The Illegitimate Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  Dedication

  To my ambassadors

  Thank you for your constant support!

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  By Sophie Barnes

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Stepping forward in time to the music, Juliette Matthews held her dance partner’s hand as delicately as she’d been instructed. Overhead, two massive chandeliers cast a brilliant glow across the Hawthorne House ballroom, the light from a thousand candles bouncing off gemstones and beadwork. It was a crush, the first ball of the Season, with footmen balancing trays of champagne and little iced cakes that looked a lot better than they actually tasted.

  Ladies paraded about like birds showing off their colorful plumage while gentlemen stood in small groups discussing political issues or whatever it was men liked to talk about. Juliette wasn’t entirely sure, except for the fact that this appeared to be the subject of recent conversations between her brother, Raphe, the Duke of Huntley, and her sister Amelia’s husband, the Duke of Coventry.

  Skipping along the line of dancers while executing the complicated steps she’d been taught, Juliette considered how different her life was now from what it had been only one year earlier. Having spent most of her life in the slums of St. Giles, she wondered if she appreciated her good fortune more than her peers. After all, she knew what it was to go hungry, to live in squalor with not enough money for firewood in the winter or to pay a physician’s fee whenever she’d been sick.

  “You look enchanting this evening,” the Earl of Yates declared while leading her in a series of tight little circles. His eyes sparkled with deep appreciation.

  Juliette liked him and always enjoyed his company, so she smiled at him warmly while saying, “And you look as dashing as usual, my lord.”

  His hand closed more firmly around hers and his gaze dropped ever so slightly. Enough to replace the contentment she found in his company with something she instantly recognized as deep discomfort.

  “Perhaps we ought to discuss how wonderful we both look while taking a tour of the room,” he said when the music was over and he was leading her away from the dance floor. His smile hadn’t changed, and yet, the brief consideration he’d given her mouth, the tightening of his hand and the way his gaze had seemed to darken, urged Juliette to decline the invitation.

  Because as much as she favored his company, she didn’t want more than friendship from him, and she was becoming increasingly worried he might not feel the same way.

  “You are always so attentive toward me, which I appreciate,” she began, hoping to let him down easy, “but I would like to visit the ladies’ retiring room. If you don’t mind.”

  His smile faded and the glow in his eyes dimmed. “Of course not.” He guided her toward the periphery of the room, stepped back and gave a curt, yet respectful bow. “I thank you for the dance, Lady Juliette.” Glancing over her shoulder, he said with a touch of dry humor, “It looks as though your friend is here to save you.”

  Turning, Juliette looked in the direction Yates indicated and found her good friend, Miss Vivien Saunders, coming toward them.

  “Did I chase his lordship away?” Vivien asked when she was within speaking distance. Her aunt’s marriage to a baron was what ensured her entry into Society, even though said baron had long since died and his widow was in financial straits. As for Vivien herself, she had few prospects and little hope of marrying a man with a title.

  Juliette returned her attention to Yates only to see his retreating back disappearing into the crowd. She sighed as she linked her arm with Vivien’s. Together, they headed toward the door leading out into the hallway where the ladies’ retiring room was located. “I’m afraid I upset him.”

  “I sincerely doubt that, Julie. You’re always kind and considerate toward others.”

  Juliette scrunched her nose. “I may have made up an excuse not to walk with him after our dance.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” Juliette glanced across at her friend. “What on earth does that mean?”

  “Well . . . the man obviously likes you. A lot. And you do seem to like him as well, considering how much you smile and laugh when you are together.”

  Juliette thought about that for a second. “Am I supposed to pretend not to like dancing with a gentleman simply to avoid making him think I might be encouraging a courtship?”

  Vivien squeezed the right side of her face together as if it required great effort to answer that question. “Pretty much. I think. Although I’m really no expert.”

  They entered the retiring room where two other young women were fixing their hair in front of a mirror. “Why can’t a man and a woman be friends without either expecting more?” Juliette whispered to Vivien while one of the other women in the room giggled in response to something her friend had said.

  “Perhaps because it’s called the marriage mart,” Vivien suggested, moving to a screened-off seating area and lowering herself to a comfy-looking settee.

  Juliette remained standing, too agitated to stay still. She crossed her arms and eyed her friend. “Well, it’s a shame.” She held Vivien’s gaze before throwing up her hands and dropping onto the vacant spot beside her. “Not only did I fabricate an excuse to avoid spending time with a man whom I genuinely like, but now I have to sit in here for a good ten minutes or more so it doesn’t look like I lied to him. Even though he probably knows I did.”

  “Don’t worry.” Vivien patted her hand. “It will all work itself out in the end.”

  “Will it?” Juliette wasn’t so sure. She’d suffered the hurtful remarks other young ladies had whispered behind her back, endured the most exasperating lessons in etiquette and tried to fit in as best as she could, but there were days when she wondered about the point of it all.

