“Stonehenge is awe-inspiring,” the countess said.
He thought Julianne far more awe-inspiring, but he dutifully looked on as she turned the page. “Those are some big rocks.”
Julianne laughed and swatted him. “You’ve not changed a bit.”
He met her gaze. But you have, Julie-girl.
Heavy footsteps thudded outside the drawing room doors, drawing his attention. Everyone stood as Lady Rutledge, his great-aunt Hester, lumbered inside. Gray sausage curls peeked out from a green turban with tall feathers. She took one look at Hawk’s mother and scowled. “Louisa, that statue is hideous. If you want a naked man, find yourself one who is breathing.”
Hawk’s mouth worked with the effort not to laugh out loud.
“Hester, please mind your words.” The countess fanned her heated face.
“Bah.” Hester winked at Hawk. “Come give your aunt a kiss, you rogue.”
When he obliged, she muttered, “You’re the only sensible one in the bunch.”
Tristan bowed to her. “Lady Rutledge.”
Hester eyed him appreciatively. “Shelbourne, you handsome devil. I heard you wasted no time getting your duchess with child.”
His mother and younger sisters gasped. Patience cleared her throat. “Aunt Hester, we do not speak of such indelicate matters.”
Hester snorted and kept her knowing gaze on Tristan. “I heard your duchess has gumption. She’ll bring your child into the world without mishap, mark my words.”
Hawk considered his wily old aunt with a fond smile. Eccentric she might be, but she’d sought to reassure his old friend. And for that alone, he adored her.
He led Hester over to a chair and stood beside her. Her wide rump barely fit between the arms. After adjusting her plumes, she held her quizzing glass up to her eye and inspected Julianne.
“Aunt Hester, you remember Lady Julianne,” Patience said, as if speaking to a child. “She is Shelbourne’s sister.”
“I know who she is.” Hester dropped her quizzing glass. “Why are you still unwed, gel?”
Julianne blushed. “I am waiting for the right gentleman.”
“I heard you turned down a dozen proposals since your come-out. Is it true?”
“I’ve not kept count,” Julianne murmured.
Hester snorted. “There were so many you cannot recall?”
Noting Julianne’s disconcerted expression, Hawk intervened. “Mama, I understand we’ve a bit of a problem. Grandmamma is claiming illness again, is she?”
His mother and sisters protested they must assume Grandmamma was truly ill. Finally, Aunt Hester interrupted. “Oh, hush, Louisa. You know very well my sister is only seeking attention.”
“Hester, how can you say such a thing?” the countess said.
“Because she makes a habit of it.” Hester sniffed. “I suppose you and your girls are planning to hare off to Bath on a fool’s errand again.”
“We cannot take a risk,” Patience said. “If Grandmamma took a bad turn, we would never forgive ourselves.”
“She ought to come to town where she can be near the family. I offered to share my home with her, but she refuses to leave her cronies in Bath,” Hester said.
“She is set in her ways.” Hawk grinned down at his aunt. “Few ladies are as adventurous as you.”
“True,” Hester said, preening.
The countess gave him a beseeching look. “Will you write William to inform him?”
“I’m not sure of his address at present,” Hawk said. His younger brother had been traveling on the Continent for more than a year. “Do not worry, Mama. He’ll tire of wandering and come home eventually.”
Montague, Patience’s husband, lowered his newspaper. “He would come home soon enough if you cut him off without a penny.”
Hawk ignored his least favorite brother-in-law. “What of Julianne? Her brother brought her all this way. Mama, can you not stay behind?”
“Oh, I could not ask such a thing,” Julianne said. “I can stay with either Amy or Georgette. My friends’ mothers would welcome me, I’m sure.”
Aunt Hester turned to Hawk. “Her friends’ mothers will be too busy with their own girls. I will sponsor Julianne. She will be the toast of the season.”
