Dukes By the Dozen

An eyebrow arched. “Have you known him long?”

“For well over a decade. We attended university together.”

She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I should have known.”

“What should you have known?”

“The reason why my friend felt comfortable thrusting us together out here. Leaving me alone on this island with you. She must have absolute trust in you and in your sense of honor.”

Taylor took a handkerchief out of her pocket to dry her face. If she hadn’t mentioned the word honor, he could easily have kissed away those droplets, drying each glistening bead with the soft touch of his mouth.

Lightning flashed, lighting up the cracks around the door and the windows, and he could feel the thunder reverberate under foot. She clearly felt it too, and she shivered. He looked around at the cottage. Not much to it. A fireplace and a small stack of dry wood. A narrow bed. An ancient chest containing a blanket. He shook it out and offered it to her before crouching by the fireplace. A moment later, flames lit the room.

“Did you take part in their planning?”

He looked over his shoulder and found Taylor leaning against the door.

“I spoke the truth when I said Dermot used family as an excuse for sending me out to this island.” He rose to his feet, facing her. “Of course, I suspected and hoped other arrangements were in the works.”

“What kind of arrangements?”

“The situation we’re in right now never occurred to me, but I thought he’d find a way for me to see you. He knew I wanted, more than anything, to express to you my feelings.”

She pushed away from the door. Her steps were slow, and her gaze held his as she approached.

“Did you mean what you said to me outside?”

Rain pelted against the shuttered windows. The wind howled, and the fire flared in the fireplace.

“Every word, liebling.” He didn’t know how much time they had left together. Perhaps the storm would prompt Dermot to send a boat right away. He didn’t want to miss this chance to speak from his heart. “You are beautiful. And courageous. And smart. I haven’t stopped thinking of you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. What I didn’t get a chance to finish saying was that you would do me a great honor if you’d consider being my wife.”

She looked away, staring at the fire. “A wife to provide you with the income to continue adventuring while I’m left on my own in your castle?”

This was what lay behind her questions outside. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her as he spoke. But he understood her hesitation. Now was the moment to allay her fears or lose her forever. The time had come for her to know the truth.

“I have no need for your fortune. My estates are thriving. The people back home are well cared for. Everyone who lived through the ravages of Napoleon’s wars has suffered, but we recovered quickly. My people are feeling no hardship.” Bamberg needed her to understand he wasn’t like her father. “I’m not marrying for money.”

She was silent for a moment as her eyes caressed his face. “But…what about the rumors?”

“I started them myself.”

“Then why was it that you allowed my father to coerce you into calling on me?”

“You thought it was your fortune that enticed me? There was no coercing on his part. It was I who approached him after the carriage accident. I offered him my card. I wanted to call on you.”

Her chin dropped onto her chest. He saw her lift a handkerchief to her cheek.

“You will not be left alone at my castle. I want a wife who will be with me wherever I go, who will share a life we choose to build together, who will travel and explore at my side for as long as we both choose that path. I’m looking for a friend and a lover, a partner to cherish and love as she cherishes and loves me.”

He finally had a chance to speak the words. His heart’s desire now lay open and unadorned at her feet. For these past few months, she’d been running, and he’d been chasing. But he’d never lost hope. Now that they were together, however, now that he’d placed his offer before her, he feared the answer. What if she didn’t find him worthy of her? What if this was not the life she wanted?

Then Bamberg looked more closely at the handkerchief in her hand as she brushed away more tears. He took a step closer and enclosed her hand in his. He had his answer.

“Let me see that.”

“You can’t have it back.”

She’d kept his handkerchief. He took a deep breath. Feelings of pleasure and relief battled within him. He pushed the wet strands of golden hair out of her face. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

“Taylor, mein Schatz, I do wish you hadn’t mentioned the word honor before.” He gently brushed his knuckles against her wet cheek and let his hand drop.

Her eyes were shimmering like sapphires when she looked up at him. She came closer.

“You have behaved honorably, but that doesn’t mean I have to.” Her arms slid upward, encircling his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she placed soft kisses on his chin, his lips. She ran her fingers through his hair, her mouth moving to his ear, where she whispered her answer. “I’m honored by your offer, Your Grace. Wife, partner, lover. Whatever you want me to be, I shall be. I’m yours.”

FOR YEARS, she’d told herself she was complete without a man, and that was true, to an extent. She lacked experience, but she was not ignorant of the body’s pleasures. But that decade of denying her desire was gone. She’d come to believe that this kind of love would never come her way. That assumption was now shattered too, punctuated by each flash of lightning and each crack of thunder.

Now, with Bamberg, all her hesitation was swept away. They somehow moved against the wall. Her back pressed against it. His body was only a whisper away. Desire ripped through her, an intense primitive force that left her trembling. A throb low in her belly started to spread.

He caressed the side of her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

“My beautiful Taylor. My precious jewel. You make me the happiest of men.”

Their mouths came together, and her entire body was caught in a whirlwind of awareness. His lips played with hers. His fingers pushed into her damp hair, and pins fell to her feet. She melted into his touch and heard a soft cry of need spring from her lips.

Bamberg deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips. The heat in her belly became an ache, spreading through her limbs and to her breasts. Her lips parted under his, inviting him in, wanting, needing more of him. She heard his satisfied groan as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

A jolt of passion rushed through her. Taylor kissed him back, her tongue mimicking the dance she’d just learned.

Whatever shred of control he was hanging onto suddenly disappeared. His fingers threaded into her hair, and he pulled her head back, his mouth taking, drinking in all she was willingly offering him.

She took her hands from around his neck and trailed her fingers over the damp coat, pushing it off his shoulders. She was desperate to feel his skin. She tugged at his waistcoat.

“I’ll not take you before our marriage, Taylor,” he whispered against her lips.

“But I want you now,” she cried breathlessly.

He smiled, and his hands slid down along her spine and over her bottom. He pulled her tight, and she could feel his hardness. She was trapped, but there was nowhere else she wanted to be. The feel of her body against his was a miracle.

His lips left her mouth and caressed her cheek before skimming over her jaw. When they found the sensitive skin of her throat, she pressed her back more fully against the wall, willingly offering him her body.

He tugged at the neckline of her dress, and her breasts sprang free. Every nerve in her body cried for more when his fingers stroked a hard nipple and then tested the heavy fullness of her breast in his hand.

The pressure in her belly continued to build. She couldn’t think or focus. She was robbed of breath, but still she wanted more.

Bringing his mouth back to her lips, he whispered, “To hold us over, until the wedding night.”

His voice was ragged, his breath as short as hers. She didn’t know what he meant, and then he lifted the front of her skirts and pressed his leg against her. Taylor’s thighs clenched around his muscles, and she felt wet. Giving in to some primal instinct, she began to rock against him as his mouth closed around a nipple.

Bamberg’s hand found its way through her skirts until he reached the folds of her sex. His palm pressed on her mound, his fingers retreating and entering again and again. Her body arched against him, one knee rising against his side as he steadily stoked the fires raging within her.

She cried out softly. Her fingers delved into his hair and caressed his cheek. She wanted him never to stop. Stormy pressures were building within her. Seeing the dark planes of his face against her pale skin was intensely erotic.

She was barely aware that she was standing at the moment when her world shifted. Wrapped around him, she came apart, burying her cries of release against his chest.

MILLIE CONTINUED to refuse the midwife’s suggestion of lying in the bed.

Too many people were coming and going. Apparently, childbirth allowed for no privacy whatsoever. Her sister Jo wouldn’t take no for an answer and settled in as a permanent fixture beside Dermot. Her parents had arrived at the Abbey just in time, and Millie was happy they were safely here. But her mother’s tears were no help to her, and Lady Millicent was banished from the room until her grandchild was born.

Sometime in the midst of it all, Millie thought of Taylor and the duke and wondered if anyone had gone after them. Before she could say a word to Dermot, however, another fierce contraction gripped her, and the thought fled into the oblivion of pain.

HAPPILY, no one had come after them. During the night, the rain and the wind stopped, and the sound of thunder faded off to the east. Inside the cottage, the fire’s embers only flickered, and the air had grown cool.

The single blanket was not nearly long enough to cover Bamberg, and his feet extended a good few inches beyond the bottom. The two of them were squeezed into a narrow bed not even wide enough to support the width of his shoulders. Her elbow poked into his side, and her naked back was pressed against his bare chest. She was deliciously warm in his arms. He’d spent the night in his breeches, his good intentions intact.

Last night had been a first for her…and a first for him.

For her, it had offered the first experience of her birthright as a woman. For him, it was the wonderful realization that the angelic woman lying in his arms was going to be his partner in life, forever.

Bamberg knew when she awoke by the change in her soft breathing. He smiled and ran his fingers through the silky golden tresses draped over his arm.

It was nearly dawn. Grey light filtered in from around the door and the shuttered windows. He knew they should be up and dressed, for Dermot and Millie would certainly send a boat after them now that the storm had passed. He owed so much to his friends. He’d expected a few hours. They’d given him the chance for a lifetime of happiness.

Taylor placed a kiss on the arm she’d been using as a pillow before turning in the small space and facing him. “When are we to wed?”

He ran his thumb over her swollen lips and kissed her forehead. “We’re in Scotland, so today, if that suits you. Unless you’d like to have your family present.”

“I don’t.” Her answer was quick and definite. “You’re my only family from now on. You are my today, my tomorrow, and my future. You’re the only one I need.”

Bamberg pulled her tightly against him. Her words warmed his heart. He thought of their future and all the years they would have together, enjoying each other and all the places they’d go.

“And wherever you wish to go, I want to be there with you.”

She’d read his mind. “Someday soon, whether or not we are blessed with a child, I’d like us to live in Bavaria, if that is acceptable to you.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered. “But right now, I don’t think your mind is on travel or your estates in Bavaria.”

Some things could not be hidden when two bodies lay pressed together in a narrow bed.

Her fingers trailed downward over the hard muscles of his stomach until she reached the front of his breeches. The hardness and size of him must have startled her, for she immediately withdrew her hand. But an instant later, she sought him out again—timidly, slowly, feeling him, exploring him. A low groan of pleasure emitted from deep within him, and this appeared to give her the courage that she needed.

“I haven’t forgotten all the times you said last night that we have to wait to make love until we’re married.” She rolled him back and climbed on top of him.

“Then what is it you have in mind right now?”

“Doing to you a little of what you’ve been doing to me.”

Bamberg pushed the blanket off her shoulder and lifted his head to her breasts, taking her sweet flesh into his mouth. But she was clearly determined not to allow him to lift her alone into a state of bliss. Not this time. Coaxing him back to her lips, she seduced his mouth with her lips and tongue and with soft murmured cries in her throat. Before he could recover from that, she was undoing the buttons of his breeches.

Bamberg was lost the moment she reached inside and wrapped her fingers around him. All the strength and self-control he’d employed last night was gone. He’d never be able to hold back now.

“Hullo?” a voice called from outside the cottage. “Is someone here?”

CHAPTER 6

How to Ditch A Duke

– Step 6 –

Pack for Foreign Climates

OLIVER PENNINGTON MCKENDRY came into the world in the wee hours of the morning with a healthy cry of protest after nearly twenty hours of labor. Immediately following the birth, Dermot and an exhausted Millie took a few moments alone, holding their infant son and admiring the perfection of the wrinkled face and hands and feet.

Soon after, the grandparents were allowed in. And shortly after that, the baby was taken briefly to the Great Hall to meet the other members of the Pennington family who were continuing to arrive. Aunts and uncles and cousins lined up to view the infant.

It was sometime in the middle of the day when Dermot and Millie looked at each other and remembered the friends they’d left out on the small island in the loch.

“After what I’ve done to her,” Millie said unhappily, “Taylor will surely never speak to me again.”

“No doubt,” Dermot agreed dolefully, before adding brightly. “But the silver lining in that cloud is that we’ll be drinking fine Bavarian wines until we’re old and grey. Bamberg will now be certain that I’m his best friend.”

Receiving a slap on the arm, he immediately went down to send a groom off after the duo. But he only got halfway to the stables when he espied his uncle, Blane McKendry. The minister was approaching from the direction of the loch. And he was walking with two people.

Lady Taylor Fleming and Franz Aurech, the Duke of Bamberg.

And they both appeared to be extremely jovial. In fact, Dermot noticed they were holding hands.

“Ah, nephew,” the cleric called out as they approached. “We have cause for celebration.”

“Indeed, we do,” Dermot replied, shading his eyes against the sun and trying to avoid looking at the two island castaways. “And it’s a fine day for a celebration.”

He wondered how his uncle heard about the baby. He hadn’t sent word to the village, but thankfully, someone had done it.

“After the storm last night,” Blane McKendry began, “I knew that old George Hanover, that monster of a pike the Squire and I have been angling for since you were a lad, would surely be rising for a fight. You remember last year the Squire nearly had the blackguard, but the beast tore the rod right out of his—”

“I recall, Uncle. It was an epic battle.” Fishing. Island. It now made sense how these three were together.

“Aye, so this morning I rowed out to the island. Thought the Squire would already be there, but I beat him to it.” The minister smiled with obvious satisfaction. “Then, just as I was going by the cottage, I saw a few wisps of smoke and realized someone was in there. And who should answer my call but these two fine people.”

