She snatched her hands away and schooled her mouth back to stern sobriety. “This is serious. We shouldn’t be laughing now.”
“We should always laugh. No one knows better than you that life is grim, so all the more reason why we must find happiness where we can. Let me count the ways in which your mother would find me wanting as an alliance for her daughter. I am an Irishman who made a living in trade. I tried to seduce the wife of my former best friend. What else, oh yes! In many years I never wrote a single letter to my sisters in Ireland. I could go on, but you know my sins and I don’t want to confess to any that somehow escaped your notice.”
“I didn’t know about seducing the wife.”
“Condemned out of my own mouth. I won’t say another word but you can ask Lady Windermere.”
Julian was far too clever. His foolishness had eaten away at her defenses and she was drowning in love.
“And now I’m going to ask you something and I want you to answer seriously.”
“J’écoute.”
“If you won’t marry me, why? Is it because you don’t love me and cannot forgive me for the past?”
She owed him the truth but she would not look at him when she gave it. Turning her back, she took a deep breath. “I’m not even sure there is anything to forgive and I do love you. I loved you almost from the start and I’ve been lost in love with you for many weeks.”
“But? There’s a but. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I don’t have the courage. I am afraid of what the world will say. I am afraid that Sir Richard Radcliffe and Lady Ashfield will tell everyone I am a putain and I will disgrace you and your sisters.”
“Do you believe yourself a whore?”
She’d thought about that question a lot over the years and had come to be certain of the answer. “No. I am not ashamed to have done what I had to do to live. In the end Louis paid and that is what matters.”
“I don’t believe it either. I am not without allies and there is a lot I can do to silence the gossip. I can’t promise there will never be whispers, but anyone who slanders you will answer to me.”
She spun around on her heel. “Fool! Don’t you see that’s what I fear the most? You will fight a duel and die. It is better to have no one than suffer the pain of losing those you love.”
“Jane,” he said, his deep tones vibrant with love and understanding. “Have some faith in me. If I’ve proved anything over the years it is that I am hard to kill.”
“I cannot.” Her breath shortened and she felt the onset of panic. Backing away, she fended him off with her palms.
“Where’s my brave girl who’s afraid of nothing?”
She had lost the courage that had borne her upright for so long and she despised her weakness. “I don’t want to be brave anymore,” she shouted. “I’m sick of it.” She stumbled back a few yards, fighting to suppress her sobs. She’d done nothing but weep for two days, shed so many tears she should be a dried-up husk. “Leave me alone.”
Letting the parasol fall, she covered her face with her hands until her breathing returned to normal and she looked back at Julian who waited without a word.
Behind him the river flowed peacefully and his black figure was stark against the summer greens, his stance eloquent of dejection, unlike the unlimited confidence and arrogance she was used to. Bound up in her own feelings, she’d ignored those of the man she loved. She shied from commitment to a future because she feared losing him. Julian had already pledged his heart and she had made him suffer. She wasn’t just a coward but a cruel one.
Stiffening her back as her mother had taught her, she walked toward him in the Versailles glide, her head held high so that she could see his transformation from despair to delight. The sight sent her heart soaring, free at last from the snare of doubt.
“Monsieur le Duc,” she said with a deep curtsey, and walked into his arms, embracing happiness with the man she would love forever. With incoherent words of joy he gathered her close and accepted the invitation of her smile.
How long they would have remained kissing in the sunshine, she didn’t know. Forever, perhaps, or until they could decently retire to bed. But the terrier pack hunted them down.
“Julian!” Fenella called.
“Miss Grey!” That was Laura. Maria, when Jane reluctantly pulled away so he kept her only in a loose clasp, was blushing deep scarlet and averting her eyes from the shocking sight.
“Are you going to be married?” Fenella went straight to the point.
“I hope so. You are going to accept me, aren’t you, my love?” Julian asked.
“You have to,” Fenella said. “You were kissing.” The other two nodded.
“I suppose I must then,” Jane answered.
“Hurrah!” Laura said. “You can stay our governess forever.”
“She will be much too busy being my wife to teach you hellions,” Julian said firmly. “I shall engage a new teacher for you, a strict one. Miss Grey was far too indulgent.”
“Quite right,” Jane said. “Your brother had no idea of the qualifications of a good governess, otherwise he would never have engaged me.”
