or teaching her a lesson was no longer important.

  “I am certain if you give my name, Lady Lucianna will agree to see me.” To help with his point, he held out the flowers before him and gave them a solid shake. “I would hate to see these beautiful blossoms waste away before Lady Lucianna has time to appreciate them.”

  The butler looked from Roderick to the flowers and back again, his brow pinched in a peeved manner before he sighed and held the door wide for the duke to enter.

  “Whom may I tell her is calling?” he asked.

  “Montrose!” Lady Lucianna’s unmistakable hiss sounded from behind the servant. “How dare you—“

  “I can call a footman to throw him out, my lady,” the butler said, starting to close the door in Roderick’s face, but he was already over the threshold, and the door only knocked his hand, the flowers falling to the stoop.

  The servant’s manners presented themselves once more. “Oh, my lord, allow to me collect—“

  Roderick swatted the man away. “I can collect them without assistance.” He knelt to the floor. “But thank you, all the same.”

  “What are you doing here, Montrose?”

  Roderick cocked his head to the side to stare up. Lady Lucianna stood several feet behind the butler, her toe tapping as she pulled on her gloves.

  “Your father gave me permission to call on you,” Roderick replied, pushing awkwardly to his feet, the flowers once again clutched in his hand, although several blooms were either bent or missing altogether. “So, here I am.”

  “And here I go.” Lucianna tied the strap of her hat under her chin and took her handbag from a side table. “I fear I have a previous engagement.” She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “Charlotte, come along before we are late.”

  “Lucianna!” The marquis’ thundering voice preceded his solid footsteps as he descended the stairs. “Where are you—” Camden took in Roderick at the threshold. “McMahon! Step back and allow His Grace entrance. What is wrong with you? Take the damned flowers to the housekeeper.”

  Roderick nodded to the butler, regretful for his part in angering Lord Camden. “My lord. I was in the area and thought to call on Lady Lucianna, but it seems I should have sent word ahead, asking for an audience.”

  The man looked between Lucianna, buttoning her walking cloak, and back to Roderick, his arms damp from the flowers. “Where are you going, girl? I do not remember you asking for permission to leave.”

  Lucianna’s chin lowered as if to convince everyone present of her meek nature. “I am to meet Lady Edith and Lady Ophelia at Oliver’s Book Shoppe in less than an hour.”

  “You are taking your maid with you?” Camden’s brow furrowed.

  “Of course, Father.”

  “Then I see little reason why Montrose cannot go along, as well.”

  It was the first thing the marquis had ever said that Roderick agreed with.

  Roderick smiled, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels.

  “It is settled. Now, I have work to do,” Camden nodded to Roderick and headed down the hallway with not so much as a “by your leave” for Lady Lucianna.

  “Do not look so pleased, Your Grace.” Lucianna pushed past him toward the door. “Come, Charlotte.”

  He glanced around the empty foyer—Camden had slammed a door down the hall, the butler had disappeared with the flowers, and Charlotte had followed her mistress outside.

  Pulling the door closed, he followed the women to the drive. “We can take my carriage,” he called, hurrying to catch up and assist the women, his driver caught off guard.

  Lucianna halted, assessing his coach. “I think Charlotte and I would be far more comfortable in the Camden coach.”

  “Do not be stubborn, my lady,” Roderick sighed, as the triumph of being included in her outing evaporated at her sour expression. “My coach and driver are ready and at your service.”

  She glanced at the conveyance, and Roderick expected her to turn down the offer; however, she surprised him by nodding and holding out her hand for assistance. Charlotte followed suit, and he entered the carriage last, galled to find the pair on the forward-facing seat. Roderick clamped his mouth shut, his teeth grinding, but he would not comment on the rudeness.

  “Where to, Your Grace?” his driver called.

  “Oliver’s Book Shoppe off Bond Street.”

  At Lucianna’s raised brow, he continued, “Do you think me so uncivilized that I am unfamiliar with local bookshops?”

  “Humpf.” Lucianna jerked her handbag onto her lap and busied herself flapping her fan.

  Her maid had the good sense to stare out the window and act as if she were not present.

  They departed the carriage in much the same manner as they’d entered, with Lucianna hesitantly allowing him to assist her.

  He then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and pulled her close before whispering, “Do not bite again or you will fast learn I bite back.”

  Lucianna made to pull away, but he laughed and held her firmly in place. The woman needs must learn that while he was an understanding man, he would not put up with her hoyden tendencies.

  Charlotte trailed them into the shop, a bell chiming overhead as they entered.

  “Do wait for us here,” Lucianna called over her shoulder as they walked farther into the bookstore.