  “—I mean, to think we could be so lucky is almost too much,” one of the women on the other side of the screen was saying. “Our debuts looked positively dismal with no chance to snatch up a duke.”

  “Until now, that is,” the other woman said in a dreamy voice that made Juliette roll her eyes. She glanced at Vivien and had to force down a laugh.

  “Can you believe our good fortune?” the first woman said.

  “Well, he’s not a duke yet. Is he?”

  Juliette straightened and tilted her head. They were obviously talking about Florian Lowell, the physician Raphe had sent for when she’d been sick with the measles the previous year. News of his recent change in status had been the subject of great discussion at Huntley House the previous evening when Raphe had returned home with the announcement.

  Juliette still wasn’t sure she understood how the title or the inheritance had come about, but it did look as though Florian would one day outrank his older brother, Mr. L
owell, who was set to become Viscount Armswell one day.

  “Either way, I could easily get used to the idea of marrying Florian,” one of the women was saying. “He’s ever so handsome.”

  Both women burst into giggles. Muted whispers followed and then the sound of the door opening and closing plunged the room into silence. Juliette looked at Vivien and grinned. “Well, I wish them luck. In truth I don’t believe I’ve ever met a man more unapproachable than Florian.”

  “He does look rather starched,” Vivien muttered. She stood and adjusted her gown. “Mind you, I’ve only seen him once or twice, so I could be wrong.”

  “No. I don’t believe you are. In fact, my impression of him is not much different. He’s an excellent physician who seems to take his work very seriously. One cannot fault him for that, though I do wonder what it might be like to see him smile.”

  “Do you now?” Vivien asked with a smirk as the two returned to the hallway and started making their way back toward the ballroom.

  Juliette nudged her friend with her shoulder. “Oh, you know what I mean, Viv!”

  “All I know is that you wondering what it might be like to see him smile will likely pester you until you find a way to make it happen.” They entered the ballroom. “Of all the people I have ever known, none are as determined as you when you set your mind to something.”

  “Well I—” A wave of chatter cut Juliette’s thought process short. She glanced around, aware of the agitation rolling through the ballroom like tremors threatening to toss all the guests up into the air. “What on earth is going on?”

  “Look,” someone said as Juliette pushed her way between a few people, pulling Vivien along by her hand.

  “There he is,” another voice muttered.

  Shouldering her way past a cluster of women who craned their heads and stared toward the ballroom entrance, Juliette caught a sudden and very unexpected glimpse of the man she and Vivien had just been discussing.

  Florian.

  Her breath caught and her heart slammed hard against her chest. Because there he was and dear God if he didn’t look superb! Dressed in evening black, his copper streaked hair was neatly combed, though a single stray lock slashed roguishly across his brow. She’d never seen him like this before. The last time they’d met at a ball he’d been wearing an unremarkable suit cut from brown wool, if memory served. Now, however, he looked like the dukely title would fit him as well as the perfectly tailored jacket and trousers he wore. They seemed to accentuate his masculine physique in a way she’d never considered. It was almost as if his shoulders were broader, his build a little taller and . . .

  Juliette blinked. No. She would not be like all the other silly girls swarming toward him and vying for his attention. He was just a man, after all, even if he was capable of saving the sick and putting a broken body back together again, which was admittedly something to be admired. But that didn’t mean she would ever be able to look past his stern demeanor or want anything from him besides medical advice and possibly friendship.

  And yet, while she thought of all this, Florian’s head turned in her direction and his gaze locked with hers. Juliette’s pulse leapt and an unfamiliar flutter filled her stomach.

  She sucked in a breath and deliberately turned away. Fresh air was what she needed, that was all. The stuffy heat in the ballroom had obviously affected her senses. So with this in mind, she maneuvered her way toward the French doors and slipped out onto the terrace, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool night air cleared her head.

  Florian stared at the spot where Lady Juliette had just been. A strange sense of relief had driven its way through his limbs the moment he’d seen her. Because she’d been a welcome excuse, a means for him to escape the clamoring attention he’d faced when he’d entered the ballroom. But rather than come and greet him, she’d turned away, leaving him to his attackers.

  “My daughter would love to dance the waltz with you,” an overeager mama insisted while shoving a dance card under his nose.

  “Would she really?” He frowned at the woman who merely returned an expectant stare. “I do not waltz, Madam.”

  His dry tone had little effect. “The cotillion then?”

  Florian knew that he would be labeled inconsiderate if he denied her request. So he reached for the pencil and reluctantly scribbled his name, which only encouraged others to be equally persistent.

  “Would you like me to save you?” his brother, Henry, popularly known as Mr. Lowell, asked as he sidled up next to him.

