Forbidden Desires of a Seductive Duchess: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Violet Hamers

  “As dancing goes,” she murmured as he pulled her close.

  “Indeed,” he said, lowering his hand, the merest hint. She raised her eyebrow, shooting him a disapproving glare as they danced about the room in fast circles.

  “Open your heart to me,” he murmured softly, slowing his movements so that they were both out of step with the music. “Can you not see how perfectly suited we are?”

  “No, Your Grace,” she replied. “I don’t see that we are.”

  “I can give you everything that you’ve always wanted,” he said, as the song ended. He bowed, and she curtsied.

  “It depends,” she replied as he drew her out of the group of dancers, over to the side of the room, where they could speak. “Would you stop trying to force me into riding side-saddle?” She didn’t think he would.

  “There would be no one to see at Longmire. We could have it so that we are the only members of the ton for miles.” He smiled. “You’d like it,” he insisted. “I breed Thoroughbreds. There’s a particularly spirited mare that I would give you for your own use.”

  “You cannot tempt me with pretty things,” she replied. They were standing by the far wall. When she glanced back at the room, she saw that her father was watching them. His face remained blank. “My affection cannot be bought.”

  “Let me prove to you,” His Grace said, drawing her attention back in his direction. “The depth of my sincerity. The two of us would be perfect together.”

  “So you keep insisting,” she replied. “I have yet to see it, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me. I must attend to my mother.” She curtsied, then walked away from him, going to stand behind her mother, who had been turning her own music. Arabella turned the pages for her.

  “Thank you, my darling,” her mother said. “I couldn’t help but notice that the Duke of Longmire wanted to speak with you.”

  “It was nothing, Mother.”

  “I think it was something,” her mother replied. When Arabella glanced at her, she was smiling happily. Arabella loved her mother. The Duchess was a simple lady, for all of her noble pedigree. She really just wanted Arabella settled, married to a member of the ton.

  Charles visited Lady Violet Fanning the next day at the townhome where she lived with her parents in Mayfair. Charles was shown into the cozy, cream-colored parlor by the butler.

  “Mr. Conolly, My Lady,” the butler said, standing just beside the door his hands clasped in front of him.

  Lady Violet was dressed in all black. She had her handkerchief out on her lap. A lady’s maid sat in an armchair nearby.

  “Oh, Mr. Conolly,” Lady Violet said. “So good of you to come and visit. I’m not—Lord Drysdale’s widow, but I certainly feel like it. Please, sit down.”

  “I wish I could say that I was here for happier circumstances,” Charles said, bowing to her then taking the chair that she indicated for him to sit in.

  “That makes two of us,” she replied. “I presume it has to do with the will. I mean, why else would his barrister come to see me?”

  “I wanted to prepare you for what comes next,” Charles said. “I…I think you should know that you are a beneficiary on his will. You’ll be required to come to the official reading of the will.”

  “He wanted to make sure that I was taken care of,” she said, nodding. “He…he was very adamant that it be done before the wedding.”

  “Did you notice that he was worried at all, before he passed?” Charles asked, noting that Lord Drysdale had been so adamant to get it done early. That, in itself, was one of the reasons why he’d come.

  “The constables asked that too,” she commented.

  “It’s just—I saw him, only a few days prior to his death,” Charles said. “He didn’t seem to be frightened at all.”

  She frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side delicately. “He didn’t,” she agreed. “There were certainly a few times that I noticed him watching me, as if it were going to be the last time that he saw me.” She gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “Do you think he knew?”

  “That’s my concern,” he said. “During the summer, he got a few threatening letters, during his stay at Tiverwell Manor. When I saw him at the beginning of the Season, he said that they’d stopped.”

  “They must not have,” she replied, her eyes wide, as she stared off at the opposite wall. She thought for a moment, before looking at him. “Do you think, perhaps, the constables know?”

  “They may have found the letters,” he replied.

  “Or they may not have,” Lady Violet said. “What if he burned them?”

  “Did he have a hiding place?” Charles asked. He planned to send the tip to Lord Dunsmore. It could be useful.

  “Not that I know of,” she replied. “I loved him, but I didn’t know him all that well, yet.” She looked devastated. “I…have known him since I was a child. I always liked him, you know. That he finally looked my way…” She shook her head. “I thought that I was the luckiest lady in all the world.”

  “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” he said.

  “Everyone says that,” she commented. “You’re the first person who actually means it.”

  “I know what it is to be in love,” he told her. “And to not be able to be with the one whom you love.”

  “It’s a hard thing,” she replied. “Heartbreak, that is.”

  Charles nodded. “That it is,” he agreed. He excused himself, and was shown out by the butler. Once out on the street, he decided to walk back to his office. As he walked, he thought of Arabella. He knew that, despite loving her, he needed to let her go.