  The smell of worn leather and old ink surrounded Roderick, and he remembered his childhood spent in his grandfather’s library. Shelves lined the room from floor to ceiling, each cluttered with books of every size. The hiss of conversation drifted on the air, and he noticed the shopkeeper and an older gentleman deep in discussion by the register. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself the opportunity to wander rows of books, searching for adventure in written form.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular, my lady,” he asked as they meandered down a deserted aisle, putting distance between them and her maid. He noted the hair on the back of her neck prickle, exactly as he’d intended when he leaned in close with his last words. “I am here to assist you in any way.”

  “Do stop doing that,” she hissed. “We are not in your private coach nor a secluded garden.�
�

  “But, nonetheless, alone.” Roderick peered down the aisle and then back the way they’d come. “There is no one to see—or hear us.”

  Lucianna pulled from his grasp and turned her pointed stare on him. “That is very advantageous because I find I have much to say to you.” Her glare traveled down his form and back to his face. “You are a scoundrel, a man in the habit of taking advantage of women when they are out of options. And I, Your Grace, will not abide by any of it.”

  “So, that is it?” he asked. “You will not abide by my offer, and instead, agree to wed old man Abercorn?”

  “I have agreed to nothing, Your Grace.”

  “Roderick.”

  She stumbled a step at the change in conversion, her back pressed against a shelf of books labeled: Adventure.

  “Call me Roderick. And I assure you, Camden is quite adamant you wed, and soon.” He could not look away as her brow pulled sharply down, and then her face relaxed as if her thoughts were far away…all to return her eyes to him. “Come now, you cannot think a marriage to Abercorn would suit you.”

  “I am uncertain a marriage to any man will suit.” She pressed her gloved finger to her lips as if she didn’t trust herself to go on.

  Blast it all, but he wanted her hands exploring his neck, tangling in his dark locks, and traveling down his back.

  “However,” she continued, drawing his attention back to the present—their reality, as it were. “I do see the merit in agreeing to your proposal.” His spirits soared at her words, but why? “At least until I can find a way out of this nonsense.”

  Her meaning was clear: marriage to him was not to her liking.

  “And marriage to Abercorn would be what, precisely?”

  “Unthinkable.” Her shoulders sagged. The weight of it all finally too much for her.

  Roderick could imagine the taxing weight upon her given no option but to wed, and to select between two men not of her choosing. His betrothal to Lady Daphne had been done under similar circumstances; a duty to uphold his family’s honor by securing the necessary funds to steer clear of debtor’s prison. They’d made the best of their bad situation, he and Daphne. She was sweet, demure, and proper. Everything a man should long for in a wife; however, not once did he have the overwhelming sensation, the all-encompassing need, to take her in his arms and kiss her.

  However, at this very moment, an irresistible craving drew him to Lucianna. He wanted to pull her against him, set his lips to hers, and give her the proper kiss he’d attempted in the gardens. However, this exotic English flower came with thorns—barbs capable of mortal injuries to any man who attempted to pluck her.

  The question was: Did Roderick think it worth the wounds to try and claim her?

  “If I am unable to waylay my father or speak some sense to him, I will wed you, Montrose.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Lucianna seemed to change before his very eyes. Her shoulders were now stiff with resolve.

  “I am certainly happy you would choose me over the aging duke.”

  “I cannot say I did not consider many things in this decision.”

  “I would very much like to hear what sets me apart from Abercorn.”

  She eyed him closely before responding, as if gauging his off-guard manner before speaking. “Are you a murderer, Your Grace?”

  “Not that I am aware of, my lady.” He kept his voice neutral, refusing to show the shock that coursed through him at her absurd question. “Are you?”

  She waved her hand and stepped away from the shelf. “Heavens no, do not be obtuse.”

  Him, obtuse? The woman had an odd way of deciphering who was being dim-witted.

  She took his arm and continued down the long aisle, her free hand dragging along the spines of books as they passed. “Do you have a tendency to lie to your peers and the magistrate?”

  “I cannot say the opportunity has ever presented itself, so I am unsure how to answer that question honestly.”

  “Are you for or against pushing someone down a flight of stairs?” Her steps slowed further with this question.

  Roderick pulled her to a stop. Her eyes widened as if she sensed she’d gone too far—said too much. “What in the bloody hell are you speaking of?”

  Lucianna averted her stare, remaining silent.

  “For the love of all that is holy, Lucianna, what is this all about?” Roderick demanded. He reached out and placed his fingers gently on the side of her face, bring her stare back to his. “Lying…murder…what are you trying to say?”

  She lowered her eyes, staring at his neckcloth. “These are all things Abercorn is guilty of.”

