The Duke: A Standalone Royal Billionaire Novel

by Laurence, Selena

  "I did. As many problems as I had with my grandfather, my grandmother was always a safe haven. I don’t know how she managed to balance her allegiances between the two of us. But I know after my father’s death, she was determined not to lose me, as well. Unfortunately, she only lived a few years beyond my father."

  Katherine smiles warmly. "I told you about my amazing grandmother, too. She was Irish — of course — and spunky, and completely embarrassing when we were out in public, but I wouldn’t have had her any other way."

  "My grandmother would have liked your grandmother, I imagine." I walk a bit further, until we round the corner to the center. "Join me?" I gesture to the bench and she sits next to me.

  "I imagine you want to hear about the whole hooker thing…"

  I can’t help but chuckle at her phrasing — hooker thing. "Well, if you want to talk about it. I haven’t exactly earned the right to ask, I’m afraid. I’ve been an arse, and you don’t owe me any history."

  "But you still owe me money for my loan," she quips.

  She’s brave, and funny, this woman. I think I already knew that, but it’s becoming clearer every minute.

  "I do, as well as your DJ job. And you can have both things and walk away now if you’d like. I realized when he — my cousin David — said those things that I’ve led you into a nest of vipers, and you had no idea what you were getting into. It was unfair. I’ve been bloody unfair the whole way around. You’re welcome to end this farce now, take the money, go back to the work you love. I’ll figure this out on my own. Or I won’t. Either way, it will be fine."

  I see a look of resolution set on her face, and my heartbeat speeds. Because while offering her a way out right now is the only honorable thing to do, I don’t actually want her to go. I could find someone else to marry — as I told Diego, there are any number of London debs who’d jump at the offer — but for whatever reason, I don’t want anyone else, and I feel as though if Katherine — Kat — says no to me, then I might just let David have it all and find a new plan for my life.

  "What if I want to stay?” she asks, and it sends my heart into a little hop-skip beat.

  A beat that I don’t have time for. A beat that shouldn’t happen because of her. But a beat that causes me to say, “I’d be very happy to stay married to you as we agreed.”

  “What about the hooker thing?" she asks, her chin lifted stubbornly.

  "I don’t believe you were a hooker, Katherine."

  Her eyes widen. "You don’t?"

  I snort in derision. "No. I don’t. I have no doubt there’s a story behind it, and undoubtedly an entertaining one, but given how you reacted to my proposal, there’s no way you’ve had sex for money."

  Her expression softens, and I realize how truly beautiful she is. Dark red curls, golden skin, deep chocolate eyes. She’s exotic, charismatic, and tough as hell.

  "Thank you," she answers simply. "Thank you for thinking the best of me. And you’re right, there is a story. I’m not sure if it’s all that entertaining, but I’ll tell it anyway. It was right after my seventeenth birthday—"

  Then, before she can say another word — and because I could give a damn how she ended up arrested for solicitation — I reach my arm around her waist, yank her toward me on the bench, put my other hand in the mass of curls at the back of her head, and fuse my lips to hers.

  23

  Kat

  In the back of my head there is a voice saying Stop! but I tell it to shut up and let myself fall into the amazingness that is a kiss from Winston Cauldwell, Duke of Surrey. Not only is he rich, handsome, and royal-lite, but he can kiss like nobody’s business.

  My lips part like the traitors they are and his tongue slides into my mouth, caressing, exploring. I can’t help but let out this little sigh, and run my hands up his chest, feeling the million-thread count fabric of his dress shirt, along with some equally fine muscles underneath.

  He groans, and it hits me right in my core. I’m instantly wet, and I can’t think about anything but the need to touch him, skin to skin.

  Our tongues do a dance that’s disturbing for how right it feels, and his warm hand slides up my torso. I clutch at the back of his hair, digging my fingers into the thick, soft strands as my heartbeat races.

  He cups my breast and squeezes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Good God that feels amazing.

  As his lips skate down my neck, I manage to find a button on his shirt and flick it open, then another, and another, until I reach the warm smooth skin and muscle beneath. Meanwhile, he’s managed to untuck my blouse and his palm — hot and rough — slips under my bra.