“I knew,” Julian said, pulling her closer. “The moment I set eyes on you I knew you were perfect.”
Epilogue
Eight years later, 1810
Lady Ashfield to her daughter
The talk of the town this week is the opening of the Denford Picture Gallery, built by the duke and duchess to house the collection of the duchess’s unfortunate family and presented to the nation. No one would miss the event since the dear duchess is London’s most popular hostess. I hear the patronesses of Almack’s are beside themselves with anxiety lest she turn down the offer to join their ranks. If Jane Denford snubs them, others will surely follow.
One couple certainly will not attend. My dear, I must tell you that Lady Belinda Radcliffe was discovered in what I discreetly call a submissive position with Lord Yarmouth in a closet at Lady Beaufetheringstone’s ball. Sir Richard is quite disgraced and has been dismissed from all his offices for reasons that are not entirely clear. My informants tell me (and they are usually right) that Denford and Windermere have something to do with the matter.
I have told you often that one should never give anyone the cold shoulder because one doesn’t know how fortunes will change. That a pair of rogues like Julian Fortescue and Marcus Lithgow should now be Duke of Denford and Earl of Camber, respectively, is enough to make me believe in democracy. That Caro Townsend is the highly respectable Duchess of Castleton is enough to make me believe in miracles. And the fact that I have to be polite to that nouveau riche merchant’s niece Cynthia Windermere just because she is dear friends with Jane Denford is enough to make me grind my teeth.
Julian stood in the airy marble hall designed by John Soane for the display of sculpture, his duchess at his side, welcoming every notable artist and collector in London, as well as the cream of the ton, to the Denford Picture Gallery. Soon after their marriage Jane had announced her intention of giving her family collection to the British nation, a move that helped everyone to forget any shadow over her name. Julian had no doubt, however, that she was admired and influential because of her beauty, intelligence, and wit, the same qualities that made him grateful every day and kept him enthralled eight years after they met.
He watched her charm Cazalet and Bridges, both trying to hide their chagrin that they were not the heroes of the day. Among other advantages of having a wife everyone adored was being allowed to retain his sardonic pose. He’d grown his hair again and still dressed in black to intimidate the unsuspecting. Only Jane knew that his heart was as soft as their infant son’s cheek. Perhaps his sisters knew too. And his two young daughters had him wound around their tiny fingers.
“Mr. Soane consulted the duke at every stage,” Jane said, laying a hand on his arm and tilting her head at him. She was too modest; they’d worked with the architect together. “We hope to set a new standard for the display
of paintings. You must tell me what you think of the ceiling lights in the Raphael Gallery.”
Next to greet them were a group of their oldest and closest friends: the Windermeres; Marcus and
Anne Lithgow, now Lord and Lady Camber;
and Caro, the irrepressible Duchess of Castleton, with her adoring, staid husband.
A little way off Mrs. Oliver Bream was surrounded by half a dozen wealthy self-made men, none of whom bought so much as a print without Mrs. Bream’s say-so. Julian was damn glad he no longer had to make his living selling pictures: Bridges constantly complained about Henrietta Bream scotching sales to her collectors. Every now and then she would kindly allow one of them to pay a breathtaking price for her husband’s latest canvas. Oliver, in attire matching his prosperity but his hair still a bushy mop, gave Henrietta’s group a wide berth and joined his friends.
“Caro! Castleton!” Oliver kissed the duchess on both cheeks but had no need to greet Anne and Cynthia, having joined the rest of his friends for breakfast that morning at Windermere House. No longer a starving artist, he sometimes dropped in at mealtimes out of habit. He looked around warily. “You haven’t brought your children, have you?” Oliver constantly complained about the group portrait Caro had made him paint of her little imps.
“They’re at Hanover Square with the other children,” Caro said. “I thought you could go over later and do a first sketch for a conversation piece: the next generation of the Townsend set.”
Oliver blanched. “How many is that? You each have two or three, at least.”
“I have five,” Anne Camber said.
“Don’t forget the dogs. We all have dogs.”
“You are joking, aren’t you, Caro?”
“Perhaps.” Caro smiled evilly. Years of practice meant she knew just how to drive Oliver mad.
