by Tonya Brooks
Heartbroken and discouraged, the young duke had returned home to Devil's Keep to focus all of his attention on his sister and his duties. Nine months later, those duties also included the rearing of a son. The bastard son that he had readily claimed and allowed his little sister to care for.
With that shockingly scandalous act, Devlin became known as an inveterate rake, a title that proved to be completely accurate as he proceeded to leave a string of well compensated mistresses and scores of well satisfied lovers in his wake. Unfortunately, that decision had not solved his dilemma.
Whereas the women he had taken to his bed had proved extremely useful for satisfying his base inclinations, they were not the type of female that he could bring around an impressionable young girl. The lack of feminine influence had left his sister seriously deficient in the areas that made a lady, well, a lady. Which explained why Scarlett had become an unruly hoyden.
So if the sight of a corset flying across the room and landing squarely atop the billiard table wasn't expected, the person who would have dared to do such a thing was. Thanks to his sister’s distraction, Devlin completely missed the ball he'd been aiming for, and sank his opponents instead.
Rising from where he'd bent over the table to take aim, he queried, “What the hell is this, minx?”
“I say!” Dexter Pennington, Viscount Vale, expostulated as he stared at the item in surprise. “It looks like a...”
“A deuced corset,” Scarlett informed them in abject disgust as she neared the table, the cat on her heels as usual.
“No doubt,” Devlin said patiently as he lifted the garment with the tip of his cue stick. “Why is it on my billiard table?”
“You have to do something about that blasted companion, Dev,” she informed him in a no nonsense tone as she snatched the offensive garment and shook it at him like a terrier with a rat. “I will not wear this damnable torture device.”
“Why not?” He frowned and had to agree with her sentiment. The damned things were devices of torture. They kept a man from getting a woman undressed as quickly as he could otherwise.
“Because it bruises my bosom,” she informed him without a modicum of modesty or embarrassment at openly discussing her anatomy, and the garments meant to cover it, in mixed company.
Instead of shutting her away in the nursery or schoolroom like most children were, Devlin had allowed Scarlett to roam freely through their home when his friends were present. He had always encouraged her to seek him out and discuss anything that concerned her, regardless of what he was doing, or whom he was with. Scenes such as this were a normal occurrence in their very unusual household.
However, he would prefer not to deliberate on his sister’s anatomy, especially that rather ample part of it, in public. Come to think of it, he'd rather not discuss it in private either. His guests amused expressions assured him that they were going to enjoy this conversation immensely, the bloody asses.
“And you told her this?” He asked in a tone of long suffering.
“I did,” she confirmed with a nod. “Mrs. Dasher insists all young ladies of quality must wear a corset. She claims its indecent not to.”
As well it was, he knew. Being far more knowledgeable about ladies undergarments than was decent, Devlin suggested tactfully, “Try a different size, minx.”
She snorted in disgust at that idea. “Apparently, I have a most unusual shape since there doesn't appear to be one in my particular size,” Scarlett informed him disdainfully. “The ones that fit my bosom are too large elsewhere, and if they fit elsewhere, my bosom is squashed.”
She tossed the mane of flame colored hair over her shoulders, placed her hands on her hips and scowled down at the offensive part of her anatomy. “Obviously my bosom is too bloody large.”
~~~~~
Having years earlier suffered through the absolute indignity of explaining the onset of her menstrual courses, Devlin merely sighed in exasperation. But for once, Scarlett had actually managed to shock the rest of the men, a feat which was by no means easy to accomplish. Jaded rakes that they were, they all shared a profound appreciation for a lush pair of breasts, which she most assuredly possessed.
Outraged by the ridiculous proclamation, Nicholas promptly choked on a swallow of brandy and began to cough and splutter.
Anthony Harcourt, Viscount Drake's, jaw dropped in astonished disbelief, the cigar falling from his lips, onto his lap and singeing his favorite buckskins.
Stefan Ashbrook, Marquess Chillhaven, was so stunned that he missed the cue ball he'd been aiming for entirely and gouged a crease in the felt table top.
