My Darling Duke

by Stacy Reid

  Also by Stacy Reid

  Rebellious Desires Series

  Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night

  The Earl in My Bed

  Wedded by Scandal Series

  Accidentally Compromising the Duke

  Wicked in His Arms

  How to Marry a Marquess

  Scandalous House of Calydon

  The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding

  The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell

  Sins of a Duke

  The Royal Conquest

  The Sweetest Taboo

  The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Scandal by Any Other Name

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Stacy Reid. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Road

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill, EDH Graphics

  Cover art by VJ Dunraven/PeriodImages.com

  and Shama/123rf.com

  Interior design by Toni Kerr

  MMP ISBN 978-1-64063-745-0

  ebook ISBN 978-1-64063-746-7

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  Du’Sean, always and forever.

  Chapter One

  Brampton Manor

  Hertfordshire

  “We will have to be wicked, improper, and terribly scandalous.”

  Those words fell trembling from the lips of Lady Maryann Fitzwilliam, a young lady who wouldn’t know what it meant to be scandalous if it slapped her across the face at the crest of each dawn.

  It was a concept wholly improbable to the Honourable Katherine Iphigenia Danvers—Kitty to her friends and family—but nevertheless she felt effortlessly captivated. Or perhaps the sinful plan burning within her heart—the one she had prayed for, asking for a sign—was being validated.

  It has to be. Ladies who were regulated to the status of wallflowers and spinsters were never wicked…and most assuredly never terribly scandalous.

  “Wicked!” all four other young ladies present at their intrepid meeting chorused.

  There was a breathless pause, the only sound in the drawing room the strains of the orchestra filtering through the closed doors as they played from the grand ballroom several doors away.

  “Yes,” replied Maryann empathically, her gaze piercing her audience with its bright resolve. She stood and sauntered to the center of the room, the hem of her elegantly draped icy blue gown swishing over the Aubusson carpet. How delightful Maryann appeared this evening, yet Kitty knew she had not yet been asked to the dance floor.

  Maryann folded her arms beneath her bosom and captured all their attention with a steely gaze. “I am not content with my lot. I cannot believe any of you is happy with your situation. We must be daring and take what we need instead of waiting, wasting away on the shelves our family and society have placed us on. We are all over two and twenty, we’re not getting any younger, and our prospects grow dimmer each year. What have we to lose?”

  “I daresay you may be correct, Maryann,” chimed in Lady Ophelia Darby, another member of their society, jokingly named the Sinful Wallflowers. Only they hadn’t done anything sinful, except for the time they had emptied a bottle of Ophelia’s father’s finest whiskey among them, giggling and hiccupping like loons in the night. Ophelia was their most illustrious member, being the daughter of a marquess, albeit without a dowry. Her deep golden-brown eyes were filled with trepidation—and a glimmer of excitement, if Kitty was not mistaken.

  “I’ve been out since I was eighteen, and each season is growing more painful than the last,” Ophelia said.

  There were several nods, which seemingly granted Maryann more courage, for her shoulders squared, a sparkle lit in her hazel eyes, and determination settled across every line of her willowy frame. “We all want to experience something other than the humdrum that is our lives.”

  More enthusiastic nods followed.

  “We all want families,” continued Maryann. “Don’t we? Or even just a moment where we are more than what society tells us to be?”

  There was another aching, breathless pause as all six members of their private club sat on the edge of their padded chairs, a charged excitement and the sense of something different happening at tonight’s impromptu meeting enveloping the room.

  “We want love,” murmured Miss Charlotte Nelson, a flush rising in her cheeks. Everyone knew she was painfully, desperately in love with the Marquess of Sands, and he had not deigned to notice her.

  They were all overlooked, of course. Kitty and her friends were rarely asked to dance at balls, or called upon by gentlemen, or asked to ride in Hyde Park, or even to afternoon teas by the diamonds of each season.

  “We want love, even passion, and we’ve all endured a few seasons. We are wallflowers with little prospect of ever attaining a well-connected match,” Maryann said fiercely.

  The nods turned into longing sighs.

  Impatience burned along Kitty’s nerves, and a sense of something new and wonderful hovered, if only she could reach for it.

  Kitty and her friends had been withering away in the ton, season by season, with no chances of improving their prospects. They were all fairly attractive but could not be considered great beauties, nor were they especially accomplished, having little useful connections and less dowries to inspire any real serious matrimonial attachments. They were generally ignored by those young gentlemen in society who were looking for a bride.

  Yet a lingering desire to wed and have their own families resided in each of their hearts. Or perhaps, they wanted only to feel what it was like to drop their handkerchief in front of a gentleman who would pick it up, ask them to dance, and send them flowers the next day.

