Her Favorite Duke

by Jess Michaels

  Her Favorite Duke

  (The 1797 Club Book 2)

  By

  USA Today Bestseller

  Jess Michaels

  Her Favorite Duke

  The 1797 Club Book 2

  www.1797Club.com

  Copyright © Jesse Petersen, 2017

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information, contact Jess Michaels

  www.AuthorJessMichaels.com

  To contact the author:

  Email: Jess@AuthorJessMichaels.com

  Twitter www.twitter.com/JessMichaelsbks

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/JessMichaelsBks

  Jess Michaels raffles a gift certificate EVERY month to members of her newsletter, so sign up on her website: http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/

  Dedication

  A special thank you to Mackenzie Walton

  for all the extra help and support with this book.

  A good editor is worth her weight in gold. You are platinum.

  And for Michael who is and always will be my favorite duke, my favorite person and my best friend.

  Prologue

  1803

  Margaret Rylon stood in her chamber wearing full black, a symbol of mourning. And she should be mourning, for her father had been put in the ground just a few hours before.

  And yet, as she looked at herself in the glass, she did not see sadness in her eyes. She didn’t feel it either. As much as his death should grieve her, she felt nothing in her heart for the late Duke of Abernathe. Why should she? The man had not actually spoken directly to her in three years, despite their living under the same roof. To him she had been nothing, a failure at an attempt at a spare.

  To her he had been a cruel bastard. In truth, she was happy he was dead. Her brother James was duke now. And she adored James with all her heart.

  It had always been the two of them against the world, really. Against a father who despised them, against a mother who dove headlong into a bottle to escape the fact that her husband despised her, too. Right now Meg was certain the duchess was fully lost in a drunken stupor and would probably remain that way for weeks, using the death of a husband she did not love as an excuse to spiral into darkness.

  Meg sighed as she looked away from her reflection and paced to the window. Down below she saw the servants walking two horses toward the stables and her heart leapt, pushing away her troubled thoughts in an instant. The mounts could only mean one thing: Simon and Graham were here.

  It had been six years since she’d met James’s best friends, on a holiday from school when he’d been allowed to bring them home for a short stay. Although James had a whole club’s worth of friends, it was Graham and Simon he spent the most time with. They were his best friends and she liked both of them.

  But it wasn’t both of them she thought about as she grinned down at the servants leading the mounts away. No, only one of those two men truly made her heart flutter. That was Simon Greene.

  She closed her eyes and conjured an image of him without even trying. He was unbearably handsome, with a gorgeously angled face, thick dark hair and bright, expressive pale blue eyes. He was always smiling. Even when he wasn’t smiling, the ghost of that expression was there. Like he was constantly thinking of a private joke.

  When he looked at her, her heart skipped a beat. And he often looked at her. Across rooms, across tables, when they were walking. She might only be sixteen, but she knew when a man liked her.

  A good thing, since she had accepted that she was in love with him a year ago. But it wasn’t for a lady to take the first step. Her mother hardly ever gave her advice, but she’d slurred that out at some point when she caught Meg staring at Simon one night. The duchess wasn’t wrong. A gentleman was to begin the courtship. One day he would. They had time, after all. She wasn’t even out in Society officially yet. He was but nineteen, himself. They had all the time in the world.

  She smoothed her skirts and went to the door. She walked down the hall and the stairs, smiling as she encountered the butler, Grimble, in the hall.

  “Good afternoon. Where are my brother and his friends?”

  Grimble inclined his head and straightened his black mourning band slightly. “His Grace is in his office with the Duke of Northfield. The Marquess Whitehall is in the west parlor, Lady Margaret.”

  Margaret flinched as she realized Grimble was referring to her brother as His Grace. That would take some getting used to. Of course, one day Simon would be “Your Graced” as well. He would be the Duke of Crestwood.

  And to her, he would always be Simon.

  She smiled at the butler. “Thank you, Grimble. As hostess, I’ll seek out the marquess until my brother’s business with Northfield is complete.”

  Grimble didn’t really seem to care, but executed a sharp nod as she left him. Her heart began to pound as she opened the west parlor door. Simon didn’t hear her as she entered, but remained in his place by the fire. He had one boot up on the hearth, his arm resting on the mantel. For a moment she couldn’t see what he was looking at so intently, but when he moved his head, she caught her breath.

  Her miniature was on the mantel and he was looking at it. Giddiness filled her and she cleared her throat softly to catch his attention.

  He turned toward her and his face lit up. “Meg!” he said.

  “Hello, Simon,” she said, rushing into the room. She held out her hands as she approached him and he took them both, squeezing them gently as he did so. His hands were ungloved, as were hers, and she jolted with the shock of awareness that always came when he touched her.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you at your father’s service,” Simon said as he guided her to a seat before the fire. “And I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.”

  Meg bent her head. “You know how Abernathe was…Abernathe the last, I suppose now. I know it is meant for me to be sad, but how can I, Simon, when he didn’t care a whit for me?”

