How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes

by Bennett, Amy Rose

  And then Diana whispered into the crashing silence that followed, “Is he dead?”

  Charlie whipped around. The young duchess stood in the corridor just outside the morning room. Her gray eyes were huge in her pale face, and all her attention was riveted to Rochfort’s prone form.

  “I’m not sure,” said Charlie at the same moment that the baron moaned. His fingers flexed in a puddle of water and broken crystal. Quick as a wink, Charlie bent down and picked up the pistol that lay at her feet. She wasn’t going to take any chances.

  As she straightened and stepped away from Rochfort’s body, she pointed the pistol at Cressida, who stood motionless, rooted to the spot. “Untie Max. Now,” she ordered. She didn’t trust the dowager duchess as far as she could throw her.

  Cressida blinked as though emerging from a daze, then scowled at Charlie. “I’ll do no such—”

  “Oh, spare me.” Charlie made sure the pistol was cocked as she took up a duelist’s stance. “When I told you that I’d once shot a gun on Putney Heath, I lied, Cressida. I’ve been shooting many times. In fact, I’d even venture to say that I’m a crack shot. And unless you do what I say”—she narrowed her gaze and took aim at Cressida’s chest—“I’m going to give you a complete demonstration of my exceptional marksmanship skills. So, I’ll say it once more and once more only: untie my fiancé, or I’ll put a bullet in your person. Your choice.”

  Diana stepped forward. “That’s all right. I’ll do it,” she said. “I don’t trust Cressida. You can keep guard.”

  Cressida shot her daughter-in-law a murderous look as she crossed the room, but Diana didn’t seem to notice or care.

  When Charlie’s gaze connected with Max’s, his handsome face split with a devilish grin. “You’re simply amazing,” he murmured as his sister-in-law freed his hands.

  “So are you,” she returned with an equally wide smile. “And so is Diana.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Oh, please. I think I’m going to be sick,” said the dowager duchess.

  Max climbed to his feet with the curtain ties in hand. “You don’t have time for that,” he said as he approached Lord Rochfort, who was moaning again. “Because you have some packing to do.” After squatting down, he ruthlessly pulled the baron’s arms behind his back and began to bind his wrists. “And if you don’t hop to it, I’m going to reconsider where you’ll be residing. I think a stint in an asylum might be in order, because I’m seriously questioning the sanity of your choices.”

  One of Cressida’s hands fluttered to her throat. “You wouldn’t do such a horrible thing. Not to your own mother.”

  “Considering you just tied up your own son and were a co-conspirator in the attempted kidnapping of my fiancée, I wouldn’t count on that. Now go. By my calculations, you only have fifty minutes left before my carriage arrives to take you to Devon.”

  Once his uncharacteristically subdued mother had retired to her rooms and a groggy Rochfort had been carted off by a pair of strapping footmen to the coal cellar where he’d be locked up until the Bow Street Runners arrived to deal with him—Diana had offered to send for them—Max turned to Charlie and enveloped her in his arms. He embraced her like he never wanted to let her go.

  “Oh God, my love, I’m so, so sorry.” His voice was weighted with guilt, and when he drew back to study her face, Charlie could see his dark blue eyes were shadowed with self-recrimination. “I was such an idiot not to have even considered the possibility that Rochfort might have been lurking somewhere within these walls. My arrogance and stupidity put you in danger. I can never forgive myself for that. But there is one good thing I learned about myself today.

  “I once feared love more than anything on this earth. As you know, I’d been taught to think it would make me weak. But I was so very wrong. My father was so very wrong. As that dog Rochfort threatened to take you hostage and away from me—” He broke off, shaking his head. “The determination I felt, and yes, my blazing anger, were far more potent because I do love you.” The sincerity of his conviction, the depth of his feeling shone in his eyes and resonated in his voice. “Your love has made me stronger, Charlie. It fills my heart. It warms my soul. The joy and absolute satisfaction I feel whenever I’m with you, it’s indescribable. With you by my side, I am whole and happy.”