Dermot hazarded a glance at them. Standing arm in arm, they appeared to be unperturbed by the story. Whatever response Millie feared from her friend, it didn’t show in Taylor’s shining face.

“And once we shook hands all around, what do you think they asked me?”

“For a fish to fry up for breakfast?”

“Nay, lad! A wedding!” The minister beamed at his companions.

“I asked your uncle to marry us today,” Bamberg announced, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Taylor held onto the duke’s arm and smiled happily at the minister. “Your good uncle here has given up a day of angling in order to officiate at our wedding. And we’re hoping you and Millie will stand up for us as witnesses.”

Bamberg nodded. “We should like to be married at once. Do you mind, McKendry? Do you think Lady Millie would mind?”

Millie would be thrilled. And how appropriate that these two should want to be married now, without Taylor’s horrid father and brother present. Very satisfying, indeed.

“Not at all. I’m certain she’ll be delighted,” he replied. “Come inside. I have some news of my own to convey.”

They’d done it. Millie’s perception of her friend’s true feelings, added to his own cleverness in giving them time alone, had kept a duke from being ditched.

The Duke and Duchess of Bamberg. It certainly had a fine ring to it.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

We hope you enjoyed How to Ditch a Duke.

As many of you know, our characters live and breathe for us. At the end of the Pennington Family series, many of our readers wrote to us asking if some of the family members could come back in future stories. Well, this was a little teaser. Those of you who have read our previous novels and novellas will remember Millie and Dermot from Dearest Millie.

Here is a listing of other books involving the Penningtons:

The Promise

The Rebel

Borrowed Dreams

Captured Dreams

Dreams of Destiny

Romancing the Scot

It Happened in the Highlands

Sweet Home Highland Christmas

Sleepless in Scotland

Dearest Millie

And we’re not done. You’ll be seeing the Penningtons again.

This Spring, our novel Highland Crown serves as the start of our Royal Highlander series. In this exciting trilogy, three extraordinary women in the Highlands of Scotland find the courage to defy the world at a tumultuous moment when a new Scottish identity will be forged or a political assassination will divide a nation forever.

Please sign up for news and updates and follow us on BookBub. You can also visit us on our website.

Peace and Health,

Nikoo and Jim (writing as May McGoldrick).

TO TEMPT A HIGHLAND DUKE

AUGUST

BRONWEN EVANS

PREFACE

Widowed Lady Flora Grafton must be dreaming…Dougray Firth, the Duke of Monreith, the man who once pledged her his heart and then stood by and allowed her to marry another, has just proposed. While her head screams yes, her heart is more guarded. Why, after eight years, this sudden interest? When she learns the truth… can she trust Dougray to love her enough this time?

PROLOGUE

Fenworth House, Perth, Scotland 1814

DOUGRAY FIRTH, Viscount Crew, enjoyed the quiet of the late hour, or early morning, whichever way you chose to look at it. He took another swig from the near empty bottle of whisky in his hand and looked up at the night sky.

Fate was a bastard. He’d known that for years, but tonight it stabbed him hard.

On this warm summer night he sat on the terrace of Fenworth House, the Earl of Fenworth’s countryseat, cursing his father the Duke of Monreith. His best friend’s little sister, Flora, the woman he thought he would marry, was to be wed in the morning but not to him.

And whose fault was that?

He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the whisky wash away the terrible memories of six years ago. He’d been eighteen and his father’s meddling had destroyed his world.

He wanted the whisky to give him courage. To give him the courage to give his father exactly what he wanted—Dougray’s agreement to wed Flora instead. Doing so the day of her wedding would be a scandal, but they would live that down.

He also knew Flora would eagerly forego Lord Grafton if he asked her to marry him instead.

But he couldn’t marry her.

He loved her. She was his best friend. The only woman who got him through Connie’s death and the one person who had not let him give up on his search for his son, the son the Duke had taken from him.

Because Dougray loved her he would let her go.

For to marry her could sign her death warrant.

He took another long slug from the bottle still in his hand. The fiery liquid burned his throat; that is what brought tears to his eyes.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his linen shirt.

He sat consumed by misery when out of the corner of his eye he saw a ghostly figure slip through the front entrance and walk into the rose garden that led down to the small pond at the front of the estate.

He knew who it was and where she was going.

Dougray knew this house better than his own. He’d spent more time here than at his father country estate. Angus Mackenzie, the Earl of Fenworth’s son was his best friend and Flora’s older brother.

He told himself not to follow, but his feet did not want to listen. The almost empty bottle fell to the terrace as he set off in pursuit.

He didn’t catch up to her until she had reached the summerhouse. This is where they’d come to be alone. To share their hopes, fears, and dreams. It was where six months ago he had stolen his first kiss from her.

She was sitting on the bench in her nightgown, her knees drawn up to her chest with her head resting on them. He heard a sniff and realized she was crying. The sound made him almost double over with pain.

“Don’t cry, sweeting.”

Flora jumped at the sound of his voice. She had not heard him enter, so lost in her own misery.

“Go away, Dougray. I want to be alone.”

He reached her side but could not bear to touch her. “Iain is a nice man. Will becoming his wife be so terrible?”

She looked up, her eyes awash with pain. “He’s not you.”

He crouched down in front of her. “I cannot marry you. I just can’t.”

She studied his face and he did not hide the tear that slipped from his eye.

“This past year I really thought you had finally gotten over Connie’s death. I thought you’d opened your heart to me. We shared our hopes for the future. You let me fall in love with Connor as if he were my own wee boy. Just tell me why?”

He had no words. Instead he leaned forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.

“Do you hate your father so much that you’d use me as a pawn to hurt him. Is it because he is desirous of our match that you purposely opposed it?” Her sorrow was now replaced with anger. “I hate you Dougray Firth. I hate you for making me fall in love with you. For giving me a dream and then taking it away. Just go away before you break my heart completely.” Her head lowered to her knees and she began sobbing.

He couldn’t stand it. He reached down and scooped her into his arms and took her place on the bench, placing her in his lap. She did not stop crying. She merely buried her face against his chest and sobbed.

He sat there gently rocking her and wished things could be different. He wished he didn’t love her so much. But it was because he loved her he would let her go. Seeing her married to another would be his living hell but at least she would be alive and he would be able to see her occasionally.

He didn’t know how long they sat there. Eventually her sobbing stopped and she fell asleep in his arms.

He pressed a kiss to her head and imprinted the feel of her into his memory and heart.

Finally as dawn began to break he carried her back toward the house. He was halfway through the rose garden when Angus appeared.

“Give her to me.”

He didn’t want to but he knew Angus was angry and hurt. He gently passed Flora to her brother. She didn’t even stir.

Angus shook his head. “I don’t know why you are doing this. If I believed like most that it is to get back at your father I would beat you until you could not walk for days. But I know it is something else. I hope one day you will have the decency to tell me why.”

Angus turned his back to enter the house. He stopped with his foot on the first step. “I think it best you leave immediately after the wedding breakfast. And I need some time to get over this.”

He knew his friendship with Angus would never be the same.

He’d lost two friends this night.

CHAPTER 1

Edinburgh, August 1822 - eight years later

“WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP GIGGLING, and come and help me with the table setting,” Lady Flora wished Sarah, the young serving girl standing in the corridor was a little less attractive. Sarah turned many a man’s head, too beautiful for her own good. Flora would remind Lady Mary to ensure the youngest and prettiest girls were locked well away from the powerful men who were arriving tomorrow.

The King being one of them.

Palace of Holyrood House was in the middle of a spring clean. For the first time in almost two centuries the King would be stepping onto Scottish soil and Lady Flora was lucky enough to have been invited to witness and part-take of the occasion. She’d been asked to oversee the dinning room decorations and table settings for the dinner that was to occur here in two nights time.

Sarah scurried forward, approaching the large dining table dominating the room. “I’m sorry, my lady. I have ironed the other tablecloths as requested but I need one of the men to carry them for me. They’re really heavy.”

“I can fetch them for you, pretty Sarah.” The young male voice from the corridor revealed all. Flora wanted to roll her eyes. No wonder Sarah had been in the corridor giggling. Young Conner Firth leaned in the doorway, his eyes flirting with Sarah, and she was mesmerized by the handsome lad; as most of the serving girls, and even some of the palace ladies were.

Dougray had been only eighteen when Connor was born. It seemed so long ago now. At fourteen years of age, and yet almost six feet tall already, Connor, with his father’s black hair and piercing blue eyes, was beginning to fulfill her expectations of being a heart breaker. Connor took after his father in more than just looks it would seem. He loved the bonny lasses.

“Connor Firth. I’m sure your father has more important tasks for you than pestering the serving girls,” Flora scolded.

“Oh, Lady Flora, you know you are still my favorite,” and he laughed in his still to fully deepen voice.

She swung round with hands on her hips. “I remember a time when I put you over my knee. You’re not too old for me to do that again.”

This time he uncrossed his arms and winked at her. “I might just enjoy that.”

God help her, but she could feel her face flush with color. Oh, to be a young girl again. Connor certainly made her feel old, and yet she had only just turned eight and twenty.

A respectable age for a widow, but too young to stay a widow for the rest of your life.

“If your father catches you wasting time here there will be hell to pay.”

At her words his smile dimmed slightly.

She turned to Sarah who was still standing there playing with her hair. “Go and get two of the laundry lads to help you.”

Sarah sighed as she slipped past Connor who’d stepped further into the room to let the young girl past. Flora was pretty sure she saw Connor’s fingers pinch her bottom as Sarah slipped out of the room.

“You should not be encouraging them, Connor. You of all people know the consequences for these young girls when they have been trifled with.” Connor’s mother had been a serving girl just like Sarah.

He could not look her in the eye. “Tis’ only a bit of fun.”

“You are the Duke of Monreith’s son, that alone is enough to turn a girl’s head, let alone the fact you have your father’s good looks.”

“You forgot to say illegitimate son.” Connor’s eyes flashed with fire.

Flora walked to stand in front of him. “Your father loves you. He recognized you. He gave you his name. As far as most are concerned you are a duke’s son. So start acting like one.”

“He recognized me for my mother. He loved her.”

“He loves you too, from the moment he held you.” She cupped his cheek noticing the slight stubble that was beginning to show on his face now. “Aye, he did love your mother very much. That is why you are so precious to him.” And why Dougray Firth, the Duke of Monreith, had never married. He still held a torch for Connie, Connor’s mother who had died in childbirth.

“Did you know he has decided to marry?” His eyes narrowed. “Because he wasn’t married to my mother, I cannot be his heir. After all these years, suddenly he wants an heir. It would appear I am no longer enough.”

So this was the reason Connor was acting up and trying to be the man he’d yet to become.

She drew him into a hug. “It does not mean he loves you any less. You know it’s the duty of any peer to ensure the continuation of the title. Your father being one of only a few Scottish dukes has even more pressure to ensure his lineage continues. And with the King’s visit…”

Connor pushed out of her embrace. “It has always just been father and I.”

“Oh, Connor it still will be. You’re almost a man. If he marries and has a son, it will be years before your father can hunt, fish, and more with him. You’ll still have him to yourself and by the time a younger brother is grown, you’ll likely be married with your own family.”

“But she will be my stepmother. Bruce got a stepmother and she was awful to him. What if she doesn’t like me and she convinces father to send me away?”

“He’d never do that, and he’d never marry a woman who could not love you. You are too important to him.”

Connor’s eyes filled with hope then she watched the hope drain away. He scuffed his boots along the Persian rug. Suddenly a grin replaced his scowl. “You could marry him. I like you. You’d never come between father and I.”

A two-pronged pain almost ripped her apart. She’d been in love with Dougray for years, long before her family married her off to Viscount Iain Grafton. But Dougray’s heart closed after Connie’s death. Dougray was not there at the end of Connie’s life and he never really recovered from the role the late Duke of Monreith played in the sorry affair.

Over the years Flora came to recognize that Dougray had not loved her enough. He had stood aside and watched as she married another.

Besides, he would not want her now. She’d been married for over five years before her husband died, and the union never produced a child. She’d be a bad wager for a man needing an heir.

Dougray must know that because she had been a widow for three years and he’d never come courting her. They were friends, but not the same as it had been before she wed. Flora almost thought he avoided her as much as possible.

She wanted children more than anything. That was the main reason she would risk marriage again, but not to someone who would be devastated if she never bore them a child. She’d pick a widower who already had children.

“You like my father, surely? You are good friends. Most women do find him handsome. Or is it me you would not want as a son.”

She sighed. “I’d be honored to be your stepmother but it’s not possible.”

His head tipped to the side. “You’re not that old, and you are very beautiful. I heard my father’s men say so.”

“I don’t think I could marry a man who still loved a ghost.”

Connor nodded. “I think he’s ready to move on. I heard him tell Mary.”

Lady Mary was Dougray’s sister, and Flora’s best friend.

If Dougray were ready to love again, the woman who could capture his battered heart would be one lucky woman indeed.

“So why not you?” Connor pushed.

“Think about it. I know your father has talked with you about men and women. I was married and yet I have no children.” Just saying the words filled her eyes with tears.

The boy noticed and quickly hugged her this time. “I did not mean to upset you. Please don’t cry.”

She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “So you see your father is unlikely to consider me as potential marriage material.”

“I wish he did.”