A long silence followed. Hawk’s mother and sisters regarded one another with barely concealed dismay. They thought Hester a few cards shy of a full deck, but he knew his aunt was prodigiously clever, if a bit blunt in her manners.
The countess cleared her throat. “Hester, dear, that is too kind of you, but perhaps you have not thought of how exhausting all those entertainments will be.”
“I’m never tired, Louisa,” she said. “I shall enjoy sponsoring the gel. She’s pretty enough and seems lively. I’ll have her engaged in a matter of weeks.”
Tristan eyed Hester. “We’re in no hurry for Julianne to marry. She’s young yet.”
Hester looked at Julianne. “How old are you, gel?”
“One and twenty,” she said.
“The perfect age for marriage,” Hester said. “Now that the matter is settled, let us go to dinner. I’m starved.”
• • •
After the ladies withdrew from the dining room, Hawk brought out the port. His sisters’ husbands exchanged meaningful glances. Tristan kept silent, but watched them with a guarded expression.
Montague folded his small hands on the table and addressed Hawk. “Lady Julianne cannot stay with Hester. Your aunt’s bold manners and rebellious ideas would be a bad influence on the girl.”
Hawk met Tristan’s gaze. “Join me in the study?”
Tristan nodded.
They both rose. When Hawk claimed a candle branch from the sideboard, Montague scrambled up from the table. “Patience will stay behind and look after Julianne.”
“My sister is determined to go to Bath,” Hawk said. “She will not rest easy unless she sees our grandmother is well.” The last thing he wanted was to expose Julianne to his sister’s acrimonious marriage.
“You know very well your grandmother feigns illness,” Montague said. “If your mother and sisters refused to go, that would put a stop to this nonsense.”
Hawk realized Montague had seized the opportunity to keep his wife at home. The man constantly queried Patience about her whereabouts and upbraided her if she even spoke to another man. “I’ll discuss the matter with Shelbourne. Gentlemen, enjoy your port.”
He had started to turn away when Montague’s voice halted him.
“Damn you, Hawk. Someone needs to take responsibility for the girl.”
Hawk strode round the table and loomed over his brother-in-law. “You’ve no say in the matter.” Then he lowered his voice. “You will remember my warning.”
Montague glared, but held his tongue. Hawk gave him an evil smile. At Christmas, the man had made one too many disparaging remarks about Patience. Hawk had taken him aside and threatened to beat him to a bloody pulp if he ever treated her disrespectfully again.
As he and Tristan strode away, Hawk muttered, “Bastard.”
“Montague resents your political influence, your fortune, and your superior height. He feels inferior and engages in pissing matches to prove he’s manly.”
Hawk wished Montague to the devil. The man had campaigned for his sister’s hand and showered her with affection. He’d shown his true colors shortly after the wedding.
When they walked into the study, the scent of leather permeated the room. Hawk set the candle branch on the mantel and slumped into one of the cross-framed chairs before the huge mahogany desk. The grate was empty, making the room cold. He never made use of the study. Years ago, he’d taken rooms at the Albany. His family had disapproved, but he’d needed to escape his father’s stranglehold.
Tristan surveyed the surroundings and sat next to Hawk. “The study is virtually unchanged since your father’s death.”
He’d died suddenly of a heart seizure eight years ago, closing off any chance of reconciliation between th
em. A foolish thought. There was nothing he could have done to change his father’s opinion of him.
“Your father was a good man,” Tristan said. “His advice was invaluable to me.”
“He admired you,” Hawk said. Tristan had singlehandedly restored his fortune after discovering his late wastrel father had left him in monstrous debt.
“I envied your freedom,” Tristan said.
“I had an easy time compared to you.” Hawk’s father had never let him forget it, either. Unbidden, the words his father had spoken more than a dozen years ago echoed in his brain. Do you even know how much it will cost to satisfy Westcott’s honor?
He mentally slammed the door on the memory. “Old boy, if you prefer, take your sister to one of her friends. I’ll make excuses to my aunt.”