  “Then why would you write scandalous articles about others—false stories, mind you—thus ruining the lives of other men, if you know for a fact Abercorn killed someone?” Why this was the first question that came to mind, Roderick didn’t know.

  “You know of the Mayfair Confidential?” she breathed, her face going pale. “What do you know of anything?”

  Her voice grew shrill—not an ounce of denial to be found.

  An unspoken truth between them. Lucianna was behind the article that ruined his life…and now there was no denying he knew the depths of her misdeeds. She would not be offering any apology, just as he had no forgiveness for her.

  “That is not important at the moment.” Roderick pulled her close, the tip of her nose nearly touching his chin. “Did Abercorn murder someone?”

  Her arm tensed under his hold, and she pulled her chin away, breaking eye contract.

  It was all the confirmation Roderick needed. He did not need her to say the words. Lucianna was scared; of the situation her father had placed her in, and the likelihood she would be forced to wed the Duke of Abercorn.

  Roderick would not allow it. Never had he harmed a woman. Never would he. Neither did it please him to see Lady Lucianna in such a terrified state.

  Chapter 11

  Luci shook her head from side to side. She shouldn’t have spoken of the events surrounding Tilda’s death, or her hatred of the duke. She, with the help of Edith and Ophelia, was determined to see that Abercorn paid for his misdeeds.

  Montrose would not interfere with that plan.

  For now, allowing him to think she was in agreement with their betrothal would keep Montrose occupied, and her father satisfied—and Luci out of Abercorn’s reach.

  “Tell me what Abercorn did.”

  The duke’s steel blue eyes drew her, wrapped her in a blanket of security. No matter how false that comfort was or how much she longed to tell him everything, Luci knew it was not true. She did not know him beyond his skill at fencing and his scandalous activities at the opera all those months ago.

  Trust was something earned.

  The Duke of Montrose had secured nothing with her.

  “If you are in danger, I will handle this.” He moved closer still, as if she were in peril in the middle of the bookshop.

  His scent of sandalwood and oak washed over her, and Luci breathed him in—deeply. She wanted to believe he would help her. Needed to trust she wasn’t alone in her task to bring Abercorn down and make him pay for the loss of Tilda.

  But, first, Luci would need to confide in Montrose…Roderick.

  Luci was certain even her dearest friends were hesitant to believe her account of Tilda’s fall down the stairs and Abercorn’s hand in the matter.

  Her father was well aware of her hatred for Abercorn but still thought to barter her hand in marriage to gain some measure of control. The marquis thought so little of his firstborn.

  “If you wed me, you will be forever indebted to my father.” She leaned back, needing distance. Surprisingly, she cared that her father would have some kind of hold over Roderick. “I cannot ever ask that of anyone. He is my sire, but he is every inch the horrid man Abercorn is.”

  “You cannot expect me to walk away after learning all this, not now.” Roderick set his hands on her shoulders and gently caressed away the tension. “If
he hurt another person, I am now bound by duty, and my honor as a gentleman, to see he is punished for his crimes.”

  A lock of hair fell loose from its pins, and Roderick brushed it back behind her ear, never taking his eyes from her as a shiver ran down her back.

  Why did this man seek to help her?

  Roderick owed her nothing. He was a pawn in her father’s game to bring more wealth and prestige to the Camden name, just as she was.

  “There is much you do not know about me—and my friends.”

  “I have witnessed enough to know you are not one to shrink away from the truth.”

  He was right, though she wished some days that she could forget Tilda, forget her wedding, and forget the gruesome sight of her falling down the stairs. Most of all, Luci wished she could forget the vacant stare from her friend’s sightless eyes after her soul had left her body. Every moment, Luci dwelled on what she could have done had she noted Abercorn’s ruthless, abusive ways before that night. Yet, as Edith and Ophelia repeatedly told her, none of them had noticed anything off with Abercorn—and Tilda had certainly not shared any disreputable things about her betrothed.

  “None of this is your responsibility, Your Grace.” Lucianna moved away from him. If she stayed near him another second, she would come to truly believe he could fix everything, repair her, and make certain Abercorn was brought down. There was no one who could see that happen but her—with Edith and Ophelia’s help.

  “If you will not tell me, I will search out my own answers,” he called as she reached the end of the aisle. “I assure you, I will not stop until I find out exactly what happened.”

  Luci halted, clutching her handbag before her. Staring at the floor, she knew she had two options: step from the row and into view of anyone else in the shop or turn back toward Roderick. If she returned to him, she could not trust herself to keep her own secrets.

  There was so much more to her than what Abercorn had done.

  Roderick knew, or at least suspected, her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential. How could he tie himself to a woman who’d written such a scathing article about his scandalous behavior? Did he think to exploit her once they were unequivocally tied together?