  Simon reached out and touched her hand lightly. “Then I’m sorry for that, Meg.”

  She smiled at his kindness. “My father will be the topic of most of my conversations for the next few weeks. So let’s you and I discuss something else, shall we?”

  He nodded. “Choose the topic, my lady, and I will attempt to be clever about it.”

  She laughed at his teasing. “Why is my brother having a secret meeting with Graham? I thought the three of you were inseparable.”

  For a moment, a shadow crossed Simon’s face, and he frowned. “To be honest, I don’t know what they’re discussing. The moment we arrived James asked Graham to talk to him in private and I was not invited.”

  She wrinkled her brow at his expression. “Odd.”

  “Not as odd as you’d think,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “I’m certain it’s nothing. Maybe they’re discussing surprising you for your birthday. It’s a few months off still, but you can never plan too far ahead.”

  He chuckled, the storm clouds gone from his face. “And how do you know my birthday, Meg?”

  “I remember everything about you, Simon,” she admitted after a moment’s hesitation.

  He was silent except for a sharply inhaled breath. Slowly he turned toward her and her throat closed. He looked very serious suddenly and very focused on her. He opened his mouth as if to speak and she leaned in, hands shaking.

  But before he could say a word, Grimble cleared his throat at the door and said, “Lady Margaret, His Grace requires your presence in his office.”

  She was y
anked from the spell Simon had cast on her in a moment. She exchanged a look with him and then got to her feet, with Simon right behind her. “Very well, I’ll join them momentarily.”

  The butler left and she looked at Simon. “Come with me?”

  “I wasn’t invited,” he reminded her.

  She shrugged. “I invited you.”

  He motioned for her to lead the way, and she did so. They walked together silently toward James’s office, but it wasn’t their usual companionable silence. All she could think about was what Simon could have intended to say before they were interrupted in the parlor.

  James’s office door was closed as she reached it and she knocked lightly before opening it to allow them in. She caught her breath as she entered. This had been her father’s office before, of course, and it still looked and felt of him. Cold. Masculine. Unwelcoming. It didn’t fit James, that was certain. She couldn’t wait to help him make it over, stripping everything from the past away and welcoming a new future for them both.

  Her brother was standing at the huge picture window with Graham, and they turned together as Simon and Meg entered. James was grinning, but Graham looked more reserved. He inclined his head ever so slightly toward her.

  “Come in, Meg,” James said, motioning her forward. “And Simon, good, you are here too. Excellent.”

  “Yes,” Meg said. “Good afternoon, Graham. It’s so nice to see you.”

  “Lady Margaret,” Graham said, formal as always despite their longtime acquaintance. Today his voice was tight and he shifted slightly. Almost as if he were uncomfortable.

  “I asked you to come in, Meg, because I have some news for you,” James said, reaching out to take her arm and draw her closer. “Very happy news, I hope you’ll agree.”

  Meg smiled. “We all need some happy news today. What is it?”

  James looked at her face. Her brother’s expression was intent and earnest and her breath caught at it even before he spoke again. “I have arranged a marriage for you, Meg.”

  Her smile faded as she stared at him. “A-a marriage?” she repeated, certain she had misheard him.

  He nodded swiftly and the excitement in his tone increased. “I realize I didn’t speak to you about it before, but I have been thinking of nothing else for weeks, since Father took ill.”

  She tried to catch her breath as she looked back over her shoulder at Simon. He was standing stock still, staring at James, not looking at her. His expression was entirely unreadable.

  “I wanted to know you would be taken care of, Meg,” James continued. “In case I’m ever in a position where I could not do it.”

  “James—” she began.

  “And it is with a friend,” he pressed forward, ignoring her interruption. “Someone we both like. Someone I know will have only your best interest at heart.”

  Now her heart leapt. Could he possibly be talking about Simon? He had wanted to say something to her in the parlor. Could it have been a desire to share the news privately, and all his talk of not knowing the subject of James’s discussion with Graham was a ruse?

  “Who?” she asked, breathless as she hoped, prayed…

  James guided her forward until she was standing before Graham and suddenly everything became clear. Her heart sank, her blood ran cold and it suddenly felt like time slowed.

  “Graham and I have just finished the arrangements, Margaret. You are engaged to the Duke of Northfield.”

  Her lips parted as she stared at Graham. His blue eyes were locked on hers, but there was no joy in them. His lips were a thin line of resolution. He didn’t seem unhappy, but there was no excitement or emotion in his stiff expression.

  He reached out and suddenly her hand was in his. Unlike when Simon had taken it, there was no spark to the action. He cleared his throat and said, “I will endeavor to make you happy, Margaret.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and they brushed softly across her skin. As he did so, she looked again at Simon. He was looking at the floor now, seeming entirely bored by this exchange. When he looked up and caught her eye, he smiled at her.

  “Congratulations, Margaret,” he said. “Graham.”