  He gasps. "So perfect."

  Yes, my admittedly addled brain agrees, this is absolutely perfect.

  Win’s head dips and, the next thing I know, he’s taken my breast in his mouth, tongue swirling around my nipple like he’s licking an ice cream cone.

  "Sweet baby cheeses," I mutter as my head falls back and everything below my waist begins to ache, hot and heavy.

  “I have no idea what cheese has to do with it, but sweet is absolutely accurate,” he whispers with a chuckle before taking my lips with his once again. I’m considering climbing on his lap and demanding he fix this hot mess he’s created inside of me when a very upper crust voice cuts through the cool air of Win’s Ducal gardens.

  "Win? Win! Are you out here?"

  Mother of all things evil, it’s Jessa.

  I scramble to shove Win off me, frantically trying to fix my bra and blouse.

  His gaze is hot and he’s breathing hard, but being who he is, he takes charge and smooths over any awkwardness.

  "Just relax," he whispers. "I’ll take her inside." Then he does the strangest thing. He smiles at me, and plants a big smacking kiss on my lips. I stare at him as he strides off across the garden, looking every bit as put together as he did when we first walked out. Meanwhile, I’m left with a wrinkled blouse and a bra with a ladybug on one strap.

  24

  Winston

  I’m sitting behind my desk, looking at Jessa as she rambles on about some mutual friend of ours, but it’s taking everything I have not to go back outside and ravish poor Katherine to within an inch of her life.

  I was never one of those men who has a different woman every night, but I’ve had my fair share. Debutantes, corporate hotshots, models, the sweet younger cousin of a friend or two — but never have I seen a woman aroused look as beautiful as Katherine did. Her entire being glowed as if she’d been lit by a fire from within. All I want to do is make her look like that again…and again.

  "Win!" Jessa’s sharp tone snaps me out of my reverie. "What are you looking at out there…Oh." Her face turns to granite as she sees Katherine through the window, walking toward the doors to the house.

  "Was there anything in particular you needed?" I ask, turning back to her even as I notice Katherine’s blouse has a smudge of dirt on one sleeve and her hair is more tousled than usual.

  Jessa glares at me. "How long, Win?"

  "How long what?" My gaze snaps back to the cool blonde in front of me. The one who isn’t the fiery redhead I’m most concerned about at the moment.

  "How long are you going to keep this up? You know you don’t need her to gain the inheritance. I’m right here, and it will be just as it was before I made my mistake. We can have it all back, as if this was only a little stumble on our path."

  I stand and walk around the corner of the desk, leaning my arse back against it as I face her.

  "Jessa, you said you only wanted to be friends."

  She gives me a look of utter exasperation. "That was two days ago, Win, and you had to have known it was only my opening volley."

  I scratch my head, not sure what I’m supposed to say. It’s too late. I’ve gone and married someone else, and while I know Katherine is temporary, I’m becoming more and more okay with her presence, for the time being. She’s not after my money, she’s honest and genuine, and I think it’s good to have someon
e like that with me right now. God knows there are enough people like my cousin David, waiting to pounce, lying to me, trying to manipulate me.

  "Look, what we had is history," I tell her in the most soothing voice I can. "I’m already married, that’s not going to change."

  "Really?" she asks, softly, standing from her chair so we’re only inches apart. "You’re going to tell me that you don’t think about the way we used to be? About how it felt to be inside me? About the way people looked at us when we walked into a room?"

  "Jessa, please," I warn. But then, suddenly, she’s pressed against me, her mouth sliding over my jaw, my throat, her hands clutching at my chest, nails digging into my skin through the fabric of my shirt. I put my hands up to shove her away, just as a noise comes from the doorway. My gaze darts up, and there stands Katherine, a look of utter disgust and disappointment on her face. I start to say something as I’m pushing Jessa off me, but it’s too late, my wife’s heels make a violent clicking as she runs off down the hall, away from me and the mess I’ve created.