She wished he did too, but if she married him and could not give him a child…he’d end up resenting her. Besides he did not love her, perhaps he never had. She’d had enough of loveless marriages. Her next marriage might last more than five years. Her previous marriage taught her that she could not bear a long loveless marriage. She would marry for love this time or not at all.

“Now run along and go and find something useful to do. This is an important visit for your father and for Scotland. Please try to do him proud, and leave chasing the girls until next week.”

His cheeky grin was back. “I’ll try, but that will likely break a few hearts.” He blew her a kiss as he went out the door. “You’re still my favorite.”

She let out a sigh. Oh, to have a boy like Connor as her own.

Busy. She needed to keep herself busy so she could push away the emptiness deep inside.

Trouble was she could not get Connor’s words out of her head—Dougray wanted to marry. Finally he was ready, only now it was too late. Everyone knew she couldn’t give him what he needed. A child. The King would likely not allow the match.

CHAPTER 2

ON THE OTHER side of the dining room Dougray stood just outside the door and listened to the conversation between his son and Lady Flora. His son had excellent taste; Flora was indeed a beautiful woman. And kind, and generous, and she owned his heart—Christ she was perfect. Perfect to take to wife.

He’d loved her for years. He’d stayed away to protect her.

Connor liked her, and she liked Connor. Dougray loved her, desired her more than any woman he knew. Her words spoken to Connor unlocked the chain he had wrapped tightly around his heart. Perhaps there was a way he could have his heart’s desire.

Years ago he’d not married her to protect her, but now she did not need his protection. He staggered against the doorframe. Oh, my God, he was free to love her.

It was safe to wed her because she was barren. She could not have a child. Therefore he could not kill her in childbirth as he had done to Connie.

His world spun and his heart filled with hope. Why had he not understood the significance of her becoming a childless widow before?

The King and the other Scottish dukes made it clear he must marry. His collar tightened at the memory of the dictatorial letter with the royal seal upon it. They wanted him to align with a highland clan. Flora was a Mackenzie before her marriage.

It was almost too perfect.

‘The Scottish Dukedom must be preserved,’ the note had said. The King was not as stupid as many thought. His order to marry came with a suggested date for announcing his engagement. A pity that when he received the note nine months ago he’d not felt inclined to be forced into wedlock. He remembered what had happened to Connie, and to his mother, and the thought of putting any woman through that again…Guilt over Connie’s death constantly trampled him like a rampaging wild bull.

These past three years he had not been engaging his brain. Why hadn’t he noticed that Flora bore Iain no children?

His betrothal had to be announced in two days time at the diner for the King, and if he didn’t he could end up offending their royal guest. Not the done thing given it was the first time in almost two-hundred-years a King had set foot on Scottish soil. To defy his King’s wish at an event such as this…

The idea of a marriage with the sole goal of producing a child made his stomach rollick with fear, and nausea rise up to choke him. He was a big man. Over six feet five inches and shoulders as wide as this door he hid behind. They had told him the baby was too big for Connie to birth and it had taken three days to bring Connor into this world. Three days for his love to die in agony and fear. The midwife Angus found for Connie said it was a miracle the baby boy survived.

Dougray grimaced. Connor was a fighter all right. He was his son.

When he’d learned any child of his was likely to be a big baby, he’d sworn on Connie’s grave he would never be the cause of another woman’s death. He could not go through that again, especially if the woman owned his heart. It had taken Flora to open his heart again, six years after Connie’s death. Flora had been only thirteen when Connie died. When she was nineteen he’d came to stay with her family. She helped him heal. Or so he’d thought.

He pushed off the wall he was leaning against and watched Flora as she roamed around the huge table moving place settings. She was a sturdy lass. She was Angus’s sister all right. Tall, big hips, perhaps… he often wondered if she would have survived what Connie couldn’t, but he would not risk her life on a perhaps.

She reached over the table and the movement pulled her gown tight over her bottom. And what a bottom it was. Plump and round just right to fill his hands. Her rich copper-golden hair floated around her shoulders like silk and his body heated at the idea of letting it slide over his naked skin. Her lips were full and firm and he’d often fantasied at what those lips would feel like wrapped around the hard length of him.

He suddenly burned for her. He’d managed to keep his lust at bay these past years by occasionally taking lovers. He was always careful. What would it be like to make love to a woman and not have to worry about getting her with child? To be able to relax and not always think about having to withdraw before he reached his release. The idea of not having to wear a French glove appealed—a lot.

Just then she looked over her shoulder and saw him standing there.

“Why are you loitering in the doorway like your son?”

He grinned stupidly at her. “The sight of your plump bottom was spell binding.”

For one moment she looked shocked and then her creamy cheeks filled with color. She turned her back and continued brushing the table. “You need to have a word with Connor. He is far too much like his father and if you are not careful he’ll get some poor lass in trouble.”

“He knows what will happen if he does. I’ve talked with him.”

“But he follows your lead and you have not been that discreet of late. Your current paramour is flouting your relationship to everyone she meets.”

His grin widened. “Jealousy does not become you, Flora. Besides, I broke off that—arrangement—over ten days ago.”

He watched her back straighten and her shoulders tighten. She slowly turned to face him, surprised at how close he’d come. She had not heard him approach. He watched the vein at the base of her neck pulse.

“You are so conceited. Jealous. Humph. I have no desire to be one of your conquests. Besides, you are the most fickle man I know. You taught me well.”

He could not help himself. He reached out and ran a finger over her throat feeling the erratic beat of her blood. “I think your frantic heartbeat calls you a liar. Just my touch sets your skin on fire.” His groin tightened as her pink tongue slipped from between her lips to moisten them.

“Don’t play your games with me, Dougray. Not again. We have been—friends for many years—and I will do nothing to let you ruin that just because you are bored.” She batted his hand away, a gloating smile upon her face. “Besides, Connor informed me you are looking for a wife. I wonder if the King’s visit has brought about this change of heart.”

She was too clever. He stepped back and casually flicked lint from his sleeve. “Do I look like a man who can be forced to do anything he does not wish to do? You should know me better than that.”

She looked him in the eye and he did not blink. “Then I am very happy for you. It’s about time you learned to open your heart again and let a woman in. Life is too long to be alone. I should know.” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

He realized she had not meant to reveal that last part. She was too young and too beautiful to spend the rest of her life as a widow. He longed to love her. Longed to give her the dreams they once shared with each other. He had lived the last eight years knowing that for him to risk loving any woman was impossible.

Barren. She was barren. It struck him like a sharp edged sword that he could finally risk loving Flora.

His lonely life held the promise of more. If she could not bear him a child then he could afford the luxury of giving her his heart. That was worth more than his whole estate and title, for it would mean no heir. To feel that connection with her once again. To share all of his life with her. He could feel the fortress walls surrounding his heart cracking.

But what if she could bear him a child, and that it was her husband’s seed that was useless. The idea of marrying Flora and getting her with child…the risk was great. Agreeing to become his wife could sign her death warrant.

“Are you all right? You are looking at me very peculiarly.”

Her words drew him up short. He’d speak to her brother Angus. He would not offer for Flora if her brother feared for her. Angus knew his history with Connie and Angus also knew his sister.

He said, “I shall leave you to your duties. Mary is worrying herself silly over the Kings visit when I suspect all the King needs is good food, good whisky, and a pretty woman or two. He won’t notice how clean or cold the Palace is.”

“Spoken like a man. Your sister is doing a marvelous job and I hope you thank her. We will notice if the Palace is not looking its best. We do not want the English to look down on us. We need to show we are not the heathen savages they think we are.”

He laughed. “I’d love to see you act like a heathen savage.”

To his delight she picked up a napkin and flicked him with it. Before he could reply Mary entered the room.

“Oh, Dougray, stop annoying Flora. Have you organized the three extra spits for the kitchen like I asked?”

“I was just on my way to do that when I was waylaid by Flora’s beauty and wit. She is most distracting today.”

Mary rolled her eyes while Flora spluttered, “I’m not keeping you. I have more than enough to do than pander to your ego.”

Mary flapped her hands at him as if he was a boy. “Away with you. Go and use your charms on women too stupid to see through your looks.”

He pressed his hands to his heart. “Too cruel. From my sister as well.”

Mary blew him a kiss. “Oh, and can you tell that son of yours that if I see him bothering the serving girls again I shall put him over my knee in front of them.”

That stole his humor. Flora was right. It would seem Connor did need another talking to. He’d already told his son that this week was not the time or place for his usual antics, but boys becoming men tended to challenge their fathers. He should know. He’d challenged his and it cost Connor his mother’s life. His son would not make the mistakes he had.

He bowed. “I shall leave you lovely ladies to your organizing then.”

MARY STOOD LOOKING at her brother’s departing back. “Have you noticed that my brother has been acting very strange of late?”

Flora agreed. Since becoming a widow he had never flirted with her—not even once. But he was flirting today.

“Connor told me he has decided to take a wife. The King’s visit most likely spurred his decision.” She ignored the dagger of pain that slice through her heart at the words.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I suspect Sir Walter has also been advising my brother to marry. A duke must have an heir. A legitimate heir.” She stopped polishing the candlestick and smacked her forehead. “So that is why Connor is out of sorts.”

Flora nodded. “He’s always had Dougray to himself and he is worried a wife might banish him.” She took a deep breath. “Who do you think he will chose?”

Mary looked at her sharply. “Oh, Flora. I’m so sorry. I know how you feel about Dougray.”

“That was a girlish fantasy. He did not want me before, why would he want me this time. I could never be his wife now anyway. I am likely barren. Every man in Scotland knows that.” The look of pity Mary threw her way made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. Mary had two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, with her husband, Stuart Carmichael, the Earl of Rowland. She covered her pain saying, “We were once such good friends. Let’s put our heads together and find him a young lady that would make him happy. That can’t be too hard can it?”

Mary gave her a hug. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Let’s go and have a cup of tea and make a list. We can see how the ladies on our list interact with Dougray at the ball tonight.” They left the room arm and arm heading for the small private drawing room on the floor above. “Plus, Lord Glengarry will be at the ball too.”

“Oh, he is only recently widowed. Surely he is not looking for a wife so soon?”

“He has three children under six plus an elder boy. I’d say he needs all the help he can get.”

How did she tell practical Mary that a man who would wed simply to get himself a new mother for his children was not the man for her? Not this time. While the idea of raising those children as her own was appealing, would the love from his children replace the emptiness she felt inside if her husband did not love her?

Mary read her face. “He’s always had a fondness for you but you were promised to another.”

“We shall see. My father is dead so at least I won’t have any man forcing me into a marriage I do not want. I won’t be rushed or pushed this time.”

CHAPTER 3

GOD GIVE him strength to get through this week, let alone this night. The King wasn’t even on Scottish soil yet, but Sir Walter Scott took the opportunity to bring the Scottish lord’s together in this evening’s glittering ball. Over cards the stuffed up peacock had lectured the men for almost an hour, insisting on what they could wear and what they could say in front of the King.

Well, Dougray wasn’t a child. He was a duke and he would bloody well wear what he liked and say what he liked—within reason. Like he said, he wasn’t stupid. Scott’s lecture was almost enough to make him risk walking back into the ballroom to face the hell of having to dance.

He was still in the card room, but he and Angus were sitting at the back near the fire in two large armchairs. He’d invited his friend to sit with him over a few glasses of fine whisky. Luckily they had gotten past the issue with Flora’s marriage some years back. Mainly because Flora had seemed happy in her marriage.

Dougray should have been pleased at that fact, but it tortured him every day to know she was happy with another man.

Tonight he needed to discuss Flora and he was worried about his friend’s reaction.

“Scott,” Angus spat out. “That bloody pompous cretin. I’m not sure a visit from the King is worth this.” Angus banged his empty whisky glass on the arm of his chair and called a servant for more of the fiery liquid.

“Do behave, Angus. Talk like that is likely to see Scotland truly embarrassed and you sent to Coventry, if you are not careful.”

Angus snorted. “Rubbish. You’ve met the King before. What do you think of him?”

“Actually, the last time I saw him he was still the Prince Regent. Don’t let the overweight and jolly image fool you. The King is not a stupid man. Although he does love his food, wine, and women far too much.”

“But is it in Scotland’s interest to form this closer alliance?”

“I believe it is. Both of our estates are flourishing now that we are working with the English. I intend to welcome them until they do something that is not in Scotland’s interest.”

“To Scotland,” Angus said. The two men clinked their glasses together.

“Speaking of the King. Scott mentioned the King is most concerned at my marital status. To be fair its more the ‘no heir’ that is of issue. It would appear the King, or his lapdog Scott, does not wish to see my cousin inherit.”

He waited for Angus’s chortle but it did not come.

“Aye, it is about time you married and beget an heir. This moping over your wee lass has gone on long enough. It’s not manly.”

Dougray’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Says the man who would not leave his wife’s side for two weeks when she was battling the lung fever.”

The two men eyed each other before Angus whispered, “Touché.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a royal order to announce my engagement at the dinner in two nights time. The King believes it will give the Scottish people something else to celebrate.”

Angus almost choked on his drink. “Two days time? How long have you known of this command?”

“Since the Kings visit was first muted.”

“Hell, that was almost nine months ago. Have you already won a fair maiden’s hand?”

“No. I’ve been thinking through the issue.” Angus raised an eyebrow. “And I have come to the conclusion it could be a good idea.”