  Her life was drawing her in a different direction. Where Lady Violet Fanning and Lord Drysdale had been equals, Charles and Arabella were not. How lucky the other two had been, yet someone else had interceded. The murderer. Charles wondered at who it could be.

  The Duke of Longmire didn’t waste any time. One of his grooms showed up at the front door of the Duke of Tiverwell’s townhome, only the next day. He had with him a dark bay Thoroughbred mare.

  Arabella crossed her arms, looking out at the horse. She was lovely—her coat was shiny, and her legs were long and dainty. She couldn’t have been more than three years old. She tossed her head, her dark eyes taking in her new mistress.

  “There’s a note, My Lady,” the groom said, holding it out to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, unfolding it.

  Dearest Lady Arabella,

  I think the two of you will get along famously. Her name is Isis.

  Regards,

  His Grace, Alexander Carrington, Duke of Longmire

  Despite herself, Arabella ran her hand over the mare’s articulated neck. She was a beautiful horse, with a delicate musculature. She didn’t hear her father’s approach until he spoke.

  “She’s far more suited to you than Black Jack,” her father commented.

  “Oh, Pappa,” she said, turning toward him. “We must send her back.”

  “Back? After His Grace has clearly intended her to be a present?” He shook his head. “No, my dear. I think you should thank him, and keep her.”

  “That would be tantamount to accepting his suit,” she replied.

  “Would that be so wrong?” he asked.

  “It is, and you know it,” she said. She turned to the groom. “You’ll have to take her back. I’m so sorry.”

  “Arabella! How ungrateful you are!” her father said. He was angry—it was clear from the way he was glowering at her.

  “Ungrateful, perhaps. But at least then I wouldn’t be leading him on,” she said. “Please,” she begged the groom. “Do take her back.”

  The man nodded. “As you wish, My Lady.”

  Arabella breathed a sigh as he turned and led the mare off. There was simply no way that she could accept such a fine gift. Not when there was no way that she could accept His Grace’s offer of marriage.

  Arabella wasn’t wholly surprised, when she saw the groom return less than half an hour late
r. She was sitting up in the library, by the window which overlooked the street. She could hear the groom telling Mr. Blankley that his master wouldn’t take the horse back. Arabella sighed, then got up and went downstairs.

  Mr. Blankley held out another letter to her. She took it, unfolding it.

  Do not return gifts, My Lady. I will not accept her back. She is yours now.

  Arabella sighed. She did like the horse. Unfortunately, she could never accept the Duke of Longmire’s suit. Not when she was still in love with Charles. It could simply never be. Not in a thousand years. Not in ten thousand.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After the funeral, Charles went to pay his respects to the family of the Earl of Dansbury. The butler led the way. The house was quiet, dark. Far off, he could hear the sound of many voices, a low drone.

  As soon as the doors opened, he could feel all eyes on him. The room, filled with dark-dressed members of the ton, went completely silent.

  “Mr. Charles Conolly,” the butler announced. Charles entered the room, making his way toward the Dowager Countess, Lady Dansbury.

  He could hear the whispers. Heard the words – blamed, murderer. He kept his eyes averted, making his way over to the widow.

  “Lady Dansbury,” he said, bowing low over the hand that she offered to him. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “My John always trusted you, Sir,” she replied, taking his hand. “I will continue to do so,” she announced, so that all would be able to hear.

  “Thank you,” Charles whispered. “My Lady.”

  Once he had done his duty, he meandered through the crowd. When Lord Dunsmore found him by the table, Charles was searching for Arabella. He didn’t see her, though the room was quite crowded.

  “There you are, Mr. Conolly!” Lord Dunsmore said, then lowered his voice. “Come with me.”

  Charles had no time to ask questions. He simply followed Lord Dunsmore out and into the hall.

  “Where are we going?” Charles whispered.

  “Lord Danbury’s study.” Lord Dunsmore walked confidently, his hands in his jacket pockets. It was clear that he did this often. He also knew where he was going.

  Charles had never snooped before. He wasn’t the sort. But he was going to do whatever Lord Dunsmore thought necessary. Particularly if it cleared his own name. Information was power—Charles knew that.

  When they arrived at the study, Lord Dunsmore threw open the door waving for Charles to move quickly. Charles entered and Lord Dunsmore peeked back into the hallway checking to see if they’d been followed before shutting it again.

  Charles had been here only once before. He recalled how Lord Dansbury had invited him in, poured him a glass of exceptional bourbon. It seemed rude to be going through his things like this.

  “What are we looking for, My Lord?” he asked, goosebumps rising all over his arms.

  “Clues, of course!” Lord Dunsmore opened the black, leather-bound ledger which sat on the desk. His eyes travelled over the rows of the Earl’s neat Copperplate handwriting. “There must be something that he’s hiding.”