  “Oh, Max.” Charlie’s eyes brimmed with tears, and her heart swelled with so much love and tenderness, she thought it might burst. “Don’t torture yourself with all the if-onlys and might-have-beens. The important thing is we are both safe and whole and together. Nothing can part us now.”

  “Yes.” He brushed her jaw with gentle fingers, then pushed a damp curl behind one of her ears. His voice was soft as a caress as he said, “I’m so very proud of you, do you know that? For your quick thinking and for your bravery…and for your generous, forgiving heart. You, Charlotte Hastings, are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I know we originally agreed that we’d wed at the end of the Season, but would you reconsider and marry me sooner?”

  Max’s gaze was so adoring and his words were so sweet, Charlie’s own heart and soul were immediately flooded with happiness. “Goodness gracious,” she murmured, her voice husky with emotion. “I never thought I’d see the day when you, Maximilian Devereux, would openly declare that you were not just ready and willing, but eager to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap. So, I will say yes to your proposal, and gladly, because I love you so much, and I can’t wait to begin our new life together too. My only caveat is that we allow enough time for my aunt Tabitha to return to London for the ceremony. I couldn’t bear it if she wasn’t at our wedding.”

  “Of course,” said Max. “But before I visit Doctor’s Common to procure a special license, and before you return to Hastings House, there’s one more urgent matter that needs attending to.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” Max wiped her cheek, and when he withdrew his hand, something green and slimy was smeared across the pad of his thumb. “You, my dear Charlie, are in serious need of a bath. I don’t know what was in that vase, but—”

  Charlie clasped Max’s face between her hands and silenced him with a resounding kiss. When she drew back, she couldn’t help but smile at her handiwork. “Oh, look. Now you’re covered in green muck too. I guess you’ll have to join me, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, I intend to, my little minx,” he said with a grin. And then he kissed her with such heartfelt passion and love, nothing else mattered but this perfect moment and the bright, shining future awaiting them both.

  Epilogue

  The Enlightened Women’s Society of London,

  Harrington House, Bloomsbury Square

  May 20, 1820

  “I declare that the Enlightened Women’s Society of London is now officially open,” Tabitha, Lady Chelmsford, announced in a strident voice to the small crowd gathered in Bloomsbury Square. And then Euphemia Harrington, with the help of her young daughter, Tilda, sliced through the crimson satin ribbon adorning the front door of Harrington House.

  Claps and cheers erupted, and after Charlie climbed the short flight of stairs, she embraced her aunt, then Mia and Tilda. When she turned around, her gaze immediately sought and connected with Max’s. Her handsome husband stood at the back of the throng—half a head taller than most in the crowd, he was easy to spot—and as he grinned back at her, elation and a feeling of accomplishment suffused Charlie’s heart.

  This. This was a perfect moment.

  With the help of her darling friends, her dear aunt, Mia Harrington, and the Mayfair Bluestocking Society, Charlie had created something special and worthwhile: a charitable society that would endeavor to support women who were in desperate need; women who might be unwed and with child; or women who’d been abandoned by their husbands and had nowhere else to go. At Harrington House, they would find other sympathetic women who would help them to find a safe place to stay and decent paid work, and if required, medical care
at one of the innumerable dispensaries that Arabella had established in various locations about London. No one would be turned away.

  Mia did the honors of opening the door, then everyone trooped into Harrington House to share a celebratory afternoon tea in the drawing room and the flower-filled back garden.

  Olivia, who was round with child, was grateful when Charlie ushered her over to a vacant shepherdess chair by the open French doors. Quite a few of the guests had already filtered outside to the terrace and garden to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. “It’s so l-lovely to see Mia and Tilda back in London,” she said as she leaned back and put her slippered feet upon a padded footstool.

  “Yes,” agreed Charlie. “I’m still so grateful to Mia. She didn’t have to rent her townhouse to us. And the fact that she wishes to help manage the day-to-day running of the Society when we begin to receive clients—Max said she’s an excellent housekeeper—is just wonderful. Her expertise will be invaluable.”