Angus laughed. “I know that face of yours sees most women drop their draws for you at a smile, and the title will definitely help with gaining a wife, but still, a woman does like to be wooed. Even you might find arranging an engagement in only two days a trial.” At his silence Angus sighed. “You have a lady in mind? Well, get on with it then man, you hardly need my help.”

“That is not exactly true.”

Angus’s eyes narrowed. “My daughters are way to young, and by the time they are of marriageable age you’ll be in your dotage. I’ll nay marry them to an old man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, besides your eldest daughter has already told me she is marrying Connor when she is older.”

“At five years of age she should not be thinking about marriage, and I’ll be keeping boys like your Connor well away from any of my daughters.” At Dougray’s hurt look, Angus added, “It’s not his illegitimacy at issue. It’s simply he’s too much like you. A man who loves all women but loves none with his heart.”

“I have loved with my heart and it cost me more than you will ever know,” Dougray admitted softly. “Twice.”

“Well, if it is a brood mare you want as a wife, I’m sure we can find a match by tomorrow morning. But if I were you I’d look for a lass who stirs more than your cock. It’s infinitely more appealing to find a woman who engages all of you as you age. Looks don’t last forever and cold winter nights can drag with the wrong person by your side.”

“I actually have someone in mind. Someone I have loved for many years.”

Angus put down his glass. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare say her name.”

Dougray took a large gulp and moved his chair out of Angus’s reach. “Flora.” He waited ready to deflect a punch but none came. The silence was unnerving. So he said, “I have loved her for years. We have been good friends too. She’s funny, kind, she loves Connor, and she is so intelligent. I’ve known her all of my life. I’ve been thinking about her, but I wanted to talk with you to be sure. I did not want to damage our friendship again.”

Still the silence lengthened. He hated his lie. He had considered Flora a few months ago but crossed her off his list. Knowing how much he loved her he could not bear to think of her dying in childbirth. He’d never be able to face Angus again. But this morning, hearing her admit to Connor that she had never got with child, and was certain she was barren, that changed everything.

“My sister has been in love with you since she was a young girl. I would have welcomed a match with you, but Connie’s death changed you. Eight years ago I thought you loved her too, but you stood by and watched as my father married her to Iain. Iain was a good man but there was no love in their marriage, and I watched her month-by-month, year-by-year, wither inside. If you cannot give her your heart then I say no. I will not let you hurt her again.”

“There has always only been one women who could claim my heart and it’s her. It killed me to watch her marry another.”

They both took a drink.

“Then tell me why you let her marry Iain?”

“I,” he scrambled to find something that would make sense. “I wasn’t ready. Connie’s death gutted me, and then on top of that I had to search for Connor. I had no idea where father had sent the babe. I thought I had buried the guilt and pain but I hadn’t. But now I’m ready.”

Dougray’s father had gone crazy when told that Dougray, at eighteen, had got a serving girl with child. Dougray’s real crime was wanting to marry the girl. His father had his men kidnap Dougray and send him to Ireland where he was kept a virtual prisoner. When Connie’s time was due the Duke had her thrown out and forbade anyone to help her. Mary somehow got word to Angus. Angus found her, but she’d been in labor for almost two days and the babe was so big the midwife could not save her and the baby.

Angus’s eyes suddenly widened and a smile lit his face. “I think you must be in love with Flora.” At his genuinely puzzled frown Angus added, “She was married for five years and had no offspring. Of course it could have been Iain’s problem, but it is a risk for a duke to marry a woman who has been wed for such a long time yet has failed to beget an heir. You must love her if you can overlook this fact.”

His gut clenched at the lie he was not abusing. It was precisely this reason he could risk marrying her, and could risk giving her his heart. She likely could not give him a child. He had come to terms with what that meant years ago when he’d made his decision to never marry. He had a large extended family with many cousins and he even liked some of them. And he had Connor. He did not care about the title. His father had taught him that the title meant more than a person’s life, and he could not live like that. He had plenty of time to train his cousin Derek to do his duty.

“So, you are not opposed to a betrothal between myself and Flora?”

“I already think of you as a brother. I would be honored to align our two families as it should have been many years ago.”

Relief flooded through him. Not once had Angus seemed concerned that Dougray’s first wife had died in childbirth, but then Angus was a large man and had several children. Tessa, his wife, was a largess woman. Flora was not as small as Connie, but she wasn’t as robust as Tessa. Thank goodness he’d never have to find out.

“I will treasure her and look out for her until my last breath.”

“I know you will. However, there is one wee fly in your ointment. I will not command her, or force her to wed you. She would not listen to me anyway.”

This time Dougray laughed. “Are you saying she will deny me?”

“Women don’t think like us. Flora is not a young starry-eyed girl. As a widow she knows what she wants out of her next marriage. You spurned her once, she will be wary. She was hurt and she does have her pride.”

“But I love her!”

“You’ve had a funny way of showing it. I doubt she’ll want to compete for your affections, and no lady likes to be made a fool of. Your recent affair with Lady Carissa is still fresh in everyone’s memory. You should have been celibate for months, then she might believe you love her.”

“I won’t dishonor her. I love her and once we are wed…Besides, I think I can persuade her.”

That made Angus really laugh. “Your charm won’t work on my sister. She knows you too well. Honesty. That’s what she will require.”

He wondered if Angus noticed him flinch. He could not afford honesty. If they learned why he chose Flora, Sir Walter Scott would see him married off to some other virginal young lady and Dougray would have no choice in his lifelong partner.

Angus finished his drink and stood. “Come. If you are serious then best you start wooing tonight. I’m going to find my wife in the ballroom. Flora is likely to be with her and Mary. It’s time to see what response your arrogance in leaving this so late, brings.”

CHAPTER 4

THE MOOD on this hot summer evening was festive as the excitement of the King’s visit built. The thronged ballroom swirled with Scotland’s elite, dressed in their finery and jewels. The warm evening saw the doors of the Palace ballroom opened to the terrace, with the impressive rose garden below, allowing the perfumed floral scents to drown out the smell of over heated bodies.

Unfortunately, Flora stood on the opposite side of the ballroom near the entrance to the card room where the heat and accompanying smells were stifling. She was standing here hoping to waylay Dougray when he finally exited—if he exited. She had her arm tucked through Lady Claire’s. She was hoping Dougray would appear from the card room like most of the other men had during the evening so she could manipulate an introduction. Lady Claire would make him a fine wife. She was one of the prettiest debutantes, clever, her father was a wealthy Earl, his estate was near Glasgow, and most of all she was kind.

Both Mary and her agreed, the woman who would become Dougray’s wife had to be kind, because they would want her to accept Connor. Since Connie was well in the past, and Dougray had recognized his son, both ladies hoped any wife would not see Connor as a threat.

Just then a servant arrived with a silver tray, offering them much needed refreshments. She let go of Claire’s arm and accepted a glass. She thanked the servant with a nod before turning her back on the card room to observe the rest of the ballroom.

Flora scanned the guests, not sure who she was looking for. While she kept her demeanor outwardly cheerful, her mood was anything but. It was as if she understood the rest of her life would now start her down a path that in some small part of her heart she’d hoped would be different.

When her husband had died from a bee sting of all things, she wondered if Dougray would come for her. She’d waited patiently for her year of morning to finish. And then waited. And waited. He had written to her expressing his condolences but nothing more. In the two years since, he was friendly when they met, but nothing more.

Until earlier today when he had flirted with her in the dining room. What did that mean?

She took a depth breath trying to keep the disappointment at bay. Yet all the revelry, sights, sounds, and tastes of the most exciting night in Scottish history could not shake a strange feeling of detachment.

“Is there someone in particular you are looking for?” Lady Claire asked. “You are staring with a determination I’ve not seen this evening.”

Mary arrived just as Claire spoke. “Lord Glengarry is on the terrace. He asked after you,” Mary replied with a wink.

Lady Claire immediately thought that Glengarry was whom Flora was hunting, when in fact she had no idea who, or what, she wanted.

Liar. You want Dougray for yourself. She inwardly sighed and smiled at the women’s teasing not bothering to dispossess them of their matchmaking. Lord Glengarry would be a more than suitable match for her. He has young children, two boys and a girl, plus an older son, so would most likely not care if she were barren. He was rich, handsome, only a few years older than her and he appeared to be a nice man. She should be honored at his interest.

But her heart was not in it. Her bottom lip trembled. She doubted her heart would be in any match because it only held room for Dougray.

She hoped that when Dougray finally married, she’d be free of his hold, finally knowing that he could never be hers. At the moment her life was at a standstill, still hoping for a miracle. Hoping that one-day he would declare he still loved her. When he finally married, maybe then she could forget him and find a love match she so desired.

Lady Claire looked at Mary and then at Flora. “You have been inside all evening, Lady Flora. Why don’t you go and get some fresh air on the terrace while Lady Mary and I find her husband. I want to thank him for a kindness he did for my father recently. We shall join you outside shortly.”

She knew they were being kind, but she really did not want to face Lord Glengarry. She did not wish to give the man any encouragement until she knew her mind on the matter.

Mary gave her a small push. “Go on. There are many guests out on the terrace there is nothing untoward in seeking fresh air.”

Flora excused herself with a discreet murmur, and with cheeks blazing in embarrassment at their obvious plan, she walked at a sedate pace, toward a future she did not want. Her steps slowed the closer she got to the open doors. Her fingers played with the pearls at her neck as her throat tightened. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the women were no longer watching her, so she ducked sideways and hurried toward the grand curved staircase. Upon walking upstairs she crossed the long portrait gallery and through a few more corridors until she found the small library.

Without thinking she lifted the latch and slipped inside. Several lamps had been lit around the room and the windows at the far end were open letting in a cool breeze. She drifted towards the fresh air not really taking in the room at all.

She stood by the window, her hands on the windowsill taking deep gulping breaths, trying to quell the hopelessness beginning to overwhelm her.

“Sensible minds think alike.”

She jumped out of her skin, turning at the familiar velvety voice. Her heart sped as her eyes found his.

Like a virginal girl she could not get her mouth to work. She stood mesmerized by Dougray’s beauty. He always looked magnificent in his formal attire, but tonight as he sat sprawled on the couch, his midnight blue jacket covering a burgundy waistcoat, with his cravat hanging untied at his throat, his handsome face looked wicked, and dangerous, but so inviting. Her feet wanted to dance across the space dividing them, daintily tumbling her into his lap.

Raven-haired, deep-set blue eyes, coupled with his iron physique, caused her knees to tremble. She’d never wanted him more.

Was she fooling herself or was his self-assured stare full of heat and desire? She needed to sit down.

“I was about to come and find you. I was merely having a few drams for courage.” He patted the settee beside him. With a hint of a devilish smile tugging at one corner of his tempting mouth, he said in a whisper that intimately flowed down her spine, “Take a seat before you fall down.”

She could not move. She could barely breath.

Pinned by his piercing stare, she shivered at the force of the unbridled sensuality in his beautiful eyes. What was he playing at? Lady Claire. Think of Lady Claire.

It was no use. From halfway across the room, the heat of him seemed to engulf her. The enveloping visceral reaction took her by surprise. She’d been alone with him plenty of times and been able to control her response to him. Why was tonight different? Her heart lurched as he gave a knowing smile. “I prefer to stand thank you, I love the fresh air.”

“You’re scared to sit by me,” he goaded.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be afraid? I’ve known you since I was a young girl.”

His heated gaze ran over her person, from her feet to her face, indecently stopping at certain points along the way. “You are not a young girl any more,” his husky declaration saw her thighs clamp together.

Dougray was an expert seducer but he’d never tried his skills on her before. For one brief year when she was nineteen he’d—courted her—stolen her heart and then stood by and let her marry Iain.

Her heart slammed behind her ribs like a drum’s doomful warning. She would get hurt if she even thought of playing this game with him.

Still, ignoring her own mind’s warning, her feet moved and she sat where only moments ago his hand had been. To her disappointment, and relief, he did not touch her. He was busy pouring her a drink.

“Why did you want to find me?”

He handed it to her. “Drink. You look as if you need it.”

She took a big gulp only to splutter. “Whisky?”

“You’ve been drinking it half your life.”

She nodded as she fanned her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” The fiery liquid gave her courage. “I wasn’t expecting you either. I have been waiting outside the card room all evening. How did you leave without me seeing you?”

His devilish grin widened. “Waiting for me?” He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “How intriguing.”

She pulled back. “To introduce you to Lady Claire.” At his puzzled frown, “You are looking for a wife. Lady Claire would be perfect.”

His face blanked and he turned away and downed the rest of the whisky in his glass and set it on the table with a loud clunk. He turned to face her. “I don’t need any help in finding a woman to be my wife.”

Her heart almost stopped beating. He’d found someone. She wasn’t ready for the pain that engulfed her.

So lost in her anguish, she at first did not notice his hand slowly stroking her bare arm above her glove—up and down, seductively. “Why do you look so stricken? Don’t you want to know whom I have selected?”

She swallowed hard and succumbed to a violent shudder. He was being cruel. She wanted to tell him to stop, but any words fled when she caught the faint whiff of Dougray’s exotic incense that clung to his skin like a jealous lover—Sandalwood.

“No words. That must be a first. I’ve never known you to have nothing to say, Flora.” The way he said her name made her think of sex.