  “You think that it’s in his finances?” Charles asked.

  “If what I know about gentlemen is true,” Lord Dunsmore said, closing the ledger, then opening one, then another of the desk drawers. “And, trust me—it is—then he’s got a secret ledger with expenses that he didn’t want anyone to know about.”

  He opened another desk drawer feeling around in it. “There it is!” He pressed a button which caused a false bottom to open. Charles could only watch as Lord Dunsmore pulled out another ledger—similar to the other, but thinner. “See?” he said, waving it in the air in triumph.

  “How did you know?” To Charles, it seemed that it had been too easy. Charles himself had a desk drawer with a false bottom. If he had anything illegal, he would have found a hiding place more creative—a loose hearthstone, perhaps.

  “I’m a gentleman of the ton,” Lord Dunsmore replied. “I have secrets of my own.”

  “I see,” Charles mused. The door opened. Dunsmore quickly slipped the ledger into his jacket.

  “What are the two of you doing in here?” the butler demanded.

  “The Earl of Danbury borrowed something of mine,” Dunsmore lied smoothly. “Mr. Conolly told me I should ask, but it seemed…indelicate to do so at the current time.”

  “I must ask you both to return to the parlor,” the butler said, clearly checking his anger. “Where the guests are supposed to be.”

  “Of course, of course,” Dunsmore said. “Come Mr. Conolly. We have an engagement that we mustn’t be late for.”

  The butler followed them all of the way to the front door. Dunsmore walked out confidently. Charles followed his lead, walking coolly toward the door.

  Lord Dunsmore’s carriage was in the street, and he climbed in. Charles stood out on the street. Dunsmore poked his head out. “Are you coming, Mr. Conolly?”

  “Yes.” Charles got in after him, shutting the door.

  Arabella was looking for Charles. He had vanished, quite suddenly. She had waited, while he’d paid his respects to Lady Danbury. Then, she’d been waylaid by Lady Emily Linton, who had wanted to talk about the ball that her mother still planned on throwing, but at a later date.

  Arabella stepped out into the hallway where she found the butler looking harried.

  “Can I help you with something, My Lady?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him.

  “Have you seen Mr. Conolly?” she asked him.

  “I have, My Lady,” the butler replied. “I just saw him and Lord Dunsmore out of the house.”

  “Out? Whatever for?” she asked.

  “Not to worry, My Lady,” he said. “They mentioned that they had somewhere that they needed to be.”

  “I didn’t know that Mr. Conolly knew Lord Dunsmore,” she murmured.

  “What’s going on out here?” She turned to find her father, standing there. The Duke of Longmire was there, too.

  “I was just returning,” Arabella said, passing in between the two gentlemen. She made her way over to the refreshments table. It was laden with little finger sandwiches and tea. She poured herself a cup.

  “Such a tragedy,” the Duke of Longmire said.

  “Indeed,” Arabella agreed. She added cream and sugar to her tea, stirring thoroughly. She set the spoon down onto the saucer.

  “It just goes to show that you should live life while you have it,” the Duke mused, looking at her.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she said, bringing the cup to her lips. She swallowed, still feeling deeply concerned about Charles.

  “My Lady,” the Duke of Longmire stated. She glanced over at him, to find that he was looking at her sternly. “I couldn’t help, but overhear that you were looking for Mr. Conolly.”

  “Why does it matter?” she asked, already tired.

  “You wouldn’t want to be found, fraternizing with a mere barrister. The ton talks, as you know.”

  “Oh, I am well aware, Your Grace,” she replied. “I just don’t understand why you are making it your particular concern.”

  “I think you know.” The Duke smiled a little. Arabella felt stretched thin, she kept her features composed and her tone light.

  “No. I don’t.” She shook her head.

  “I care for you—” he began.

  “With all due respect, Your Grace, you don’t know me that well,” she said. They had only been acquainted, within the past week.

  “I’d like to, My Lady,” he said. “If you’d only allow me to do so.”

  “Your Grace,” she replied. “We are at a funeral luncheon. I can’t help but feel that these attentions are gravely out of order.”

  He nodded. “Very well, My Lady. I can only ask that you take some time to consider me, at your convenience.” He bowed and then left her alone.

  Arabella sipped her tea. Her eyes travelled the room, her gaze meeting her father’s. He raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he’d been watching her di
scussion with the Duke and didn’t like what he’d seen.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Once the carriage door was shut after them, Lord Dunsmore pulled the ledger out of his coat pocket. The carriage began to move, and Dunsmore began perusing the contents, flipping the pages, slowly.

  Charles leaned forward to see. They were all written in Lord Dansbury’s distinctive handwriting.