Tristan shook his head. “Your aunt is right. Their mothers should concentrate on their own daughters.”
“My aunt is a cheeky old bird, but she’s harmless enough. Hester will enjoy squiring Julianne about town.”
Tristan glanced sideways at Hawk. “I’ve a favor to ask.”
A strange presentiment washed over Hawk. He’d known Tristan since they were in leading strings, because their mothers were bosom friends. At Eton, he and Tristan had banded together to evade the older boys who liked to torment the younger ones. Hawk knew his friend well, but he’d no idea what his friend intended to ask of him.
Tristan drew in a breath. “Will you act as my sister’s unofficial guardian?”
Hawk laughed. “Me, a guardian? Surely you jest.”
“As soon as the fortune hunters discover I’m out of the picture, they’ll hover like vultures over Julianne.”
“Your sister has been out in society for four years. She’s too clever to fall for a fortune hunter’s wiles.”
“She’s naïve. I won’t feel easy unless a solid man is there to protect her from rakes.”
“But I’m a rake,” he sputtered.
Tristan regarded him with a stern expression. “But of course, you think of Julianne as practically a sister.”
He understood the warning beneath Tristan’s words. Among rakes, it was a point of honor to avoid virginal young ladies, especially friends’ sisters. An image of Julianne’s pert bosom rose in his mind. No, his regard for her was definitely not brotherly in nature. Knowing he couldn’t trust himself with her, he sought to put Tristan off. “There’s no need for a guardian. My aunt will look after her.”
Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should stay in London to watch over Julianne, but I cannot bear to leave my wife. No matter what I do, I’ll feel as if I’ve wronged one of them.”
The devil. Tristan had never asked for a favor before. He was like a brother to him. Damn it all. He couldn’t refuse. “Anything for you, old boy.”
“Thank you.”
Hawk swore he would resist Julianne. Each time he felt stirrings of desire, he would envision Tristan’s reaction. That would douse any lusty urges.
“There’s one more thing,” Tristan said. “You’re not going to like it.”
He lifted his brows. “Oh?”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “You will give up raking for the duration of the season.”
He laughed. “What?”
“You heard me. There will be no ballerinas, actresses, or courtesans. Call them what you will, but you will not associate with whores while guarding my sister.”
He scoffed. “It’s not as if I’d flaunt a mistress in your sister’s face.”
“Your liaisons are famous.” Tristan tapped his thumb on the arm of the chair. “I’ve often suspected you delight in your bad reputation.”
He made jests about mistresses, jests that everyone including his friend believed. While he was no angel, Hawk couldn’t possibly live up—or was that down?—to the exaggerated reports about his conquests.
Hawk shook his head. “I’ll not agree to celibacy.” He’d be in a bloody frenzy then, wouldn’t he? A frenzy that would make resisting Julie-girl all the more difficult. Of course, he’d never admit that to his friend.
“You don’t even try to be discreet. Julianne adores you like a brother. I don’t want her disillusioned.”
“I’ll keep my liaisons quiet,” Hawk grumbled. He’d better forget the ménage à trois with Nell and Nancy. It rather aggrieved him, since he’d never dallied with two women at once, but he couldn’t possibly keep that sort of wicked business under the proverbial covers.
“Agreed,” Tristan said. “Write periodically and let me know how my sister fares.”
“I’ll tell her to ignore Hester,” Hawk said. “She’ll grow accustomed to my aunt’s blunt manners.”
“When the babe is born, bring her home to me.” He smiled. “Tessa already asked Julianne to be godmother. Will you be godfather?”
A knot formed in his chest, but he forced a laugh. “You would trust a rogue like me with your child?
“There is no one I trust more than you, my friend.”
He cut his gaze away, knowing he didn’t deserve his friend’s regard.
Acknowledgments
Every book is a journey, but a first book is special. With hand to heart, I wish to thank all the special people who took this journey with me in one form or another.