He pulled her into his arms. “So are you going to kiss me?”

Flora melted at the question. Her heated brain and her battered heart warred over the answer—her heart won—she wanted his lips on hers like she wanted her next breath.

This was madness. He’d just confessed to having found a woman to marry yet here she was in his arms eager as a puppy to please. This man aroused her with a simple smile what could he do with a kiss, a touch, a …

Take this one chance, before he is lost to you forever, in case you have to endure another loveless marriage, her body and mind clamored in her head arguing with each other.

She faced him and when she saw the desire swirling in the blue depth of his gaze she yielded willingly. His head drew close totally focused on her lips and her body thrilled. He was impossibly handsome, and for one night he would be her real fantasy. Her gaze traveled over his chiseled face with it’s tantalizing strong bone structure. His eyebrows were thick and black which made the blue of his eyes appear darker. But it was his lips that made women swoon. Sculptured, full, and soft, she was dying for a taste.

She beat him by leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. His mouth opened under her lips in surprise.

His warm, silken lips caressed hers. Oh, sweet bliss. Never had a kiss created such a riot of sensation. This was nothing like the kisses they had shared years ago. He was giving all of himself to her, no doubt because she was no longer a young virgin, but was an experienced widow.

Just the type of women he loved to dally with.

She didn’t care…

Flora wrapped her arms around Dougray’s neck in a mix of hapless craving and wild relief. This was her chance—her one chance before he married—and she would give herself over to it. When he pulled her onto his lap she did not resist.

His kiss blurred the lines between fantasy and reality, and she didn’t care. She’d waited and wanted this for too long. Besides, she’d never felt so alive—never. Recklessness sang through her veins, screaming take it all! Joy thrummed along every tingling nerve ending. All the while, not believing she had been brave or foolish enough to do this.

Unsure of herself to start with, she soon lost herself in the kiss. Dougray’s hand curved tenderly around her nape while the other sunk into her hair. His grip was tight, but it thrilled her.

His lips beguiled hers, moving back and forth with exquisite skill. She tilted her head back farther and seized on the idea to take the lead. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and savored the taste of him. He was delicious. Her pulse was a reckless rhythm as she clung to him. She could feel the hardened length of him pulsing against her bottom and it spurred her on, transporting her to a state of dizzying heights.

She wanted him to take her. To lay her down, strip her of her gown and make love to her. To ravish her on this couch before her bravery fled and she thought too much about the other women before her and likely those to come after her.

For the past three years she had managed to ignore the lonely ache to be touched, caressed, held. Iain had been a good man but he never fired her body like this. She had never loved Iain.

One simple kiss told her that Dougray knew exactly what her body yearned for. Her hands clutched his broad chest wishing she could feel his heated skin. She let her hands roam his chest while her tongue reveled in his virile taste. A moan escaped as he drew her closer, trapping her hands between his muscled strength and her softness.

He left her gasping his name as his wayward mouth left her lips and descended along the side of her neck. Her hands moved lower too, stroking him through his trousers as his lips found the top of her exposed bosom.

“Undress me.” Only when he stopped did she realize she’d said the plea out loud.

HE’D ALMOST DRIVEN himself crazy all day wondering what her lips would feel like. It had been so long since he’d last kissed her and he’d never let any kisses go this far. Since the conversation in the dining room this morning, he had thought only of her.

At her impulsive kiss he had his answer as to if he could get her to agree to wed him, and it exceeded his expectations. She wanted him too. He had to rein in his need to devour her. Did she still love him?

Instead, he let her take the lead as she tentatively moved her lips over his. His body shuddered as she slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He sunk his hand into her glorious soft hair to anchor her mouth to his and called on all his experience not to take over. Her tongue stroked the inside of his mouth making his groin tightened unbearably. Too much more of this and he’d lay her down and take her on this very settee.

He reluctantly broke the kiss and tried to cool both their ardors by trailing his lips over her skin.

“Undress me.” At her plea his body surged with triumph. He could take her here and now. Sink between her sweet thighs and claim that which had been denied him all these years. He shook his head and pulled away from her to try and clear his mind of her scent and taste.

There would be no taking until she agreed to be his wife. He had too much at stake to risk a mere coupling to ease his need of her.

He leaned back and studied her beneath semi-closed eyelashes. She was still a beauty.

He let his heated gaze travel over her, feeding his growing desire. The candlelight scorched her copper highlighted hair. Her upswept coiffure, that his fingers had messed, made her neck look as graceful as a swan’s, with alluring tendrils stroking the curve of her bosom. Her bodice drew his appreciative eyes, sweet rounded breasts, lush, and bonny.

The inviting arch of her body almost swayed him from his plan but one did not seduce—a friend—for that is who she was. He wanted her as his wife to finally allow his heart to soar—a voice inside his head added, and to save you from loneliness.

“Why are you stopping?”

He removed her hand from his groin and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I didn’t realize we were in such a rush. Anticipation heightens the desire.”

With a shrug she admitted, “I have no idea. This is my first tryst. Or seduction, or whatever it is you call this.”

He cupped her face between his two hands, gently drinking from her sweet lips. His possessive side loved that he was her first tryst. He didn’t like to think of her with any other man. His one regret was he did not get to be her first, but if he had his way he would be her last.

That made him sit up straighter.

He cleared his throat. “I would willingly, desirously make love to you tonight but I have to ask you something first.”

She wiggled excitedly in his arms. “Yes, I’ll respect you in the morning,” she giggled. More seriously she added, “And I won’t expect anything more. I know you are going to announce your engagement, and I shall ask for nothing after this night.”

He nodded. “I am going to become betrothed at the King’s dinner. In fact, I’m hoping to announce our engagement.”

CHAPTER 5

HE DIDN’T GET the response he’d expected. Her face drained of color and she tried to clamber off his lap, but he held her tightly as she squirmed in his arms trying to get away. Finally she calmed.

“Is this some kind of cruel joke to you?” She said her eyes welling with unshed tears.

He took both of her hands in his. “No. I am deadly serious. I have been thinking of this for nine long months and it keeps coming back to you.” He didn’t bother to say it only came back to her since he heard her say she was barren.

He pressed on. “There is no doubting my desire for you. I have loved you for years, be it from afar. You are from one of Scotland’s best families. You are my best friend’s sister and it would align our families. We know each other—we are friends—well, I’d like to think we are. You like Connor and he likes you. We could make this work.”

“Work? I begged you eight years ago to marry me and you watched as I married another. You obviously didn’t love me then and you obviously don’t love me now. This is too sudden. What are you up to?”

As she poured out her words, tears began to flow down her cheeks and it almost broke his heart.

“Not true. I have always loved you. That is why I set you free.”

“Free. I wasn’t free. Do you know how much I dreamed of becoming your wife? But that was a time gone by, before you had finished grieving for Connie. Before my father could not wait any longer and gave me to Iain.”

He swallowed back a curse. “I have not married before this because you are still in my heart, but I did not approach you because I was scared you would not forgive me for walking away all those years ago. It has suddenly come to my attention that if I don’t ask you I may never know your answer and I may lose the opportunity forever.”

She looked over his shoulder as if staring at a ghost. “I swore my next marriage would be for love. I have had a marriage without love and it was very lonely. I’m not sure I could endure another. It would break my heart to be merely a token wife. If you took mistresses…”

“Why do you think I am being so particular? I vowed that when I marry I shall be true to my wedding vows. If you say yes, there will be no other women in my bed ever again.”

“Why now? Why tonight?”

He would fight with whatever he had, to make her say yes. “Marrying you has always been something I thought was unattainable, especially after you married Iain. Almost instantly I realized what a fool I had been. Now you are free”-

-“I’ve been ‘free’ as you put it for three years. You are not being truthful.”

“Look at me.” She stared into his eyes. “If I have to marry I only want to marry you. I love you.” That was not a lie. “You have always been my fantasy.”

“Fantasy,” she cried out. “This idea to wed me is pure fantasy.” Her eyes narrowed. “The King is forcing a marriage and I’m simply convenient. You think I’ll say yes because of our past.”

“No. Think about it. I’m a duke, a wealthy duke. I could walk out this door and be engaged in mere minutes if that is all I wanted.”

She shuddered but did not deny his boast. “It’s likely I can’t have children. The King wants you wed to beget an heir. I can’t give that to you. What will the King say to such a match?”

He would ensure the King did not learn of her situation until it was too late. “I shall simply tell him that any woman I select may not be able to have children. It’s in God’s hands.”

She shook her head, tears still falling. “But I was married for five years. I lost two babes and then had no more. The odds are against me.” She pushed him hard trying to escape his hold. “No. I cannot marry you. I won’t do that to you.”

He tried to stop the stab of jealousy her words about sharing Iain’s bed created. “Then I will never marry. It’s you or no one.” How ironic. The very reason it was safe to give her his heart was the reason she used to decline his proposal.

She stopped struggling. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have to marry. You have to have an heir.”

“I have cousins. Many, many cousins.”

Her shoulders slumped. “You would defy the King? Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why does it have to be me? Tell me why and I might listen?”

Angus had said she would want honesty. Could he voice his fears? He’d never said this to another living sole. “I have loved you for years. I wanted to wed you. I truly did. It killed me to see you marry Iain, but I did it for you. I did it to protect you.”

“Protect me? Who from? Your father? He wanted the match.”

“To protect you from the fate that Connie met.”

She sat blinking at him as if he was an idiot. Then her mouth formed a perfect O. “Childbirth. You were protecting me from dying in childbirth.” Her eyes welled with tears as she cupped his chin. “Oh, Dougray. Not all women die in childbirth. I’m healthy. You’d have the best physicians attend me. I’d never have to face what Connie did, left alone with no help…left alone to die.”

Guilt saw him close his eyes against the shameful memory of what his father had done. Finally he swallowed the choking fear and said, “I’m a large man. I’m bigger than most. The midwife who tried to help Connie told Angus the babe was too big, as all my bairns are likely to be. I loved you too much to lose you like that. It would have destroyed me. At least married to Iain you were still in this world.”

She once again tried to clamber off his lap but he held her tight. Her eyes flashed with anger. “So we could have married eight years ago. I could have been happy…we could have shared eight wonderful years together. You let me marry a man I did not love, all because of fear. I never took you for a coward. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this.”

This time when she struggled in his hold he let her rise. He forced himself to remain calm. “My mother died in childbirth too if you recall, and then Connie died in childbirth…I’m even bigger than my father. Can’t you understand? I could not risk your life! You don’t know what it’s like to feel responsible for the death of a person, let alone the woman you love.”

She stopped her pacing and turned to face him. “At least I finally understand why you did what you did all those years ago. You should have told me. I thought, I thought there was something wrong with me, something you did not like.” He saw tears well again. “So you think it’s safe to marry me now that I can’t bear you a child?” She gave a bitter laugh. “What really hurts is that you only want me because I’m damaged.”

“I have always wanted you. Why do you think I stayed away from you? It hurt to see you with him. I don’t care about having an heir. Let my cousin take the title. It hasn’t made me happy, and my father’s pursuit of ‘pure bloodlines’ saw him leave a woman to die in agony, and he nearly cost me my son’s life. Nothing is worth that behavior.”

“I feel like I can’t breath… My head is spinning.”

He stood and faced her. “Tell me one thing. Do you hate me for what I did?”

She was still pacing but the flush of anger on her face was gone. “Quite honestly I don’t know what to think, but I could never hate you.”

“Will you consider my offer of marriage then?”

She stopped pacing and looked at him. “I need to think. Denying me eight years ago set me down a different path. I’ve changed. My dreams, and wants, have changed. Did you know I was looking at remarrying?”

His heart missed a beat. “You have an offer?”

“No. I have only just decided I want to remarry. I’m still young and don’t want to spend my life alone. I do have someone interested. There is a man who meets my criteria of what I desire in my next marriage.”

FLORA COULD NOT BELIEVE that she was seriously considering walking out of this room without saying yes to Dougray’s proposal. A few years ago all she’d ever wanted was to be his wife, but not like this.

Not because he was afraid to have an heir. What would happen years later when he looked back and saw how stupid he had been, and that he would lose the title and estates? She might be angry with him now for what he did to her—to them— all those years ago, but Angus had always told her that Connie’s death changed Dougray. She had not understood how. The guilt he must feel… It had probably been festering all these years. If only she’d known.

“Who is he?” Dougray’s voice was tight.

She shook her head to clear it of any sympathy. She had to remain strong—for both of them. “That is none of your business. But what I will say is you may think not being able to have a child is a blessing, well, it has been my living hell. Giving birth to my child is something I want with all my heart.” She could not stop the quiver in her voice. “I feel like a part of me is missing.”

He frowned. “But you can’t have children even if you marry.”

“Perhaps, but I won’t know until I try. But there is a man who has three children under six and if I were to marry him I would have the children I crave. Not my flesh and blood but I would love them as if they were.”

She watched him swallow and as his jaw tightened she wonder if it would break.

“Glengarry. I have noticed him sniffing at your skirts. He’s merely after a mother for his children.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you any nobler? What are you after? You want a wife who cannot have children. You both want me but for different reasons, none of them involve love.”

“Not true. I love you so much I walked away.”