  Florian cut him a look. “I doubt even you can accomplish such a feat.”

  “Nonsense. All you need is a little charm, which I happen to have in ample supply.” He waggled his brows which prompted a lady or two to snicker while Florian himself rolled his eyes. “Ladies,” Henry proceeded, “my brother has had such a trying day. Please take pity on him and allow him a moment to get his bearings. The Season has only just begun, after all, so there will be ample opportunity for all of you to secure the dances you want.”

  Florian gave his brother a scowl. He wanted to nip this developing disaster in the bud before one of them started expecting more than he was prepared to deliver.

  And yet, his brother’s words must have struck some feminine chord, because the sea of expectant faces waiting before him became one of sympathetic understanding. Miraculously, they even began dispersing, allowing Florian the freedom to move further into the ballroom. He turned to Henry. “I have to admit I underestimated your skills.”

  Henry shrugged one shoulder. “What can I say? It’s just a natural way I have with the ladies.”

  Florian snorted and snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Of course you should have,” his brother insisted. “Your new position demands your attendance at such events.”

  Which was part of the reason why he’d done his best to dissuade his uncle, the Duke of Redding, from petitioning the Crown and making him his heir. A title was the last thing Florian wanted.

  Taking a sip of his drink, he tried to forget the dance he now had to endure. He glanced about, instinctively looking for Lady Juliette’s pretty face. The last time he’d seen her she’d seemed self-conscious and timid, which was likely to be expected considering all the challenges she’d faced. Enduring the aristocracy’s censure was difficult even for him.

  The cotillion was announced sooner than Florian had expected and Florian glanced about. “I suppose I ought to find my dance partner.” He moved forward, weaving his way through the crowd in search of a woman whose appearance he could not recall.

  “I think she’s over there,” Henry said, catching up with him.

  “Which one is she?” He really should have paid more attention.

  “The one with the lilac gloves.”

  “Right.” Florian marched toward her and sketched a bow. “I believe our cotillion is about to begin.” She stared up at him and batted her lashes. Unimpressed, he offered her his arm and resolved to do his duty while cursing the fact that this awful evening was only the first of many.

  “You seem distracted, my lord,” his dance partner said, scattering his most recent thought.

  He made an effort to focus on her face and realized he didn’t even know her name. “I was just thinking of one of my patients,” he lied, because sharing his real contemplation was out of the question. “She came in this afternoon with a kidney stone, so—”

  “Oh. I see. How delightful.”

  Florian scowled. There was hardly anything delightful about it. But his remark had had the desired effect, dissuading his partner from saying anything else to him for the rest of the dance.

  To his shock and dismay, he found himself more irritated about this than he’d been with her comment. It would be nice to meet a girl who didn’t cringe when he referenced his work. One who actually showed some interest?

  But such rare creatures were apparently hard to come by. So far, the only one he knew was Viola
Cartwright, the Dowager Duchess of Tremaine and St. Agatha Hospital’s patroness. He had great respect for her, not only as her employee, but because he admired the purpose with which she lived her life.

  “You survived the dance,” Henry said, materializing by his side once more. This time, he’d brought the Duke and Duchess of Huntley with him.

  “I’m as shocked as you are,” Florian muttered. Smoothing his features so as not to glare at the duchess, he executed his very best bow and shook hands with her husband.

  “I take it you’re not fond of dancing,” the duchess said.

  “No, but I was ambushed, so I was left with no choice.”

  “You could have made an excuse,” Huntley said.

  Florian met the other man’s gaze, aware he would likely have done precisely that if he’d been in Florian’s shoes. “Unfortunately I don’t have your advantage.”

  “And what would that be?” Huntley asked with a tilt of his lips.

  “To not give a damn about any of this.” Florian expelled a breath. “I grew up in Society. Expectations and proper manners were spoon-fed to me since infancy. So dismissing a lady isn’t something I can just do, no matter how much I might secretly want to.”

  “Well, your sense of duty is certainly commendable,” the duchess said.

  “He is the very epitome of what one might consider heroic,” Henry added wryly.

  Florian glared at him. “Your sarcasm isn’t helping.” He glanced about. “Honestly, I find all of this so trivial. The expense is exorbitant! Just think of all the good we could have done if the money had gone to feeding the hungry or helping the ailing? I swear . . .”

  “Well, in that case there is one advantage to gaining that title you’re so opposed to,” Henry said. His expression had sobered to an uncharacteristic degree of seriousness. “Once you inherit, you can spend your fortune on the causes that matter the most to you.”

  A comforting thought to be sure and definitely one he’d already begun considering, but to say as much would not be well done since it did involve the death of his uncle. An event he did not look forward to in the least. So rather than comment, he decided to change the subject entirely, by asking Huntley the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t suppose your sisters are in attendance this evening, Your Grace?”