  “How marvelous if we should all be guilty of doing something wicked, just for once,” Kitty said softly, drawing five pairs of eyes to settle on her person. A wild idea had overtaken her good sense, borne of desperation. It was dredged from a place beyond logic or reason.

  Kitty knew who the desires in her heart were for, though they were not traditional desires—Alexander Masters, the reclusive Duke of Thornton. He was the solution to turning ar
ound her family fortunes…

  Well, Kitty thought convincing society she was the fiancée of a man she had never met was the solution.

  In their world, success depended on who one knew, how powerful and prestigious those connections were. Vouchers for Almacks, invitations to balls, the opera, and the theater were all provided on the strength of how well known in society one was. And Kitty desperately needed that power to secure suitable matches for her sisters.

  She couldn’t abide the notion of her three darling sisters—Anna, Henrietta, and Judith—withering away as Kitty had done because of their poor connections and nonexistent wealth.

  The patronage of a duke would undoubtedly open the most eminent doors to her family. Their desperate plight had already seen Anna working as a lady’s companion and having to fend off the unwanted advances of a lecherous scoundrel. The country cottage they had been relegated to after Papa’s heir had claimed his estate was in dire need of repairs. Mama’s widow’s portion allowed only for the hiring of a cook and the barest appearance of gentility—and Kitty, being the eldest, was expected to secure a well-connected match.

  Kitty stood, smoothing away the imaginary wrinkles of her rose-colored gown. Tonight, she had worn her most elegant dress, and not one gentleman had been kind enough to ask her to dance. There were too many more ladies with appealing dowries in attendance at Countess Musgrove’s ball. “It is time for us to do more than wait for someone to gain the courage and ask to court us. Not when we are so inferior in our connections and ranks.”

  Her friends’ curious eyes rested on Kitty’s face, capturing every nuance of her expression, perhaps analyzing the fierce determination in her tone.

  “We can no longer afford to fade into the ballroom walls. We need to be more than wallflowers.”

  Thank heavens. This meeting had revealed itself to be a validation of her prayers. Kitty had honestly thought she’d have to hide the wicked leanings in her heart, the only solution she had envisioned for getting out of the genteel poverty in which she, her three younger sisters, and her mother lived.

  Miss Emma Prendergast wrinkled her nose, her dark gray eyes unusually somber, quite at odds with her cheerful mannerisms and humorous charm. “I am three and twenty and have had four seasons because of the generosity of my godmother. I have never been thought of as more than a wallflower,” she said wistfully, the ache for more evident on her face.

  “We have been biddable and dutiful daughters and sisters. And that has gotten us nowhere,” Maryann continued.

  Everyone stood, and the excitement that filled the air was electric. “We must commit to pool our resources together and help one another to be more. We have never…none of us, ever been sinful, have we?”

  Wicked…sinful…and not at all proper.

  Those murmurs slipped from her friends’ lips, and a breathless, tense silence blanketed the private parlor.

  After that, everything became a blur as Kitty and her friends laughed and plotted. How delightfully improper it all was, and she ardently prayed they would have the courage to act upon their hearts’ desires and not falter.

  Sometime later, her friends dispersed back into the ballroom, anticipating that perhaps tonight would be the night their fortunes started to change. Tonight, they would all start being wicked…and bold.

  Kitty turned to face Maryann, her dearest friend. “You never mentioned when we rode in the park earlier that we would have such a rousing conversation.”

  Maryann smiled, the prettiness of her features rendered beautiful with that curve of her lips. If only the beaux of society could see beyond the spectacles perched atop her elegant nose and her intelligent humor. It did not bode well for the young bucks of the ton if they were not attracted to her wit and vivacity.

  “Papa has accepted an offer from Lord Stamford. He informed me this morning, and I cannot bear the notion.”

  Kitty gasped and hurried to her friend, clasping her hands between her own. “Say it isn’t so! Why, he is older than your papa!”

  Maryann’s eyes twinkled with surprising humor. “I know…but I have a plan.”

  Kitty stilled. “A wicked one?”

  “Oh, Kitty, a most diabolically wicked plan, and it involves Nicolas Ives.”

  Shock tore through her. “The earl everyone calls London’s most notorious scoundrel for his unforgivable debaucheries?”

  Some undefinable emotion pierced Maryann’s eyes before she lowered her lids. “The very one,” she murmured, a flush coloring her cheeks.

  Kitty stepped back, picked up her reticule, opened it, and withdrew a clipping of a newspaper article. She cleared her throat nervously. “I have a plan, too.”