Did he? Or was he using their past to get what he needed now. A wife. A wife who could not bear a child so he might hold his fear at bay. She wanted a man to love her. He was saying all the right words but how could she believe him? Suddenly, when the King insisted on marriage, he was here saying he’d loved her all this time. If that was true she just felt sad for all the wasted years.

She wanted to make him understand his mistake. “I would never have walked away from you even if God himself told me you were the devil. That is how much I loved you.”

“But will Glengarry love you?”

She turned away and said, “I intend to take the time to find out.”

He swung her around to face him. “I have to announce my engagement in two days.”

“I’m sorry, Dougray but I can’t give you an answer before then. I won’t be forced or rushed into making another marriage. The next time I marry it will be to a man who loves me as much as I love him.”

It broke her heart but she couldn’t say yes even if she wanted to. Then he’d be stuck with a woman who could not bear him an heir. She would not do that to him because she understood the craving to hold your own child in your arms. One day he would want that and then where would they be?

He tried to stop her leaving but she brushed him off. “This is all just too convenient. If the King had not commanded you wed I wonder if you would have approached me at all.”

“I would have as soon as it sunk in about you not bearing a child. I don’t know why I hadn’t realized sooner. I can risk loving you without risking your life.”

“If you do love me you’ll let me go again. I can’t marry you knowing it will deny you the one thing you need and the one thing that in time you will suddenly want—an heir.”

His hand dropped to his side. “You leave me with a choice of defying my King or picking someone else. I will have to marry another woman who I will never love. You talk about loveless marriages, and then condemn me to one.”

“I’m not condemning you. You are. Ask the King for more time and use it to find a woman you can love and face your fear. Look at Angus. He’s a giant of a man yet Tessa has born him several children.”

“And I’ve watched as each time he has sat in his study with bottles of whisky sick with fear for her. Each time he’s thinking will this be the birth that kills her.”

“But it doesn’t. You’re not God, Dougray. Only God knows when our time on this earth is up. I could die of a fever, or of an infected cut, or from a fall from my horse. Life is full of risks but I’d risk my life gladly if it gave me a child. Look at Connor. Connie’s death gave you a great gift.”

With that she pulled open the door and walked out. It was the hardest thing she had ever done and her legs could barely carry her they trembled so much.

CHAPTER 6

FLORA’S HEAD was still spinning as she reentered the crowded ballroom. She wondered if everyone looking at her knew what Dougray had been planning. Did everyone know he wanted her because she was the woman who could not bear a child?

She spotted her brother ahead with Tessa at his side, and made her way toward them.

“Sister, dear. We have been looking for you. Where have you been?”

“Just the retiring room.”

Tessa leaned close. “I don’t know if I’ll make it through the King’s visit. I’m exhausted and I’m out of polite conversation already.”

She wanted to blurt out what had happened. She wanted to talk with Tessa and get her advice. Flora wanted Tessa to say she wasn’t being stupid. That Dougray and her would be silly to wed given her condition.

Tessa continued to talk but Flora barely heard her as she tried to gather her thoughts. Just then a prickle at her neck made her look over her shoulder. Dougray had entered the ballroom and it was causing quite a stir. Already several ladies were vying for his attentions.

Her hands shook as he began to make his way toward them. Not here. Not in public. She could not face him. Her breathing tightened.

A hand landed on her arm. “Is everything all right, Flora? You’ve gone very pale.”

She forced her lips to curve in a smile. “It’s so hot in here. Shall we take some air?”

Tessa took one look at her face and slipped her arm through hers and led her toward the terrace calling over her shoulder, “Angus, we will be on the terrace. We won’t be long. Flora needs some air.”

She didn’t look back; instead she focused on her breathing and tried to gather her somersaulting thoughts. Once they reached the terrace she did not stop. She pulled Tessa along with her and they almost skipped down the steps into the garden itself, moving away from prying eyes and ears.

When they reached a small fountain area with a bench seat she indicated that Tessa should sit while she paced up and down.

“Did you know that Dougray would ask me to marry him?”

Tessa jumped to her feet on a squeal. “Goodness, how exciting. How long have you two been secretly courting.” Her smiled died. “Wait, it can’t be that long he was with Lady Carissa only the other…” She stopped with hand on hips. “The Kings visit.”

“Exactly.”

Tessa sunk down on the seat. “But this is what you have always wanted. He obviously merely needed a prod to finally face the fact it’s long overdue for him to settle down.”

“So I’m a convenience? If only that were the whole of it.” At Tessa’s frown she added, “Dougray proposed, saying he has always loved me.”

Tessa’s eyes narrowed. “Always? Then where has he been the past two years once you came out of mourning? I thought Dougray was an honorable man but why is he lying to get you to agree. Surely he knows you love him and would marry him in a flash.”

She stood with her back to Tessa, shame and self-pity eating her soul. “He wants to marry me because he’s suddenly realized I’m barren. He wants me because I cannot have children.”

She heard Tessa rise and come and stand next to her. She slipped her hand in Flora’s. “I’m confused. You are not making sense. He needs an heir. Why would he marry you if he thought you barren.”

She let the tears fall once again. “He gave me up because he thinks any woman he gets with child will die in childbirth like Connie, and like his mother. He says he let me go to save my life but now…”

“But now he thinks there is no risk as you have never fallen enceinte.” She hugged Flora. “I feel sorry for him. He must have lived with this fear and guilt for years. It’s does explain some of the stories I’ve heard about his sexual tendencies.”

“What stories?”

Tessa looked uncomfortable. “Let’s just say that there are many ways to pleasure a man and he is known to vary rarely make love to a woman. He prefers other methods.”

Flora sighed and shook her head. “You are right. I do feel sorry for him. I’m also so angry with him I could—hit him until I’m exhausted. I had to marry Iain because of his fear. But perhaps God does have a plan for us and knew we were not suited because he needs an heir even if he won’t admit it.”

“You don’t know that you can’t have a child with him.” Tessa the ever optimist said.

“I lost two babies before I was two months along, and after the last one the doctor told me there was no hope, and I never fell with child again.”

Tessa’s eyes welled. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you can’t have a child but you are the best Auntie ever. I blame Dougray’s father. If he had not ordered that no one could help Connie, none of this might have happened. I can understand the guilt Dougray carries.”

“He must worry about—that is it must play on his mind every time he lies with a woman. No wonder he wants me… if he thinks I cannot get with child.”

Tessa led her back to the bench and they sat. “Perhaps you are meant to be his wife. He can finally open his heart and love. And if he really does love you then it is almost perfect.”

“Except I really can’t have children. What if he loses his fear as he gets older and then he’s stuck married to me.”

Tessa shrugged. “But if he loves you, won’t that be enough? If he gave you up and let you marry another, thinking to save your life, I’d say he loves you a great deal. Would you have been able to be that strong? I doubt I could have walked away from Angus even if I thought there was a chance he might die. I’m too selfish.”

Flora hadn’t considered that. All she saw was that he had let her go. “Are you saying I should marry Dougray?”

“It’s Glengarry isn’t? The idea of those three young children. But while those children will learn to love you unconditionally, they can’t keep you warm at night. They can’t stir your body, or your heart, or your soul like a husband can. During the day they become your world, but at night your only company will be loneliness. Especially with Glengarry. He’s always been a rake, be it a gentlemanly rake, but a rake all the same.”

Flora nodded at Tessa’s assessment.

“Don’t let pride cloud your thinking. This could be the happy ending you crave. There are plenty of orphans you could raise as your own if you were married to Dougray.”

“That’s true. I just wish he’d given me more time to decide what to do.”

Tessa smiled. “You don’t need more time to know you still love him.”

She turned and hugged Tessa. “Yes. I still love him. I’ve always loved him.”

“You accuse him of not facing his fears, aren’t you doing the same? You have a chance to find love, grab it with both hands and never let it slip away again, but it looks like you’re too scared to take it.”

“Then best I go inside and face my fears.” She held out her hand and the two women walked back towards the Palace ballroom with determined strides.

DOUGRAY WATCHED Tessa and Flora reenter the ballroom and he was relieved to see a smile on her face. He wondered if Tessa might have tried to dissuade her of the match but it appeared she hadn’t. He wondered if he had Angus to thank for that. Did Angus confide in his wife?

He was about to make his way to her when he saw Lord Glengarry get to her first, bow before her, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Dougray’s hands curled into fists. How could Flora consider this cretin? He wanted to rip Glengarry’s eyes out for even looking at her. And his smile… It spoke of familiarity and possession, but Flora was his. Would be his.

His feet picked up speed as he made his way to her side, only to see her slip her arm through Glengarry’s and be led to the dance floor. A waltz started up and he had to count to one hundred to stop himself tearing Flora from Glengarry’s arms as they glided by. He would not lose her a second time. Not to this man. Not to any man.

A delicate hand touched his arm pulling his gaze away from the dancing couple. “So there is more to this marriage than appeasing a King. You look as though you want to ring Glengarry’s neck.”

At Tessa’s words his jaw loosened. “He’s not good enough for her.”

“And you are? Please don’t hurt her. She is too good a person to be disappointed again. If you don’t love with her, then set her free. You could have any woman you chose as your wife.”

“I could have any woman, but I choose her. I want her. I love her.” He looked at his best friend’s wife and hoped she understood. “I’m getting closer to five and thirty every day, and I want more in my life, more from my life. I want what you and Angus share. The closeness. I watch you. If he looked at you now from where he stands on the other side of the room you’d know what he was thinking.”

“That’s because he loves me. We complete each other.”

“I love Flora and I hope one day she will forgive me and love me too.”

Tessa studied him for a moment before nodding. “I believe that you think you need something that is missing in your life, but you had your chance eight years ago. You broke her heart when you let her marry Iain. You’ve also had your chance the three years she has been a widow. It makes me wonder why you are so fixated on marrying Flora now, just as the King is arriving on Scottish soil.”

He did not flinch or look away under her calculating stare. “You don’t think she is right for me? Or is it you don’t think I love her?”

She gave a wistful sigh. “I think you are not being honest with yourself. You say having a son is not important to you, in fact Flora told me it scares you to think of a woman carrying your babe. I can sympathize with your fear. But life is long. What happens if suddenly you crave a child? You’d destroy Flora if she found that out. She had five years of disappointing a husband, and she didn’t even love him. She would wither and die if she found you felt the same.”

“I won’t change my mind. Flora means too much to me.”

Tessa’s mouth curled down. “Because you are an honorable man I will take you at your word.”

“Thank you.”

“But if you break her heart I’ll…Well, I’ll get Angus to beat you senseless.” She pushed him toward the floor. “Now go and break in and claim the woman you are about to marry before this crowd forms the wrong idea.”

He pressed a kiss to Tessa’s cheek and did as she suggested. As he strode determinedly through the dancing couples he could see tongues wagging.

When he tapped on Glengarry’s shoulder the man’s face looked like thunder but he handed Flora over graciously, too concerned at making a scene. If someone had tried to step in while he was dancing with Flora he would have punched the rotter out.

No sooner had they begun to twirl about the floor, than a sea of decorated fans started to flutter and heads turned.

“That was rude and uncalled for,” Flora held herself stiffly in his arms. “Is this what I can expect when I become your duchess.”

He swore his feet left the floor at her words ‘become your duchess’. He felt his heart burst from his chest. He’d never been so happy.

“You will not regret this,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He almost tripped over his feet. It was the first time she’d said that to him in eight long years. He didn’t care that the whole of society was watching, he turned and almost dragged her from the ballroom. He didn’t stop until he reached the bedchamber he had been given in the Palace.

The minute he pushed the door closed with his foot, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. As he laid her down, he whispered, “I’ve been waiting what seems a lifetime to have you in my bed.” He lay down beside her so that they were facing each other, the rampant desire still there and heightened by the knowledge he could make love to her the way a woman should be loved.

Her smile faded, and he saw the emotion pass over her face. She must be remembering too.

“I hope you can forgive me for letting you go. But I swear I’m never letting you go again.”

“While I will always regret out lost years, I can understand your reasoning, although I don’t agree with it. My marriage was not horrid but I found little joy in it.”

Pain ripped across his face. “I thought what I was doing was right.” He looked away and began to talk. “I was ten years old when my mother died in childbirth. I remember it like it was yesterday. The screams went on for hours, getting weaker and weaker until there was silence and I heard a baby’s cry. My father was not home and I was trying to be the man of the house. I went racing up the stairs and into her room and all I saw was blood. There was so much blood on the floor I skidded on it and fell onto the blood soaked sheets of her birthing bed. Something went wrong with the birth and she bleed to death. The midwife said the baby was too big for my mother. I would have had another brother if the babe had lived.”

Flora sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, and at such a young age.”

“Then when I learned of Connie’s agonizing death and the reason why, that the child was too big… I vowed I would not be the cause of another woman’s death in childbirth.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned his head to look at her. “I wished you had talked to me about your fear. Even if I could not dissuade you from your notion about childbirth I would have understood why you did what you did.”

“I think it was better that you did not know and that you could hate me.” He gave a bitter laugh. “If you had stayed my friend during your marriage I don’t know if I’d have had the strength to stay away from you.” His voice was ragged.

Flora cupped his face, and she pressed a kiss to his lips. She blinked back tears because she wanted none shed in this room or in his bed. They had both cried enough tears to last a lifetime. This would be their new special place.

“No more recriminations. Only words of love, desire, and need.”