  25

  Kat

  The bastard. The no good, double dealing, son of a bitch. I slam the front door of the townhouse and stomp down the sidewalk. Behind me, I hear the door open and close again, and Win’s voice, "Katherine! Katherine, wait!"

  Hell no, I think. I’m not waiting. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of making up some ridiculous excuse. I know the marriage isn’t real, but that kiss felt real, and we both promised not to see other people. He promised not to humiliate me and now he’s gone and done it spectacularly.

  "Katherine!" he calls again, and I can tell he’s gaining on me. I’ve been wearing this stupid Duchess outfit all day and it’s becoming really inconvenient. If I had my Chucks on right now I could double my speed. Instead, when I get to the corner, I lean into the street and wave my arm frantically. There are taxis everywhere in London, and I’m able to grab one in ten seconds. As I tear open the door to the classic black bubble car, I hear Win’s footsteps on the sidewalk.

  I look up and he’s only a few yards away, but I’m already in the car, closing the door, and telling the driver to get a move on. I look out the back window as we drive away and see defeat cross Win’s face. And for one brief moment I feel bad, but then I remember that stabbing pain that attacked my chest when I saw him in her arms, and any guilt is instantly replaced by anger.

  * * *

  "So he found out you’d been a hooker?" the woman asks as she leans on the bar, completely engrossed in my story. I’m thirsty. I think I need more of whatever this stuff is the bartender’s been serving me.

  In my pique, I didn’t think that I was without my purse. Luckily, I have my phone so I can Apple pay for things. Of course, my bank account’s going to run out before too long, but this pub is really nice—warm, the bar top is smooth and comfortable, and the bartender keeps giving me the thick brown beer with the nice layer of foam on top.

  "Wait, what was I saying?" I ask the woman who’s begun to get a little blurry.

  "The Duke—he found out you’re a hooker?" she asks, nodding encouragingly.

  "Whoa ho there, missy," the bartender says, taking my glass away. "None of that in here, we’re a respectable place. You’ll need to go somewhere else to…find customers or whatever…" His cheeks turn pink above his ample brown beard.

  "I’m not a shooker…hooker!" I protest. "It was all a misunderstanding when I was seventeen. I’d never have sex for money—well, I take that back, the only way I’d have sex with him is if he paid me. But I guess he is paying me…but not for that! I swear, not for that, just for…other shtuff. Shtuff I can’t talk about."

  The bartender raises an eyebrow at me, disbelieving.

  "Just get me more of that beer," I command as I lay my cheek on the bar top again for just a moment. It’s so smooth. I really like smooth things. Winston is smooth. Like a smooth, rich, kissing, lying, sexy, double dealing…I sigh. I’m tired.

  "It’s ok, love," the woman says. "Just take a rest, you can finish the story in a few minutes. I’ll be here."

  I sit up. "No! No, that’s okay…I’m okay. I want to finish the story so you can see what a jerk he is."

  She pats my hand as a new glass of beer appears. "I have no doubt, love. Tell me more."

  "See, I was at a party when I was in high school, and there was a keg there, plus a bunch of weed, and a ton of underage kids. When the cops raided it, I ran to a bedroom to hide. It was dark, and I didn’t realize anyone was in there for a few seconds, until I heard the moans."

  "Yep, the other part of a teenage party—the shagging," the bartender says with a grin.

  "Hush," the woman tells him. "It’s getting to the good part."

  "That’s exactly what I was saying!" he protests.

  "I was stuck," I continue. "If I went outside the police would catch me…" I hiccup, not feeling so hot all the sudden. "If I stayed, I had to listen to whoever was in there do their thing."

  "You opted for staying put, I hope," the bartender adds, wiping down the counter around me for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. The pub’s pretty dead.

  I nod. "But what I never counted on were the police busting into the room and finding David O’Halloran, whose parents owned the house, in bed with Daisy Adams, who graduated three years before us and was working for Scrumptious Escorts over on Turner Avenue."

  "The teenager had himself a call girl?" The bartender’s impressed.