  “No doubt she feels strongly about supporting other women, given her own history,” remarked Olivia. “And after Max’s generosity—he didn’t have to buy back her townhouse for her—she might feel it is a way to say thank you to you both.”

  “Yes, I think you might be right. Most of all, I’m pleased she doesn’t feel like she has to hide from Lord Rochfort anymore.”

  Lord Rochfort, the man who’d made Mia’s life hell too, was dead. Charlie couldn’t say she was sorry after all the terrible things he’d done. After the baron had been incarcerated in the Tower to await a trial by his peers—he’d been charged with extortion, assault, and attempted kidnapping—Rochfort had evidently taken his own life. The coroner had decreed that Rochfort had ingested a lethal dose of laudanum during his first night behind bars. The Tower guards had failed to search his person thoroughly, so they’d missed the fact that the baron had a flask of the strong opiate secreted in his coat. Apparently, he’d taken to drinking laudanum regularly to dull the pain of his injured shoulder.

  Once Rochfort’s ownership of the Beau Monde Mirror had been revealed in all the newspapers—and after the baron’s demise—the infamous scandal rag that had caused so much grief had been shut down. And Charlie couldn’t say she was sorry about that either.

  As for Lady Penelope Purcell… Charlie had not seen hide nor hair of the horrid young woman since that terrible afternoon at the Royal Academy of Art’s fifty-first exhibition. Although, by all accounts, the duke’s daughter had accepted a proposal from a middle-aged but exceedingly wealthy marquis by the end of last Season, and she was now heavy with child and rusticating at his rambling estate, somewhere in the wilds of Northumberland. Rumor also had it that the marquis and his new wife led very separate lives; he was very much a marquis-about-town who believed a wife’s place was in the home—or his country home to be more precise. In any event, Charlie doubted she’d be seeing much of Penelope in the future. The same went for her odious brother; Lord Mowbray was reported to be on an extended Grand Tour, exploring the Continent and perhaps even farther afield, and it wasn’t known when he’d be back—a most satisfying prospect, all things considered. Or in Max’s words, “a good riddance of bad rubbish” at least for the time being.

  Hamish wandered over and furnished his wife with a cup of tea and a slice of cake. “You are too sweet to me,” Olivia murmured as she smiled up at her burly Scots husband; the adoration in her eyes was clear to see.

  Hamish dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Nothing’s too good for my bonnie wife and our bairn on the way,” he said softly. Looking up, he caught Charlie’s gaze and winked with his one good eye. “We’ll join you outside shortly.”

  Charlie nodded and smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  She found her father and new stepmother, Eleanor, with Aunt Tabitha and her dear friend Lady Kilbride on the terrace by a fragrant rose bower. They were discussing plans to open additional branches of the Enlightened Women’s Society in other areas of London and other large towns about the country.

  In between the knots of guests milling in the garden itself, Charlie also spied Sophie and Arabella chatting with their husbands and Diana, who, now that she’d remarried, styled herself Lady Claremont. Diana had first met Matthew Ellis, Viscount Claremont—an eligible gentleman who’d once courted Sophie—at Charlie and Max’s wedding, which had taken place at Heathcote Hall a year before to the day.

  On their wedding day—another perfect late spring day just like this one—her father had naturally given her away, and Sophie had been her attendant. But best of all, Nate had been honored to act as Max’s groomsman. He’d at last accepted that Max did indeed love her sincerely and deeply, and knowing that warmed Charlie’s heart immeasurably.

  As Charlie descended the flagged steps to the lawn, she smiled to herself. Sophie and Nate had welcomed another baby boy—Edward, or Ned for short—into the world a month ago, and Arabella and Gabriel were now the proud parents of a five-month-old baby girl named Mary Caroline, after their respective mothers.

  The delightful sound of a child’s squeal and a giggle drew Charlie’s attention. Max, who was talking to Mia, was also pushing little Tilda on a swing. When her husband looked up and saw Charlie, he smiled and beckoned her over.