Incredulous, Sebastian Waverly, Marquess Foxmoor, whirled away from the drink cabinet where he'd been pouring whiskey for himself and an astonished Blaise Ashbrook, Earl of Flamecrest, successfully dousing their boots, and the carpet, with well-aged liquor. Neither man noticed.
Dexter, who could never be mistaken for being the sharpest tool in the shed, just looked her over critically, as if assessing the statement's validity. “It is rather large,” he confirmed and every man in the room looked at him as if he were completely daft, which he was. Oblivious to the fact that he had just insulted a perfect bosom, Dex thought to ask, “I say, Scarlett, can't you have one custom made?”
She scowled at the handsome if somewhat dense man. “That's what Mrs. Dasher suggested, but I'd rather not wear the deuced thing a'tall,” Scarlett informed him in disgust. “D'you have any idea how uncomfortable it is? She cinches it so tight I can barely breathe, and it's damn near impossible to ride while wearing one. I just tried, and it pinched my bosom black and blue.”
It was a crime against nature to harm that magnificent pair of breasts, and the image of soothing those bruises flashed through more than one man’s mind fleetingly. Very fleetingly. For all that he allowed his sister to do and say whatever she pleased; Devlin was fiercely protective of the young woman. Friend or foe, he'd rip a man apart with his bare hands if they even thought about taking advantage of Scarlett. Needless to say, none of his friends were foolish enough to try.
However, none of the men envied the companion that the duchess had employed to turn her granddaughter into a lady. Scarlett didn't take to feminine fripperies well and the corset issue was likely to turn into yet another full-fledged battle of wills. They wisely refrained from joining in on this outlandish conversation and left the matter in her brother's very capable hands.
~~~~~
“We'll have them made to your, er... proportions,” Devlin inserted tactfully. When she opened her mouth to argue, he added, “And you will wear it, as well as anything else deemed proper for young ladies.”
She fixed him with a mutinous expression and demanded, “Give me one blasted reason why I should. Mind you, it had better be a damn good reason, and not this palaver about propriety. That horse won't run, a'tall.”
~~~~~
Standing there with those long, breeches clad legs spread apart, delicate hands resting on gently rounded hips, back straight, that magnificent pair of breasts thrust forward, the mane of flame colored tresses cascading down her back, and emerald eyes flashing, she looked like some kind of warrior princess preparing for battle.
It was erotic as hell, and everything male in Nicholas cried out to put all that fire and passion to good use in his bed. Instead, he took a bracing swallow of brandy, willing his body back under rigid control. Rajah pounced atop his lap demanding attention, so he concentrated on stroking the furry little body that was concealing his full blown arousal from view.
~~~~~
“Because it will please me to see my hoydenish sister look like a proper young lady for a change,” Devlin responded with a smug smile that said he knew she wouldn't refuse such a request. “Is that such a terrible thing to ask, minx?”
Yes, it damned well was, but Scarlett just didn't have the heart to say it. Devlin always indulged her and very rarely asked anything of her. For him to say it would please him for her to do this would only make her feel churl
ish and wretched to refuse.
“Damnation, Dev, you fight dirty,” Scarlett complained and shook the offensive piece of lingerie at him again.
~~~~~
“So you'll dress accordingly?” He asked hopefully. Please, God, don't let this be another battle.
“Because it pleases you,” she grudgingly conceded. “But I shan't like it.”
“Didn't think you would,” he sighed.
When his youngest cousin stamped out of the room, Stefan shook his head ruefully. “And I thought Randi was stubborn,” he commented regarding his own sister. “Don't envy the man who tries to tame Scarlett a'tall.”
“Indeed,” Devlin agreed blandly as he and Nicholas exchanged one of those inscrutable looks.
“Scarlett doesn't need taming,” Nicholas interjected from where he was slouched comfortably, stroking the contentedly purring cat. “Her spirit needs to be gentled, not broken.”