  "The police thought he had himself two call girls." Then I belch loudly and feel substantially better.

  "Did they take you to jail?" the woman asks.

  "Yes, they did, and my parents had to come claim me."

  The bartender laughs, shaking his head. "My mum would have whipped my arse."

  "But that’s the story this Duke of yours heard?"

  "Um…" I feel a flush rising to my cheeks. "He never really got the chance to hear the story." Then I get distracted by a car pulling up outside. It looks a great deal like Win’s family Rolls.

  "Oh no…"

  "What?" The woman turns to look out the window where I’m staring.

  "Ten pounds says that’s the rich fake husband," the bartender murmurs.

  "Quick! You have to hide me," I say. Then I think I’m climbing down from my barstool, but the floor seems a lot further away than I anticipated, and my head is spinning a lot as I find myself falling down, down, down, until thunk. I land in an ungraceful heap on my ass on the pub floor.

  "Oops," I mutter, just sitting there, because, well, I’m tired, and it’s going to take a lot of effort to get up.

  "Oh here, love," the woman says, climbing unsteadily off her own stool, "let me help—"

  But before she can lean down far enough to get me, a steely, ice-cold voice interrupts.

  "I’ve got her, thank you anyway." Then, big hands lift me under my arms and stand me up, setting me on my feet before grabbing onto my shoulders and steadying me.

  Now I’m not dizzy anymore, I’m pissed.

  "Yes, you are," Win answers. I guess I said that out loud. "But that’s what happens when you spend the afternoon drinking stout that’s been poured a little too liberally." He glares at the bartender, who holds up his hands in the universal sign of it wasn’t me.

  "Not drunk—pissed."

  "You mean angry?"

  "Yes." I gather up whatever dignity I can muster, which really, at this point, is a complete waste of time. If Darnell were here he’d point that out. "If you’ll please unhand me and go away, I’d appreshitate it."

  I see a sparkle of something that looks like humor in Win’s eye. "You’d appreshitate it, would you?"

  "I would," I assert.

  "As much as I’d like to oblige you, I’m not about to leave you alone in a strange city in a strange pub, intoxicated with no wallet."

  He’s let go of me to lecture, and I feel the spinning coming back. I try to stay focused on his face, but things are going in and out, kind of blurry, then not. I
blink.

  "I can take care of myshelf…my. Self. I don’t need you, and even more, I don’t want you." I cross my arms in defiance.

  Win takes a step closer and looks down at me. He’s really hot—like, mad hot. I mean mad…and hot…shit, I don’t know what I mean anymore.

  "Katherine." His voice holds warning. "You are not staying here alone. We’re going to go home, sober you up, and then discuss this like two normal adults."

  I blink at him, thinking maybe kissing him again wouldn’t be such a bad idea, then I open my mouth, and vomit right on his thousand-dollar dress shirt.

  26

  Winston

  "Shall I open the windows, Your Grace?" Murdoch asks as I carry a semi-conscious Katherine to the car.

  I cringe at the odor that precedes me, and nod. "Yes, I believe that would be to everyone’s benefit."

  Murdoch nods and opens the door while I load Katherine into the back of the car. She mumbles a touch, and bats at my hand as I arrange her so she’s taking up one of the facing leather bench seats.

  "One moment, please," I tell Murdoch. I take the two plackets of my dress shirt and pull, popping the buttons off all the way down until the shirt is wide open. Then I pull it off, doing my best not to touch the front. "Mind tossing that for me?" I ask as I wrap it up with the soiled portion inside and hand it to Murdoch.

  "Of course, Your Grace." He marches off to the bin in front of the pub and I fold myself into the seat facing Katherine. I’m bare chested, but much less disgusting, so it’s a fair trade.

  After Murdoch returns, he starts up the car and rolls down the back windows. I watch as Katherine snores and occasionally mumbles in her sleep. Her hair is a tumbled mess and she has mascara smeared under one eye, but she’s still remarkably lovely; her skin flawless, her lashes long and thick, and one perfect breast with the full top curve exposed by her askew blouse.