My deepest gratitude to my extremely talented editor, Michele Bidelspach. Michele, I am awed by the transformation your insights helped me to achieve with this book. xoxoxo
Heartfelt thanks to my fabulous agent, Lucienne Diver. We were fated to meet by accident—twice. I feel like the luckiest author in the world to have landed you as my agent.
Muchas gracias (and many margaritas) to Kristi Gold, who never stopped believing in me. Merci beaucoup to Karen Burns and Ellen Watkins for laughing so hard at the sheep scene; that day I dared to hope I just might sell the book.
Thanks to all the wonderful friends who supported me on this journey: Sharie, Tera, Gerry, Jan, Pat K and Pat R, Laurie, Jo Anne, Kimber, Kerry, MJ, Sandy, Michele L, and Vicky. To my friends at WHRWA, the Beau Monde, 100 Words a Day, the River Rats, and GIAMX4. For an unforgettable moment, my thanks to my DARA friends, who cheered my first sale in the Executive Conference Room at the RWA Conference in D.C.
Most of all, my love and thanks to my supportive family: Mom, Daniel, Regina, and Jonathan.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Vicky Dreiling
Dear Reader,
The idea for HOW TO MARRY A DUKE came about purely by chance. One fateful evening while surfing 800+ channels on TV, I happened upon a reality show featuring a hunky bachelor and twenty-five beauties competing for his heart. As I watched the antics, a story idea popped into my head: the bachelor in Regency England (minus the hot tub and camera crew). The call to this writing adventure proved too irresistible to ignore.
During the planning stages of the book, I encountered numerous obstacles. Even the language presented challenges that meant creating substitutes such as bridal candidates for bachelorettes. Obviously, I needed to concoct alternatives to steamy smooching in the hot tub and overnight dates. But regardless of the century, some things never change. I figured catfights were fair game.
Before I could plunge into the writing, I had to figure out who the hero and heroine were. I picked up my imaginary remote control and surfed until I found Miss Tessa Mansfield, a wealthy, independent young woman with a penchant for matchmaking. In the short preview, she revealed that she only made love matches for all the ignored wallflowers. She, however, had no intention of ever marrying. By now I was on the edge of my seat. “Why?” I asked.
The preview ended, leaving me desperate to find out more. So I changed the metaphorical channel and nearly swooned at my first glimpse of Tristan Gatewick, the Duke of Shelbourne. England’s Most Eligible Bachelor turned out to be the yummiest man I’d ever beheld. Evidently I wasn’t alone in my ardent appreciation. Every eligible belle in the Beau Monde was vying to win his heart.
I smiled at him. “Actually, I know someone who can help you.”
He scoffed.
I thought better of telling him he was about to meet his match.
Cheers!
www.vickydreiling.net
From the desk of Carolyn Jewel
Dear Reader,
Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold. If you wait a bit before getting your payback, if you’re calm and rational, you’ll be in a better position to enjoy that sweet revenge. The downside, of course, is what can happen to you while you spend all this time plotting and planning. Some emotions shouldn’t be left to fester in your soul.
Gray Spencer is a woman looking to serve up revenge while the embers are still glowing. She has reason. She does. Her normal, everyday life got derailed by a mage—a human who can do magic. Christophe dit Menart is a powerful mage with a few hundred years of living on her. Because of him, her life has been destroyed. Not just her life, but also the lives of her sister and parents.
After she gets her freedom at a terrible cost, the only thing Gray wants is Christophe dit Menart dead for what he did—before he does the same horrific thing to someone else that he did to her.
I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. A normal, nonmagical human like Gray can’t hope to go up against someone like Christophe. But Gray’s not normal—not anymore. She escaped because a demon gave his life for her and in the process transferred his magic to her. If she had any idea how to use that magic, she might have a chance against Christophe. Maybe.
How to Marry a Duke Page 34