Iain had been a considerate lover. She had not found her wifely duties terrible but neither did she understand how some woman craved their husband’s attentions, like Tessa did. “I’ve never made love before because I could not give Iain my heart. Care to show me what I have missed all these years?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m scared that when I open my eyes this will be but a dream. I can’t believe you have forgiven me.”

“I would not be here if I thought I could not put the past behind me. Open your eyes. I’m here. For as long as you want me.”

The look of pain reflected in Dougray’s eyes when he opened them made her heart ache. She wrapped her arms about his neck and snuggled closer. “Make love to me.”

He shuddered against her as he pulled her tight into his embrace. She felt safe. Loved. All she could think was how fervently she wanted Dougray, how much she needed him to show her how much he loved her.

His mouth found hers and gently sought entrance. All it took was a sigh into his mouth for his kiss to grow desperate, as if he needed her to save his soul.

Her questing hands began to undress him, and when she broke from his kiss to press her lips to his bare chest, he gathered himself and began to unhook her gown.

“You unman me,” he whispered.

“I hope not. I’m expecting wonderful things,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Praise God. He really didn’t deserve her. She kissed him tenderly, letting her warm mouth linger against his as she undid the buttons on his breeches. He drank in her kiss, soaking in her forgiveness. He used his hands to free her copper rich tresses and watched them tumble like waves of sunset over her shoulders and the breasts he’d bared. God, she was so beautiful.

He tried to stop the shudder of fear that hit him. What if she wasn’t barren, what if she fell with child. He could not bear to lose her.

As if sensing his mental withdrawal, she urged him to lie back as she finished undressing him and then herself.

Once they were both naked she kissed his entire body slowly, letting her soft tresses sweep his body in a sensual caress as she moved lower. He was already heavily aroused, and the erotic image of her leaning over him, her full breasts hanging tantalizingly over his chest, caused him to harden even further. When Flora’s tongue licked the tip of his erection his hips rose off the bed.

He lost track of how long her mouth tortured him. He grew light-headed as she attended to him, licking, stroking, and exploring every inch of him. She paid special attention with her tongue to his nipples before delivering a feather-light kiss to his stomach. His muscles clenched in a mixture of tenderness and wrenching desire.

He’d never wanted or needed her more.

When her luscious lips slid down his shaft, his hands tangled in her hair. Dougray whispered her name over and over as she loved him with her mouth. She ran her tongue up and down his rampant erection, intermittently taking him deep into her mouth, sucking him. His eyes squeezed shut. He wouldn’t last long if he watched this delicious sight.

Soon the coiling tension became too much to bear and he pulled her up and rolled her under him. He wanted to be inside her when he came, something that had been denied him for many, many, years. Also, he wanted her to have the most intense orgasm of her life so he could feel her tighten around his cock. He wanted to banish Viscount Iain Grafton from her memory.

She was breathing as heavily as he was. Her breasts pressed into his chest, her nipples hard.

He rose above her, the muscles of his arms standing out as they supported his weight. He wanted a moment to soak in the vision of her. “I never thought you’d ever be in this bed with me like this. I will cherish being here with you, cherish this memory, until I die.”

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “Just love me. Banish the past for good.”

He needed no further encouragement. Pushing her thighs wide, he slowly entered her tight, wet sheath, never taking his eyes from hers. Only when he was seated deep within her body did he let his eyelids close. He held still, savoring this moment.

Finally his body urged him to move. He went slowly, willing his own needs away, wanting to drive Flora’s desire skyward. Their joining was heaven, and soon her response made his body throb with sensation. He could feel the rampant need rushing through her into him. His desperate longing caused his heart to ache. She would always be his and only his, no matter the past or what the future held.

The tenderness of their lovemaking gave way to a firestorm of need. In the throes of passion they moved as if one, drinking in each other’s cries, shuddering with each thrust, and soon he could feel the pinnacle approaching and … he couldn’t do it. He pulled from her body and spilled his seed on the sheets.

As the waves of intense pleasure lessened he realized they were clutching each other tightly. He rolled to his side taking Flora with him but she lay stiffly in his arms.

They lay like that for several minutes until their breathing slowed and the stars of ecstasy faded.

He heard Flora softly ask, “Will it always be like that?”

At first he thought she meant the wondrousness of the moment. The closeness, the pleasure, and the love that was evident in the act. But her next words gutted him like a fish.

“You have fears, well, I have fears too. Do you know what my biggest fear is? That I will never get to hold a babe in my arms. It’s likely that I never will, but I still have hope.” She turned her head to look at him and he saw a tear leak from her eye. “I won’t marry you if you take that small chance away. If you cannot make love to me as you would a wife, then I will walk away regardless of the fact I love you so much.”

Panic coursed his body until he could barely breath. “It was merely a reflex action. I’ve been doing that for years.”

She searched his face. “We have the rest of the night. When we make love again I expect you to treat me as if I was your wife, not a mistress you don’t want to have fall with child.”

She hugged him tight, but then she moved off to lie next to him. He lay staring up at the ceiling for a long while.

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

CHAPTER 7

AT LEAST DOUGRAY was being honest with her. She rose and began to gather her clothes.

“I have given up a lot because of a decision you made about us, without me, many years ago. If you want me to become your wife we will make decisions together in future. My decision is that I want the chance to see if I can have a child of my own. If you cannot face your fear and allow me my dream then I will find a man who will.”

He sat up and she could barely think to dress herself with his glorious nakedness before her, especially after the wonderful moment they just shared. Never had she experienced such passion, such release, that is, until he’d pulled from her body as if she were one of his ‘women’.

“I thought you understood. I thought you knew that I can only marry you because you can not get with child. I don’t want to risk something happening to you?”

“You stupid man. All of life is a risk. Look at Iain. A bee felled him. A bee! We do not know what the future holds for any of us. I’m not God, you are not God.” She sank down onto the edge of the bed and began to pull on her stockings. “If I become your wife I want the chance to give you a son. To have your child and to do that I would risk everything and anything, even my life.”

“I won’t.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and his face was stark with terror.

“I look at Connor and I envy Connie. I envy a dead woman because she gave you him. I would have changed places with Connie gladly if it meant I created something so perfect. If it meant a part of me would be here after me.”

When he looked away she whispered, “You might want to live a safe little life but I want to embrace life and face the risks, because the joys we might receive are worth it. Can you honestly say you wish Connor had never been born?”

“That’s not fair.”

She nodded. “But life isn’t fair, we both know that. But Connor is such a wonderful young man. Please don’t deny me a chance to see if I can fulfill my dream.”

“You are asking a lot of me. If I lost you in childbirth… It would destroy me.”

“It will destroy me if I cannot try. We could have such a wonderful life together. It’s all or nothing, because I’d rather have nothing than a half life with you.”

“What if you still don’t get with child? Will that not devastate you? Perhaps I’m protecting you from that.”

“At least be truthful. You are protecting yourself.” She sighed. “If I don’t fall with child then I will accept that fate, and you will have to come to terms with not having an heir.” She put up her hand. “I understand you think you don’t care but you might change your mind as you age. That is the risk both of us take if we marry. That as you age you might resent the fact I’m barren.”

He learned forward and sought her hand and linked his fingers through hers. She tried not to look at the majesty of the man because she was on the brink of giving in and saying yes to his proposal with no stipulations of her own, but this was too important to them both. “You are asking me to risk my worst nightmare.”

She nodded. “I will be brave for both of us.”

When he said nothing more, she slipped her hand free and made her way to the door. Her bedchamber was down the hall. She opened the door and peered out. The corridor was empty. She looked back at the enormous, naked man in the bed across the room and her heart bled. He looked so small, so lost, but she would not back down. She knew what she wanted. She wanted it all, his love, and his child if she could. She at least wanted the chance to try. A wonderful, happy marriage with a bevy of children could be within both their grasps. She would fight for them this time, would he?

Would he love her enough to conquer his fears?

“You know where my room is. Prove to me our marriage will be all it can be and I will go before the King and agree to be your wife.” Then she slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind her, hoping love would overcome fear, because she loved Dougray, and she knew she’d never love another man as much.

WAS HE BEING A COWARD? He fell back amongst the sheets and wondered how he’d gone from feeling as though he could touch heaven to the knowledge he could lose her for good.

Glengarry would offer for her in a heartbeat. Would she marry him just to see if she could bear a child?

Was he simply protecting himself and using saving Flora’s life as a means to preserve his sanity? He would lose his mind if he lost her in childbirth.

Before his father died, he’d said to Dougray, simply pick a woman and marry her. Forget about love. Then Dougray would not care if she died in childbirth. But he wasn’t as callous as his father. For three years after Connie’s death he’d not looked twice at a woman, too scared in case the same thing happened again. It took him years before he took his first lover and then he got very inventive.

Six years after Connie’s death, at four and twenty, he’d suddenly noticed that young Flora, a woman he’d known for years and who was his best friend’s little sister, had blossomed into a woman before his eyes. One day she simply smiled at him and he fell in love as fast as a snap of his fingers. So caught up in his desire for her, the dream of the life they could have, he forgot all about what a marriage would mean. Children. Birth. Death?

One night when their kisses got a bit too amorous, a memory he hadn’t had for many years flashed through his head. A picture, in vibrant red of his mother surrounded by blood—dead—along with her newborn son. It was that memory along with the details of Connie’s death that made him see he could not be so selfish.

So he’d made a choice. He’d walked away to save her life, and to protect his heart. If only he was sure she was barren, because God help him, God help her, he couldn’t walk away again. Not after she’d shared her body with him.

He craved a normal life and marriage with her. Only her.

He swung his legs over the end of the bed and found a robe.

There was no doubt in his mind that he could not, would not lose her again, and he would pray to God every night to keep her safe.

He slipped from his room and silently made his way to her.

When he entered she was standing at the window dressed in a silken robe looking down at the gardens below. She slowly turned toward him.

“You are right, I have been a coward.”

She said nothing.

He stepped closer. “I’m still scared. I’m a duke in control of many estates and tenants, but that doesn’t frighten me. I have responsibilities to my King and country, but that doesn’t frighten me. I have a large extended family to provide for, but that doesn’t frighten me.”

He pulled her into his arms.

“The only thing I am truly frightened of is losing you.”

Her face fell and she tried to push away but he held her tight. “You will lose me either way.”

“I realize that. God help me, I couldn’t bear seeing you married to another man ever again.”

He lowered himself to bended knee, holding his hands in hers.

“You’ve always been my dream. I want to be your husband. I want to be a father. And it’s all because of you, Flora. You make everything seem possible. Your courage… you make me possible. All I really want is for you to forgive me and let me love you as you deserve—as I desire.”

He placed his hand on her stomach. “You were the one to teach me the meaning of love. Love is selfless, caring, but it also takes courage. I was such a coward when I first met you.” He took a deep breath and calmness descended. “Will you marry me and live by my side and if God sees fit give me a son.”

A tear splashed his hand. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

And just like that his fear melted away. The feel of her hands in his and the love shining from her eyes made everything seem conceivable. He would have faith.

Without further words he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. As he lowered them both to the sheets, and began to remove her attire, his heart sang with hope. This time he would take his time savoring the fact she was his to protect and love as God saw fit.

EPILOGUE

Monreith House, Scotland three years later

THE FIRE in the grate of the drawing room in Monreith House burned bright as it neared midnight, making the room stifling hot, yet the ice in his gut would not melt. It had been over twenty hours since Flora began to give birth.

He had given up pacing the room hours ago, and now he simply sat staring out the window praying, even the whisky was forgotten.

Angus and Stuart had begged him to leave with them to the local tavern while Flora gave birth, but he could not leave her now. He wasn’t there for Connie and look how that ended. He had this foolish hope that if he stayed everything would be all right.

Earlier when he’d visited her in her bedchamber, Flora too had tried to get him to leave.

“Go with Angus. I will be perfectly fine. Doctor Mallard and the midwife are here, and so are Mary and Tessa. They won’t let anything happen to me.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Mary began pushing Dougray out of Flora’s birthing chamber. “You’ll only get in the way. I promise to come and get you when your son or daughter arrives.”

Tessa sighed and tried to lighten the gravity of the situation. “Men. They make such a fuss.”

Flora smiled then grimaced as a contraction gripped her. Finally she said to her friends, “Dougray has to push his fears aside and be strong for those who need him—myself included.” She spoke quietly to him. “I need you to be strong. I can’t have you falling to pieces now. So please, my love, go. I don’t want to have to worry about you too.”

“I am not falling to pieces, but Christ I feel very entitled to worry about my wife,” he growled. “I do love you.”

Flora laughed and Tessa said, “Society expects men to be impervious to pain, or emotion. Yet, they are only human. I’ve seen your brother on his knees beside my bed begging God to keep me, and the baby, safe. He’s cried in my arms wishing he could birth our babes himself.”

“Right at this moment I wish Dougray could,” Flora hissed through the pain of another contraction. “So, trust me when I say it’s time to leave. Go and be with Angus and Stuart. Drink whisky and think up names for our child.”

So he had done as he was told, but every hour he waited his nausea rose. The uselessness he felt at this moment unmanned him. He hated the lack of control over his destiny and the idea of leaving her safety to fate scared him witless. Fate had never been anything but a bastard to him.