“I see my father-in-law beckoning,” Oliver said hastily and scampered off, leaving the rest of them in gales of laughter.
“My dear Anne,” Marcus said. “Last time I counted we had only three. Do you have an extra couple of children hidden away somewhere?”
“I couldn’t resist.”
Caro giggled. “Lady Ashfield always said Marcus would destroy Anne’s morals, and look at her: inventing offspring out of whole cloth. I, on the other hand, have become sadly virtuous.” She turned to Castleton, a duke whose dry exterior disguised his sense of humor. Julian liked him enormously. “When was the last time I did anything irresponsible, Thomas?” she asked with a provocative smile.
Red tinged the ridge of Castleton’s cheekbones. “This morning . . . you suggested we all go to Vauxhall Gardens and drink too much champagne.”
“And so we shall. It looks to be a fine night for getting lost in the paths off the Dark Walk. And yet what could be more respectable than erring with one’s own husband?”
Jane, who had been following the nonsense with an amused smile, took Julian’s hand. “I’m sorry, Caro, to be a bourgeoise, but I don’t permit Julian to be lost with anyone but me.”
Caro sighed. “I am the same. What a dull pair of duchesses we are. Such is the penalty of marital bliss.”
Author’s Note
Despite numerous efforts to establish a public art collection in Britain, the National Gallery in London wasn’t founded until 1824, coincidentally on the site of the Royal Stables, which make an appearance in this book. Julian’s efforts to sell his collection were inspired by the attempts of dealers Noel Desenfans and Francis Bourgeois to sell a readymade collection, first to the King of Poland and later to George III. Bourgeois ended up donating the pictures to Dulwich College and commissioned the architect John Soane to build a state-of-the-art gallery to house them. The result was the Dulwich Picture Gallery, opened in 1817, England’s oldest public art gallery.
Attempts to rescue the young Dauphin have often been depicted in novels, most notably Eldorado, Baroness Orczy’s sequel to The Scarlet Pimpernel. The young prince died in prison in 1795.
Some readers may recognize the story Jane tells Julian about the contessa, adapted from The Marquise of O by Heinrich von Kleist. Kleist’s novella was published in 1808 so Jane could not have read it. I choose to imagine that the story was a true one and somehow made the rounds in early nineteenth-century Paris.
For their help and advice with this book I thank Kathy Greer, Jill Tuennerman, Susan Hanewald, Leslie Carroll, Lauren Willig, Megan Mulry, Chelsey Emmelhainz and the team at Avon Books, Meredith Bernstein, and the many friends and relatives, e-mailers and tweeters, who kept me somewhat sane as I brought the Wild Quartet series to a close.
The Duke of Dark Desires concludes the stories of Caro and her friends. Earlier books are The Importance of Being Wicked (Caro Townsend and Thomas, Duke of Castleton), The Ruin of a Rogue (Anne Brotherton and Marcus Lithgow), and Lady Windermere’s Lover (Damian and Cynthia Windermere). In addition, there is a prequel novella, The Second Seduction of a Lady.
As I say good-bye to these characters, I’d like to thank my readers, whether they’ve been with me for the whole journey or joined me late for Julian and Jane’s story. Without you there would be no reason to write.
Best wishes,
Miranda
About the Author
MIRANDA NEVILLE grew up in England before moving to New York City to work in Sotheby’s rare books department.
After many years as a journalist and editor, she decided writing fiction was more fun. She lives in Vermont. She loves hearing from readers and may be reached through her website, www.MirandaNeville.com.
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Romances by Miranda Neville
THE DUKE OF DARK DESIRES
LADY WINDERMERE'S LOVER
THE RUIN OF A ROGUE
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING WICKED
CONFESSIONS FROM AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE
THE AMOROUS EDUCATION OF CELIA SEATON
THE DANGEROUS VISCOUNT
THE WILD MARQUIS
NEVER RESIST TEMPTATION
From Avon Impulse
THE SECOND SEDUCTION OF A LADY: A NOVELLA
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE DUKE OF DARK DESIRES. Copyright © 2015 by Miranda Neville. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JANUARY 2015 ISBN: 9780062243355
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062243348
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Authors-Note
About the Author
Romances by Miranda Neville
Copyright
About the Publisher
The Duke of Dark Desires Page 28
