Only a Duke Will Do

by Sabrina Jeffries

  A vile oath left his lips as molten fire heated his blood. Damn it, after everything he had endured because of his unwanted attraction to her, he deserved to have her. The best way to deal with this foolish obsession was to marry her and slake his thirst. Then his craving would ease.

  Fighting it for seven years had not worked, so he must conquer Louisa to conquer his passions. Which would give him everything else he wanted, too.

  “You’re right—my daughter has indeed lost interest in you,” said a voice beside him.

  Simon tensed. How long had the king been standing there? “I see you still have your talent for spying. And she has not lost interest in me, I assure you.”

  “It certainly sounded like she has. Granted, I only heard the end of your argument, but she seemed rather sure—”

  “Do you want me to marry her or not?” he snapped, relieved that the king had not witnessed their kiss.

  George sucked in a breath. “You said you needed time to think about it.”

  “I have had all the time I need.”

  The king paused. “The offer still stands, yes.”

  Simon faced him. “Then we should discuss my terms.”

  “Terms?” George glowered at him. “I already told you I’d make you prime minister. What more do you expect?”

  “The truth. That your daughter is interfering with your politics.” Affecting a casual air, Simon leaned against the oak. “That she is making a nuisance of herself publicly. And that any man who marries her will be taking certain risks in his own political career.”

  The blood drained from George’s face. “I can’t imagine where you got such a ridiculous idea.”

  “From your daughter. Who, unlike you, is eager to expound upon her new interest in political reform.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “Come now, Your Majesty, surely you did not think you could hide it from me. I am the one who first learnt that Canning turned down Liverpool, who predicted long before the Cato Street Conspiracy that the Spenceans would cause trouble. So admit it—the London Ladies are no mere charitable group, are they?”

  The king hesitated, then sighed. “No, damn you, they’re not.”

  “They’re pressing Parliament to reform the prisons.”

  His Majesty’s voice dropped so low that Simon had to strain to hear it. “First those blasted females started coaxing their husbands to raise the issue of reform in sessions. And if a husband refused, they denied him what a man wants most.”

  “His wife’s bed?”

  “What good would that do? Half the men have mistresses, and the rest are too old to get their cocks to a stand. No, their creature comforts. Their wives withheld the niceties that make a man’s home his castle, like cigars and brandy and newspapers. Some ladies even commanded their cooks to serve bad meals, or instructed the laundry maids to overstarch their husbands’ shirts—”

  “You must be joking. England’s statesmen are being brought low by too much starch in their shirts, for God’s sake?”

  “You scoff, but a man can only spend so much time at his club.” The king stabbed his stick into the packed earth. “Still, the men didn’t let it trouble them until the London Ladies became a cause célèbre. And now Louisa is rumored to have a new approach—”

  “Louisa was behind this…this ‘creature comfort’ tactic?”

  “I heard that she dreamt it up, yes.”

  Simon burst into laughter.

  “It’s not funny, damn you,” the king grumbled.

  “The devil it isn’t. Leave it to Louisa to find a ‘domestic’ way to influence politics. She’s a clever girl, I will give her that.” And she would be a clever wife, too. Though he would have to outplot her to win her.

  The challenge only made him desire her more.

  “That clever girl is headed for a fall if she goes through with her new plan.”

  “And what is that? Having the ladies put peas in their husbands’ drawers? Delaying dinner?”

  “Putting up her own candidate for the upcoming by-election.”

  That certainly got his attention. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I wish I weren’t. Mrs. Fry has already put her brother-in-law in the Commons to support their cause, so it can be done. But there’s a rumor going ’round that Louisa is considering a radical candidate. And you know damned well if she rallies her ladies behind some hothead, we’ll have trouble.”

  Trouble indeed. No ladies association had the political acumen to manage such a candidate. Louisa would merely succeed in getting the old guard’s back up, making it harder for him to achieve change in a reasonable manner. Especially with the balance of power in the Commons so uncertain right now.

  “She’s a loose cannon,” the king went on. “But the public likes her. They see the polished lady-in-waiting to their beloved deceased princess selflessly garnering donations for poor female prisoners. They don’t realize that those donations may shortly go to whatever ass she thinks will support her cause.”

  “And if you expose her—”

  “Are you mad? The way things are now, she might rally half the rabble behind her. The last time a radical started making speeches and firing up the common people, eleven people died and hundreds more were wounded.”

  Simon stiffened. St. Peter’s Field had been as much the fault of the government as the radicals, but that hardly mattered to Parliament. After that disaster, it had passed the Six Acts and behaved as the old guard always did—digging in its heels. England wasn’t ready for radicals. Couldn’t Louisa see that?

  Of course not. Like Joan of Arc, she saw only her cause. Prison reform was all well and good, but it did not justify political upheaval.

  The king grumbled, “Some in the cabinet are so up in arms about her activities that they’re talking about trying to besmirch her reputation. They figure if they destroy her credit it will end this nonsense.”

  But it would ruin Louisa forever. “Surely you don’t condone such idiocy.”