~~~~~
Tony laughed heartily at that. Nicholas bred some of the finest horseflesh there was, but he couldn't possibly hope to apply the same tactics to women. “She's not a mare, Nick,” he pointed out in amusement and wisely kept a wide berth between himself and the nasty tempered cat. Rajah wouldn't let any of them near him, but the vicious creature practically worshiped Nicholas. “A rebellious woman needs a firm hand to control her.”
~~~~~
Nicholas fixed him with a knowing look and a wicked smile. “A woman filled with fire and passion needs the subtlety of a lover's caress to guide her,” he corrected as he stroked the cat's silky fur with a gentle touch. “Once she has a husband who understands her, and a brood of children to spoil, Scarlett will be the most amiable of wives.”
Although they knew his reputation with women was well earned, nearly every man in the room burst into raucous laughter at the absurdity of the claim. When even Dexter stared at him as if he were daft, Nicholas asked confidently, “Care to make a wager on that?”
~~~~~
“Consider it done,” Blaise laughed. His cousin was about as amiable as a cornered badger. Nick didn't have a clue what he was talking about.
“Name the stakes,” Stefan readily agreed. Scarlett amiable? The idea was too outlandish to believe. Nicholas had to be foxed to even suggest such a thing.
“It's a bet,” Sebastian said with a grin. Scarlett was a hoyden who'd make her husband’s life a living hell.
“Prepare to lose your shirt, Nick,” Tony said confidently. The little menace would drive her husband to drink inside a week. The poor sod wouldn't have a chance to tame her.
“I say. Don't want his shirt,” Dexter injected with a frown, obtuse as ever. “Rather wager for blunt m'self.”
~~~~~
Ignoring Dexter's idiocy as usual, Devlin assured them all, “I have the feeling that's one bet you're going to regret.”
Even though Nicholas was right in his assessment, taming his sister would not be an easy feat for any man to accomplish. Scarlett's husband would need the patience and temperament of a saint, because if he ever hurt her, he could be assured of a slow and merciless death.
Chapter Three
Ryder Estate, England, 1792
“What does this mean, Charlton?” A clearly distraught Jacqueline Branvill, Duchess Ryder asked in dismay. The family solicitor had just left them after reading her late husband’s will, and she was terribly confused at what he had told them. “Mr. Fulbright said that Michael had made you Nicholas's legal guardian. Surely you don't mean to take my baby away from me.”
~~~~~
Charlton Ashbrook II, Duke of Langford placed a fresh handkerchief in the hand of his best friend’s widow and slid a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. “No one is ever going to take your son away from you, Jackie. I promise you that,” he assured her gently, a steely glint of determination in his pale blue eyes. “But Nicholas is the Duke of Ryder now and he has to learn how to handle his responsibilities. Michael knew that I would teach him everything he needs to know.”
As well as protect the boy, and his inheritance, from his grasping, greedy relatives, but that didn't even need to be mentioned. Their unseemly display at the reading of the will had said enough. Viscount Carstairs had been livid at not being left in charge of the Ryder fortune and had made a complete ass of himself. Charlton would take great pleasure in dealing with him as soon as he eased Jacqueline's fears.
~~~~~
“Mon Dieu, he is but a child of ten and already a duke,” she moaned, overwhelmed at the knowledge and the loss of her beloved husband. Nicholas was so young and he had so much to learn. Far too young for such a heavy burden to bear. Her cobalt blue eyes were pleading as she asked, “You will mentor him?”
~~~~~
“Yes. It's what Michael and I both wanted,” he said gently. “We discussed it at length when the boys were born. He was to do the same for Devlin if anything happened to me.”
Not that Charlton needed to protect his son from his own relatives. The Ashbrooks would take excellent care of his heir as well as the boy’s inheritance. No, he had wanted the man who knew him best, the man he loved and respected like a brother, to take over the rearing of his son. There had been no one better suited to the task than Michael Branvill.
Jacqueline nodded her understanding. “Oui, Charlton. You are right. My husband loved you as a brother. He would treat your son like his very own.”
“And that’s exactly what I plan to do,” he assured her. “I'll steward the Ryder properties and investments until Nicholas is old enough to handle his own affairs. Don't worry about anything, Jackie. I'll teach him everything he needs to know.”