  He moved forward and the three men began shaking hands and slapping backs. She stared in mute shock as they did so. Here she had always thought the attraction she felt toward Simon was returned, but he made no effort to protest this engagement. In fact, he didn’t look like the idea of it even meant anything to him in the slightest.

  Could she have misread him so badly?

  “Are you happy?” James asked as he leaned in to buss her cheek.

  She looked up into her older brother’s eyes. He had just had so much placed on his shoulders as the new duke. This was the first time since their father’s illness that he’d looked happy in the slightest.

  She glanced past him at Graham. No one could say he wasn’t handsome. And they had been friendly in the past. If Simon didn’t want her, she could do worse. And she’d have many years to grow accustomed to the engagement before they’d be wed.

  She nodded and forced herself to smile. “Of course, James. I’m…I’m very happy.”

  He seemed to accept that answer and hugged her before he rushed to the sideboard to pour drinks of celebration for them all. She swallowed and looked out into the garden behind the house.

  She would forget Simon and her silly notion that he cared for her. She would forget. It seemed she would have to.

  Chapter One

  Seven Years Later

  Simon Green, Duke of Crestwood, stood in the middle of the ballroom, staring at the couples dancing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He was actually staring at just one couple dancing. Lady Margaret, sister to one of his closest friends, and her fiancé, Graham Everly, Duke of Northfield. It was a rare thing to see them together, for Graham always cried off the duty. He didn’t like to dance.

  Meg did. She was good at it, too. Simon knew because she often came to him to dance when her fiancé would not. It was so easy to slip his arms around her and guide her around the floor as she stared up into his eyes and talked to him about everything and nothing. He could almost feel her in his arms right now. Warm and soft and his.

  He blinked and shook his head. This needed to stop. But then, he’d been telling himself that same thing for years, and it never did. If anything, it only got worse and worse.

  “I’m surprised you aren’t dancing, Crestwood.”

  Simon turned, a smile turning up his lips at the approach of the Duke and Duchess of Abernathe and the Earl of Idlewood. James and Christopher, who many called Kit, were two of his dearest friends, and Emma was James’s new bride. The men all belonged to the 1797 Club, a small collection of their closest friends who had all become dukes sometime in the past decade. Well, except for Kit. He had not yet ascended to the title, not that he or anyone else was sad about that fact. His father was the greatest and best of men.

  “I did not find a suitable partner for the quadrille,” he said.

  Emma looked out at the crowd. “Yes, the room is bereft of partners, for sure,” she teased gently as she motioned toward the room half full of beautiful women.

  Simon turned toward her slightly and winked. “I don’t suppose you would like to take a turn, Your Grace?”

  Emma blushed and laughed at his playful flirtation, and James drew her a little closer with an equally teasing glare in Simon’s direction. “Careful now. We are newlyweds and I am wildly jealous. You need to find your own partner.”

  Simon’s smile faded a fraction and he looked once more at Meg. She was laughing now at something Graham had said, her brown eyes lit up, her head tipped back so loose tendrils of dark chestnut hair danced along her shoulders.

  She looked happy.

  Simon sighed. He knew James was right in his assessment of the situation. At some point, Simon just had to forget the feelings he had for his friend’s fiancée and move on with his life.

  “I shal
l endeavor to do as you say,” Simon said.

  “It seems that since James and Her Grace have taken the plunge, it will likely be all of us who follow,” Kit said with a barely imperceptible sigh. “Our little group is of an age now.”

  “Meg and Graham will be next, I’m certain,” James said, looking out at his sister and their friend with a beam of happiness.

  Simon flinched away from it. It had been seven years since he stood in a room in this very house and listened to James declare that he had arranged for Margaret to marry Graham. How well Simon recalled that horrible moment when those words had come from his lips. How they had echoed in the room around them all. How his ears had begun to ring, making every word sound like it came from far away or under water.

  How well he remembered Meg stepping toward Graham, away from him, and the way his chest had burned with anger and jealousy and loss. And then he’d looked at James’s face. James, who was his brother in every way but blood.

  And James had looked so damned happy. So certain that he was doing the right thing. So pleased to do something for Meg. For Graham.

  Simon hadn’t been able to destroy his friend’s plans in that moment. And later, after the engagement was happily announced in every paper and ballroom in the country, he couldn’t destroy those plans for fear of destroying Meg along with them.

  So he’d kept his feelings to himself. Swallowed them down deep where they couldn’t tear the world to shreds. And he’d waited for Meg and Graham to marry.

  Only they hadn’t. Yet. Still. And now he looked at James, who was whispering something in Emma’s ear. He saw the love his friend felt for his new bride, and that jealousy and anger and pain burned bright again. He wanted what they had.

  He wanted it with Margaret. Just as he had since he was nineteen.

  “—a waltz,” James was now saying, his words drawing Simon from his dangerous thoughts. “And my wife and I are going to dance it. You and Simon should find partners, too, Idlewood.”