  “No, but if I don’t do something soon, it will be out of my hands.” His voice trembled. “If they hurt Louisa, Draker will never forgive me.”

  “Never mind Draker, I will never forgive you.” When the king shot him a questioning glance, he scowled. “The bloody asses ought to reform the prisons.”

  “They ought to do a lot of things, but they don’t want to spend the funds. Besides, the Home Secretary is utterly against it on principle, and there’s already enough turmoil in the government.” His Majesty sighed. “I told Sidmouth and Castlereagh I’d convince her to resign from her society, but—”

  “She refused. So she has become a liability for you.”

  “Damned right! I can’t have them think I support my illegitimate daughter putting up radical candidates. I have enough trouble with Parliament already.”

  And so would Simon, if he pursued this further. Why should he take on such a political liability?

  Because he had no choice. He couldn’t achieve his aims if Louisa was stirring up the Commons. Someone had to take her in hand.

  Which he could do. If he married her. God help him, but the idea of taking Louisa in hand stirred his blood. “So you will give Louisa to any man who will solve your problems with your ministers and with Parliament.”

  “Not any man.” George scowled. “But you always did like her—”

  “And you figured I’d take the bait.”

  At his dry tone, the king colored. “See here, I only kept the truth from you at first because I was afraid you wouldn’t do it if you knew how bad matters were.”

  Simon shoved away from the oak and dusted off his gloved hands. “When will you learn that I enjoy a good challenge?” Especially when it involved getting the king’s temptress of a daughter into bed. Permanently. “Of course, now that I know everything, I shall expect a greater reward than you originally offered.”

  The king trundled nearer, moonlight glinting off his silvered hair. “If you think I’ll pay you to marry my daughter, you greedy devil,
think again.”

  “I do not want money.”

  That mollified George a bit. “Then what do you want?”

  “Something more concrete than your vague promise to support me. You will make me prime minister, but you will do it on my schedule, under my terms.”

  His Majesty looked wary. “What do you mean?”

  “I will not wait on your indulgence ever again. By the time I marry, I expect you to have convinced Liverpool to resign as prime minister. On the day of my wedding, I expect you to hand me his resignation letter.”

  The king blanched. “What if it ends up being soon? I don’t know if I—”

  “You’d better, if you want me to keep Louisa from participating in that by-election.” When the king still looked uneasy, Simon added, “Don’t fret yourself—it will take me a while to win her. She is not an idiot; she knows she is treading dangerous ground. She will suspect any statesman who wants to marry her, especially me.”

  “True,” the king muttered.

  “Which is why you must stay away from me until she and I are engaged. I will have an easier time persuading her to marry me if she believes you are against it.” His tone sharpened. “You should not have any trouble pretending to disapprove of me—you were ready enough to wash your hands of me seven years ago.”

  A flush touched George’s fat cheeks. “I admit it—I shouldn’t have been so hasty to listen to Louisa’s suggestion of how to…discipline you for your error. But it won’t happen again. You’ll have me firmly in your camp this time.”

  “Good. Because the next time you give me the choice between exile or losing my future in politics, I will tell you to go to hell. So if I should happen to fail with Louisa, there will be no repercussions to me or my career, understood?”

  “You have my word.”

  “And no repercussions for her, either. If she won’t marry me, then you will not try to bribe any other man to court her.”

  “If you can’t have her, no one else gets her, is that it?”

  Anger knotted in Simon’s gut. “If I can’t have her, then she should be free to choose whomever she wants. Not some ass paid for by her scheming father.”

  “Watch it, Foxmoor,” George snapped, “I am still your king. If you think I shall let you dictate to me—”

  “Fine. It appears you don’t need me after all.” He turned to stride off.

  “Wait, damn you, wait,” the king cried.

  Simon halted.

  “All right, if you don’t marry her, I won’t foist any other man on her.”

  “And you’ll keep your idiot ministers from attempting to ruin her reputation,” Simon said as he faced the king.

  “I’ll do my best.” The king paused. “But you won’t fail with her, will you?”

  “No,” Simon said. “And you had better tell them that. I expect them to leave Louisa alone until I can secure her.” He scowled. “Because if I hear a single slur against her reputation, I will tear their tongues out by the roots. Understood?”

  An odd expression passed over His Majesty’s face. “Perfectly.”

  Simon gritted his teeth. He shouldn’t have said that; it revealed that he cared more for Louisa than he let on. And he damned well didn’t want the king to know it, or he’d lose his bargaining position. “It will not help my career to have a wife with a tarnished reputation.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.” The king broke into a broad smile. “By Jove, it’s good to have you back and in fine mettle. You always were my best advisor.”

  “I’m not done stating my terms,” Simon said.

  His Majesty sobered at once.

  Simon strolled back to the king. “Don’t let Draker get wind of this. As it is, he will probably oppose the match. So after she and I become engaged, you should profess yourself resigned to the marriage, and then use your influence over him to make him accept it, as well.”

  “You have more influence over his wife than I do over him,” the king muttered.