  The wicked notion was so audacious, so scandalous, she hadn’t the heart to put it into words until now. “One I am mad and reckless to even think of. I prayed, Maryann… I prayed for days, wondering if I am on the right path, and then tonight you confirmed everything I have been thinking. There is more to life, isn’t there? And we cannot let society, our fathers, or our brothers decide it all for us.”

  Maryann hurried to the door and turned the lock, ensuring no one could come upon them. “What mad plans do you have?”

  Kitty thrust the paper at her. “I believe I’ve found a solution to my family’s problems.”

  Pushing her glasses atop her nose, her friend scanned the gossip sheet. “What is it?”

  “My father always said everything in the world, every tier to climb, is not about how skilled one is but about who you know.” Familiar grief welled in her heart, and she pushed it aside. Her papa had died four years past, and the sting of losing him was ever present, especially given how much harder life had become.

  “Papa always said connections are the currency of our world and are the only way to survive.” She lifted her chin. “Maryann, please read the passage I’ve circled.”

  Her friend cleared her throat delicately, squinted, and read silently.

  Kitty knew every word to the article that had been burning a hole in her reticule these past three weeks.

  Rumors abound that the enigmatic and reclusive Duke of Thornton is on the hunt for a bride. At one point the duke, dubbed the “mad, bad, and dangerous” catch of the season, left a trail of broken and hopeful hearts in society, and we cannot help speculating who the lucky lady may be. Of course, The Scrutineer is unable to confirm, for no one in society has seen Thornton in several years. Is it all another piece of fantasy surrounding our favorite absent duke? Or is there some veracity to this delectable tale? Anyone with news is welcome to share with us, of course; we protect the identities of our sources.

  Maryann glanced up. “How does this connect to your plans?”

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kitty withdrew a folded paper. “This is my reply…which I mean to post.”

  Maryann plucked it from Kitty’s trembling fingers and started reading aloud.

  “Dear Lady Gamble, it is with great delight I inform you that I, the Honourable Katherine Danvers of Hertfordshire, am honored to be the fiancée of His Grace, the Duke of Thornton. After giving the matter some thought, I decided to pen a reply to satisfy society’s interest. The duke spends most if not all his time in Scotland, where he intends for us to reside after marriage. Because this will see us from London’s society for a while, he has agreed to a lengthy engagement to give two of my younger sisters the opportunity to secure matches for themselves before we wed. I am confident you can publish my news and will be elated to be the first to break such a delightful tidbit.

  Sincerely, Miss Kitty Danvers.”

  Maryann’s expression of shock would have been comical if Kitty wasn’t so anxious.

  “You know the duke?”

  “Of course not,” she whispered. “But I mean to use society’s fascination with the man and the power of his name to my family’s advantage.”

  “Oh, Kitty…th
is is almost as naughty as my plans.” Then Maryann laughed, and it wasn’t Kitty’s imagination that there was a touch of hysteria there.

  “Maybe too wicked?” Kitty whispered, wings of indecision fluttering in her stomach. “I do not expect my plan to work in my favor at all, as if I am discovered, I would be a ruined spinster forever! But I must do something to help my sisters. The connections we will foster by using the duke’s name will be enough to see Anna and perhaps even Judith settled comfortably.”

  A piercing disquiet settled in Maryann’s eyes. “His Grace is not a man to be taken lightly. Kitty… The newspapers call him ‘the puppet master.’ He is influential with the lords, and his power is far reaching even if he does live at a remote estate. Don’t you read the political tracts?”

  A knot formed in Kitty’s stomach. Excitement or fear? She didn’t know.

  Perusing political news and cartoons had never been an interest of hers. The duke was an enigma to both the press and society. Kitty was relying on exactly the air of mystery that surrounded him to enhance her popularity.

  Why had he driven himself from society? Some vague whispers said that he was scarred, others said he was malformed, and yet others said he was merely a hermit hiding a broken heart.

  Kitty had no notion of what to believe and had tried subtly prying from her mother what she could about the duke, but the viscountess had not been keen on granting her a proper response. The only thing Kitty had been certain of was that society had not seen the Duke of Thornton in years, and he was not liable to re-enter the glittering whirl of the ton.

  Once she revealed their fake attachment, the fickleness of the ton and their insatiable need for gossip would result in some invitations being quickly delivered. They would be hungry to know the lady who had snagged the attention of the elusive Thornton.

  Nerves rioted dreadfully inside her, but her family depended on her, and she had been failing them for the past two seasons. Kitty was at her wits’ end to see them settled in a modicum of comfort and security. She believed at long last she had found the way to rescue her family, leaving at least their dignities intact.

  Except…she would surely burn in purgatory for the deception she was about to orchestrate.