~~~~~
“You will also teach him to be the man his father was, oui?” She pleaded hopefully, her eyes filling with tears again.
The duke's voice was choked as well when he agreed, “Oui.”
“Thank you,” Jacqueline said gratefully and offered a tremulous smile. “Thank you both, for everything. I don't know how I would have gotten through this without you.”
Which was nothing short of the truth. Since the uprising began in France, her own home country had been in turmoil as well. Her father had been killed during the French revolt and in spite of the unrest; the two couples had traveled to Moldavia for the funeral and her brother's coronation as king. Michael had died while trying to save the newly crowned queen from an assassin. In less than a month, Jacqueline had lost her father, her sister-in-law and her husband.
Charlton and Danielle had handled the arrangements of bringing his body back to England, as well as the funeral, while she had simply fallen apart. Only God knew what would have happened if she'd had to depend on her husband’s family. Michael's brother-in-law had actually had the audacity to move his family into her home as if he was his to do with as he pleased. The cad was more interested in getting his hands on the Ryder fortune than assisting the grieving widow and her son in their time of need.
~~~~~
“That's what family is for, and you will always be a part of ours,” Danielle Ashbrook, Duchess Langford, assured her as she wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Jackie, I don't like the idea of leaving you and Nicholas here alone. How would you feel about coming to Devil's Keep for a while?”
If she knew her husband, and she knew him quite well, Charlton was about to oust that bloody awful Carstairs and his nonsensical wife from the estate, and there would be a hell of a row. Jacqueline and Nicholas had been through enough. They needed to be surrounded by people who loved them and have time to heal.
Jacqueline gave her such a look of gratitude that it was heart wrenching. “Oh, thank you, Danni. Were it not for the unrest, I would return to Moldavia. I... I cannot bear to stay here in our home knowing that Michael will never... that he won't...” Unable to go on, she burst into tears and was gathered into the other woman's arms.
The couple felt her grief right along with theirs. Charlton had lost the man he had loved as a brother and Danielle could barely stand the pai
n she felt at the thought of losing her own husband. The two of them would be there for Jacqueline and her son, no matter what. Not because it was a duty or a responsibility. Not because it was a debt of honor. The Ashbrooks would be there because Jacqueline and Nicholas were a part of their family and nothing was more important to them than that.
Chapter Four
Devil's Keep, England, 1812
To say that Scarlett was miserable would be a gross understatement. She was in a living hell. It seemed that she could do nothing right, nor were her attempts to correct her flaws good enough to suit that blasted companion. Mrs. Dasher was a harsh taskmaster and her insistence on perfection made Scarlett feel completely inadequate. She didn't sit right, walk right, or hold a bloody fan right. Aargh! The whole situation was maddening.
Grimly, she wondered who came up with these ridiculous rules, and why they were so blasted important. It's not as if they served any practical purpose. What did it matter if a drop of tea trickled down the spout of the pot when she finished pouring? Why was it imperative to add cream before pouring the tea? And who the hell drank tea, anyway? Scarlett detested the vile brew and would much rather have a dram of brandy. Mrs. Dasher had nearly fainted at that announcement.
Blasted prig probably had her corset cinched too tight.
Though she had always missed her mother, the young baroness began to seriously regret the fact that she wasn't here to teach her all these bothersome rules. Her grandmother had tried. Lord, had she ever. But Scarlett had been more interested in riding and shooting than having a bloody tea party. Aunt Jacqueline had tried as well, even bringing her frilly dresses each time she returned home from Moldavia. Dresses that had never been worn. Now she wished that she hadn't disdained them or the advice.
Scarlett sighed in genuine frustration. She couldn't understand what was wrong with her. Why couldn't she do these silly inconsequential things right? She'd never been a failure at anything she'd set her mind to. Until now. According to her companion, she was going to make a blasted fool of herself and embarrass her entire family. The thought literally terrified her and bolstered her resolve to become the perfect lady.