  “In any matter concerning me, he is not going to listen to my sister. But he might listen to you if you assure him I have changed. I will not have Draker for an enemy. In my absence, he has acquired a number of useful connections.” The sort who were more open to reforming England’s election system than Simon’s old cohorts.

  “I’ll do what I can with Draker.” George cast him a sullen glance. “Anything else? My favorite hounds? My collection of Rembrandts?”

  “Only one thing.” He forced himself to sound casual. “I have a friend whose career I have pledged to advance. I will expect you to support my efforts.”

  The king leaned heavily on his cane. “Who is this friend?”

  After hearing the king’s slur against his “half-caste aide-de-camp,” Simon wasn’t about to tell His Majesty the truth. “I’d rather not say until I have finished looking into his situation.”

  “You think I’ll promise to support some friend of yours without knowing who he is?”

  God, he hoped so. It would make fulfilling the vow he’d made to Colin’s wife so much easier. “You and I have always been on the same side politically. Surely no friend of mine would pose a problem for you.”

  “I don’t know,” the king said warily. “Your years in India might have given you any number of unsuitable friends.”

  “That’s the chance you’ll have to take if you want me to marry your daughter.” If Simon was going to cast himself headlong into the maelstrom that was Louisa North, then by God he would make the king give him what he wanted.

  His Majesty hesitated, then said, “Very well, you scheming scoundrel. I’ll support your friend if I must.”

  “I want this in writing, too,” Simon persisted. “Every single term.”

  The king looked startled. “Why the devil should you want that?”

  “Because if you renege on your agreement this time, I want something to show the newspapers.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” George snorted. “That would be political suicide.”

  “For you, too.” He fixed the king with a cool stare. “A written contract will bind us both. Because I refuse to suffer punishment on your behalf ever again.”

  “All right, you devil, all right. I’d hoped that sending you to India might curb that arrogance of yours, but apparently I was wrong.”

  “If you wanted to curb my arrogance, you shouldn’t have made me Governor-General of half a continent,” Simon pointed out.

  “True. After managing India, I dare say you can manage England with one hand tied behind your back. It’s what you were born to, after all.” A sudden gleam flashed in the king’s eyes. “But it remains to be seen if you can manage my daughter. Until you do, your chance to manage England is far down the road.”

  “Don’t worry. As you said, I made her fall in love with me once; I can damned well do it again. And a woman in love is easy to manage.”

  “As long as you don’t fall in love yourself.”

  A smile touched Simon’s lips at the impossibility of that notion. “Didn’t you claim I was incapable of love?”

  “Ah, but you’re still interested in Louisa after all these years, aren’t you?”

  If the king could be blunt, so could he. “There’s a difference between love and desire. You of all people should know that.”

  George frowned. “You’re talking about my daughter.”

  “Whom you are willing to sell to save your standing with Parliament,” Simon growled. “Your fatherly concern comes a bit late, don’t you think?”

  George flushed. “We’re both scoundrels in our own ways, I suppose. Though I still hope you mean to treat Louisa well.”

  “Of course. I would not marry her otherwise. But fortunately for your purposes, I am incapable of love.” Grandfather’s “training” and traitorous mistress Betsy had taught Simon only too well to wall up his heart.

  “Which is probably a good thing, since love is a luxury no statesman can afford.” In that, Grandfather Monteith had been right, ev
en if the man’s method for teaching it was suspect.

  The king sighed. “You do have a point. God knows love has never served me well.”

  And Simon would not allow love to ruin his own life and career. He would keep his obsession in its place. As long as he didn’t let Louisa wrap him about her finger, the two of them could have a comfortable, amiable, and honest marriage, the sort that would help him achieve his aims without being mired in hypocrisy, as his grandfather’s marriage had been.

  Because Simon meant to prove he could be a better prime minister—a better man—than his grandfather. Then perhaps he could silence the man’s insidious voice in his head once and for all.

  Chapter Five

  Dear Cousin,

  I daresay you are right about monkeys being unsuitable as reformers. But I am no longer sure that Louisa and Foxmoor are at odds, for they were strolling through the gardens at Castlemaine with seeming congeniality. So perhaps they have mended their fences.

  Your romantic-minded relation,

  Charlotte

  “Must the girls practice their scales in here?” Louisa rubbed her temples and prayed for patience. “I can hardly hear myself think over that infernal racket.”

  Mrs. Charlotte Harris’s head jerked up, sending her flaming curls aquiver, and Regina burst into laughter. Four days after Regina’s fete, they sat at a table in the largest classroom at Mrs. Harris’s School. Generally Mrs. Harris used it for the monthly teas where she presented her “Lessons for Heiresses” to her graduates on the marriage mart. Today the widow had generously offered the room to the London Ladies Society for their usual Saturday morning meeting.

  Morning had long passed, so most of the other members had left. But Louisa was determined to cross one item of business off her list, despite her friend Lady Venetia Campbell’s musical prodigies and their racket.

  “I can’t endure this one more minute.” Louisa jumped up, prepared to send the girls packing, then caught the knowing glance Regina shot Mrs. Harris.

  “You owe me a shilling,” Regina said to her friend. “I told you she wouldn’t last until the end.”