  It amused Charlie no end that her devilish duke of a husband had recently become as broody as a mother hen around babies and young children. Whenever they visited Nate and Sophie or Arabella and Gabriel, he’d invariably demand a trip to the nursery to see how his godchildren were doing. And it seemed procreating was catching. Molly, who’d recently begun to work here at Harrington House assisting Mia, was expecting too. She’d married her dashing footman, Edwards, on Saint Valentine’s Day, and even though Charlie was losing her loyal lady’s maid, she couldn’t be happier for the young woman.

  Even Peridot had given birth to a litter of sweet little kittens in early March. Charlie had been gradually finding new homes for them all, but she still had one kitten left.

  Charlie joined Max, Mia, and Tilda beneath the shade of the beech tree. Max quite unashamedly slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her in for a kiss.

  “You’re positively glowing, my love,” he murmured against her ear.

  “Well, why wouldn’t I be?” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m blissfully wed to the most wonderful man, all of my friends are equally as happy, and now we have joined forces to create a worthwhile charitable endeavor that will provide help to fellow sisters in need. Our lives couldn’t be more perfect. I feel nothing but blessed.”

  “Agreed.” Max gave her waist a little squeeze. “I take it Hamish and Olivia will join us soon with Tilda’s surprise?”

  “Yes, they will.”

  As if her words had summoned them, Hamish and Olivia appeared on the terrace. Hamish was brandishing a small covered basket. As they approached the beech tree, Tilda slid from the swing and raced over to them. She clasped Olivia’s hand. “What’s in there, Lord Sleat and Lady Livvie?” the child asked in her sweet piping voice. Above the sounds of conversation and laughter, a series of tiny high-pitched mewls could just be heard.

  Hamish squatted down and placed the basket upon the grass. He glanced over to Charlie and grinned. “I believe it’s a present from Charlotte, the Duchess of Exmoor.”

  Tilda looked up at Charlie. “It is? For me, Your Grace?”

  Charlie knelt on the grass too. “It is. Well, actually, it’s a gift from Peridot, my cat. You remember her, don’t you?”

  Tilda nodded vigorously, her brown curls bouncing. “Yes, I do. Lady Livvie was looking after her while you were away.” Her wide blue gray eyes shifted to her mother. “Can I open the basket, Mama?”

  Mia smiled. “Yes, of course, darling.”

  Tilda very carefully lifted the basket’s wicker lid, and a kitten’s tiny head immediately popped up. It stopped mewling and blinked at its surroundings.

  Tilda squealed. “Are you sure the kitten is really for me?” Her gaze skipped between Charlie, Olivia, Hamish, and her moth
er.

  “Yes. She’s just for you,” said Charlie. “But you must promise to take good care of her. Her mama, Peridot, is counting on you.”

  “Oh, I will,” cried Tilda. She scooped up the tiny bundle of tortoiseshell fur and gave the kitten a gentle hug. “What is her name?”

  “You must choose one,” said Charlie.

  Tilda’s forehead dipped into a pensive frown as she stroked the kitten’s fluffy head. “I think I would like to call her Marmalade. Because of all her orange patches.”

  “That sounds just perfect,” said Charlie. “I’ll tell Peridot when I go home.”

  She rose to her feet, and Max drew her in for another hug. “I also have a surprise for you when we leave here,” he murmured. “Today is special for many reasons, and I have so much to be thankful for and to celebrate…including the fact it’s our very first wedding anniversary.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Charlie looked up into Max’s face. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of the beech tree had turned his sapphire eyes to the warmest shade of summer-sky blue. She could quite happily lose herself in those eyes forever. Reaching up, she touched his cheek and inhaled a soft breath. “I have something special to share with you too.”

  Heathcote Hall, Hampstead Heath

  The moment before Max ushered Charlie into their newly refurbished set of private apartments at Heathcote Hall, he felt unaccountably excited. Like a child about to delve into his first-ever Christmas stocking—not that his parents had ever followed such a Yuletide tradition—or a four-year-old about to pull her first pet kitten from a basket. Of course, he already knew what lay beyond the white-paneled doors, but he couldn’t wait to see the expression on Charlie’s face when she discovered what he’d been up to.