“I don’t know how you two lived through your wives giving birth more than once.”

Stuart cleared his throat and sank into the chair opposite Dougray. “The birth is but a moment in time.” Stuart looked at Connor. The young man was sitting next to his father, his face also showing the strain of the wait. Connor loved Flora as if she were his mother. “Look at the joy Connor has brought to your life. Children are our destiny, our future, and they carry our hopes and dreams. Women instinctively know this. Why else would they go through the pain and danger more than once?”

“Aye, they are far the braver and stronger of the sexes,” Angus added on another gulp of whisky.

Dougray smiled at Connor. “I thank your mother every day in my prayers for giving you to me. She would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

He beamed at his father and reached out and took his hand. “Flora is the strongest woman I know, father. She will be fine. She loves us too much to leave us.”

“From you mouth to God’s ears,” he replied. “I’d just started to believe that I was safe from the possibility of losing her in childbirth when she fell with child. Both of us had given up. After two years she had accepted she was barren and some of her happiness died. I just don’t want God to punish me because my first thought when she told me she was with child, was one of joy. It made her so happy. How could I deny her this? I selfishly rejoiced in the idea of a child too. To have a child with her… To give her what she wanted most is truly a gift from God after all this time. I keep thinking he will punish me for wanting this when it puts her at risk.”

Just then they heard footsteps coming down the corridor and the four men rose to their feet. You could cut the tension in the air with a highland sword. The door opened and a tired Mary stood there with a huge grin on her face. “Flora wants to know if you’ll come and meet”-

Mary didn’t even get to finish her sentence before Dougray raced from the room his heart thundering in his ears. He took the stairs two at a time. Please let her be all right. He slowed when he got to the door of Flora’s bedchamber. It was quiet inside.

On one last silent prayer he lifted the latch and entered the room. Flora lay propped up on the pillows, her eyes closed but a huge smile was on her lips. She looked pale and exhaustion marred her beautiful face. He began to walk quietly to her bedside but she heard him because her eyelids flickered open.

“Aren’t they beautiful,” and she pointed behind him. He slowly turned and saw Tessa with a sleeping bundle in her arms, and beside her the midwife with another bundle. He did a double take.

“We have twins, my darling. A boy and a girl. No wonder I was the size of a barn. I had two of your babes inside me. The next time, I’m only having one, this was more painful and exhausting than I expected.”

He swung to look at her with his mouth open. “Two babes. I have two more children.” His eyes filled with tears of joy and gratitude. “And you are well?”

Doctor Mallard came forward. “Well done, Your Grace. Your wife is as healthy as one of your thoroughbred racehorses and she did a marvelous job. Being twins, the babes weren’t as big as I was expecting. The birthing went well.”

“I resent being compared to a horse,” his wife scolded. “But I did a marvelous job if I say so myself.”

Then Tessa approached and placed a squirming bundle in his arms. “Meet your bonny son.”

This was the first time he’d held a newborn. Connor had been over one-year-old when he finally found him near York. A local blacksmith, whose wife could not have children, had raised Connor. Dougray helped the husband and wife find another orphan to raise because they had been so upset to lose Connor, and he wanted to thank them for looking after his son so well.

Dougray stared at his newborn son with awe and pride. A son. He had an heir! Never had he let himself dream of this day. He could not believe how tiny the babe was. He tenderly took his son’s little hand in his and the babe gripped his thumb, his tiny fingers barely able to wrap around it. The boy opened his eyes and looked at him. He had Flora’s eyes. A bolt of pure love shot him in the heart.

He looked at his exhausted wife. “I should have learned by now that you are always right, my love. This joy I feel, this love… I am so happy I can barely think. This is worth the fear and angst.”

“Good, so you won’t be such a worry wart when I get with child again. Because seeing these two, I want a dozen more. Just give me another year to recover,” she joked.

“I don’t know about that. But I love you so much I’d do anything to make you happy.” He bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Being with you every day makes me happy.”

He sat down on the bed beside her as the midwife placed his daughter in Flora’s eager arms.

“I hope you didn’t waste your time while I was working hard to bring these two into the world. Tell me the names you have selected.”

Just then there was a knock at the door and Connor’s head poked round the door. As he saw his father and Flora with the babes the concern on his face vanished.

“Come and meet your brother and sister,” Dougray called.

When Connor reached his side he handed the young man his newborn son.

“You’re part of this family,” Flora said. “What do you think we should name them? Your father seems to be tongue tied.”

Connor held the wee baby as if he might crush it. “He’s so tiny.” He looked at Flora. “I can truly suggest his name?” She nodded. Connor thought on it for a while. “He has your fair hair, Flora, but I think he’s going to grow up to be big and strong like me. I think he should be called Finlay.”

Flora smiled. “That is a very apt name for him, it means white warrior.”

Meanwhile Dougray had scooped his daughter into his arms and she settled happily against his chest. “Then we shall name my daughter, Fiona, my white princess.”

Mary, Angus, and Stuart joined them all and the room reverberated with the sounds of happiness.

It wasn’t until Dougray noticed Flora could barely keep her eyes open that he organized the wet nurse and midwife to take the babes and he shooed everyone out of the room.

He clambered onto the bed beside her and gently pulled her into his arms. “Sleep, my beauty. You’ve earned it. I’m so proud of you. You were so brave and determined.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered close as sleep beckoned but he heard her soft words. “Thank you for being brave enough to love me. You have given me the dream we talked about all those years ago. I have you by my side, the love of my life, and now I have a baby. My babies. Our babies! Even if I cannot have any more children I am more than content.”

He snuggled down and felt his eyes flutter closed too. He was tired but happy. So happy he thought his heart would burst. But before sleep and dreams of his family consumed him, he thanked God for putting a woman like Flora in this world. A woman who proved that with faith, and a lot of courage, love will truly conquer all.

THE END

ABOUT BRON

USA Today bestselling author, Bronwen Evans grew up loving books. She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and compassionate alpha heroes. Evans is a three-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for a RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand with her dogs Brandy and Duke.

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DUKE IN SEARCH OF A DUCHESS

SEPTEMBER

JENNIFER ASHLEY

PREFACE

The meticulous Duke of Ashford is dismayed when his children inform him they’ve asked the young widow next door to find Ashford a new wife. Ashford can’t think of a more appalling assistant than Helena Courtland, gossipy busybody he steadfastly avoids. But Helena sweeps into his home and his life before he can stop her, turning Ash’s precisely ordered world into a chaotic whirlwind.

CHAPTER 1

PRECISION. Nothing wrong with it.

Ash allowed his walking stick a single swing as he left St. James’s Palace at exactly seven o’clock in the evening and strode up St. James’s Street in the cool September dusk. He bypassed the temples to backroom politics and ruinous games—White’s, Brooke’s, Boodle’s, et cetera—and continued to Piccadilly, crossing the thoroughfare and along to the green space of Berkeley Square.

He walked not only for the exercise but because he knew precisely how long it would take him to reach his front door. No would-be pickpocket or robber accosted him along the way, because none would dream of waylaying Augustine Ferrand, the Duke of Ashford. Even the underworld of London had heard of Ash, and stayed away.

At half past seven on the dot, he entered his domain, and his valet, Edwards, took his hat, coat, and stick.

A meal waited upstairs in the dining room. Ash consumed it in silence, as usual, reading his evening correspondence and his stack of newspapers. The footmen served fish, soup, meat, and greens with flawless efficiency. The butler poured a red wine for the beginning of the meal and a sweet white for its end. Ash would take brandy later, but only after another order of business.

At twenty-five minutes past eight, Ash pushed back his chair, left his papers and letters for Edwards to carry to the library, and climbed the stairs to the nursery.

A chink opened in Ash’s armor when he entered—after tapping politely—to find his oldest son, Lewis, Marquess of Wilsdon, ten years old, standing in the middle of the room.

Ash’s immediate thought, unbidden: He looks so like his mother.

Olivia, gentle, beautiful, of the silver laughter, gone forever. Lily, the youngest, had her laugh. She’d be the mirror of Olivia in a few years.

Ash forced the chink closed. Memories only gutted.

To hide his sudden falter, he pulled out his gold pocket watch. It read the same as the mantel clock, which had chimed twice as he’d entered. “Half past eight. Why are you all not in bed?”

Ash was surprised, not angry. Lewis had adopted Ash’s meticulous schedule without protest and made certain his sisters followed it as well.

The sisters in question, Evie and Lily, peeked out from behind Lewis’s nightshirted back. “Good evening, Papa,” Lily said.

The fog that perpetually surrounded Ash’s life cleared the slightest bit at the sight of his lovely daughters.

At half past eight every evening, Ash entered the nursery, kissed his children good night, and sat between their beds to read a chapter from whatever book they were perusing together. Currently it was The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, though Ash tended to leave out the more frightening bits. He did not want delicate Evie to have nightmares.

The nanny, chosen for her neat habits and her willingness—indeed, eagerness—to follow Ash’s rules for his offspring, stood rigidly near the bookcase, hands folded. She did not look approving, but she did not intervene, which was interesting. Lewis’s will had obviously prevailed.

“What is this?” Ash asked in more concern. “Are you well?”

“Your Grace,” Lewis said formally. “My sisters and I convened a council.” He stumbled a little over the word convened, but Ash kept his face straight.

“And what did this council discuss?”

Ash expected Lewis, who was growing at an astonishing rate, to ask for his own bedchamber, or for the more adventurous parts of the stories to be left in, or perhaps beefsteak instead of nursery fare. Natural, Ash supposed. He gave Lewis an encouraging look, ready to consider his son’s demands.

Lewis cleared his throat. “It has come to our attention that you, sir, perhaps are … well, perhaps …” He flushed and flicked his gaze away.

“A straightforward statement is best, son,” Ash said. “When you stand up in the House to face down your opposition, you must be clear, concise, and unafraid.”

Lewis’s face grew redder. Ash conceded that facing a horde of pigheaded peers shouting in the House of Lords might be easier than telling one’s own father what was on one’s mind.

“Your timetables,” Lewis said quickly. Lily and Evie remained behind him, their eyes round.

“Timetables?” Ash’s mouth tightened, and another dart of pain lanced his heart. Why did they look so afraid of him? He’d thought he and his children rubbed along tolerably well, a damn sight better than Ash had done with his own father.

“Yes, sir.” Lewis looked miserable. “You like them too much, we have decided.”

Ash blinked. “It is not a case of liking or disliking, son. One must be punctual and reliable. That is how one gains trust and respect. Honor.”

“Yes, sir.” Lewis swallowed, but his jaw firmed with determination. “But, we have concluded that …”

“Mama never followed them,” Lily burst out. “Least, that’s what Evie and Lewis say.”

Lily didn’t remember her mother, Olivia having succumbed to fever the year Lily was born. Ash, ill with the same fever, had raged that he’d not been able to save her, but he’d forced himself to recover, to not succumb to despair, for the sake of the three facing him now.

Olivia had been gentle-voiced but laughing and spontaneous. She’d never been capable of keeping to the clock, and Ash had never minded.

But arbitrariness was no way to overcome grief, to raise children, to get on with life without falling to pieces.

“Lily,” Evie hissed. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

Lily stepped out from behind Lewis, but she remained close to her brother. “Lewis ain’t telling it right. He says you are too—what is that word?” She turned back to her siblings, her braid of dark hair sliding on her shoulder.

“Rigid,” Evie supplied, while Lewis tried and failed to glare them both to silence. “Unyielding.”

Ash switched his gaze to Lewis. “I see.”

Was he unyielding? Ash had no idea. The haze he lived in didn’t let him notice much but what was directly in front of him.

“Sorry, sir,” Lewis said.

“No.” Ash straightened to his full height. “Do not apologize. Gentlemen ought to be able to point out each other’s faults in order to improve them. In what way am I too rigid, your lordship?”

Lewis hesitated, then went on as though steeling himself to finish, come what may. “You look at your watch too often. As though worried you will miss your next appointment.”

“Because I have many appointments,” Ash answered, trying to sound reasonable. “A duke and a cabinet minister has much to do. You will learn this when you begin your public life.”

“But when you are at home? With us?”

The chink in the armor widened once more. Adherence to schedule was how Ash had climbed back from illness and sorrow and made his life meaningful again. It was how he’d taken care of his children.

He forced his tone to remain gentle. “There is nothing wrong with following a timetable, Lewis. Eating and sleeping regularly is the way to good health.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Lily slipped her hand into Lewis’s. As though finding courage in her brother’s touch, she lifted her chin.

“Lewis says you won’t unbend until you get married,” she said. “If we have a new mama, you won’t worry so much about not staying with us one second longer than you must.”

The words came out rapidly and defiantly as Evie and Lewis gazed at Lily in horror.

Ash stared at them, stunned. Did they believe he was more interested in his schedule than his own children? Had he made them believe so?

And they thought the way to relax him was to find him a wife? Amusement seeped through Ash’s shock and mortification, and he let it take over. He would assess their claims and see that he did better in future, perhaps changing his schedule to see them earlier in the evening and for a bit longer.

“Very admirable for you to worry about me,” he said. “But entirely unnecessary. My life admittedly runs like clockwork, but this makes me happy. Now, to bed, the three of you. Mr. Crusoe awaits.”

He thought that would be the end of it. Nanny had patiently let the children speak, and now Ash expected her to take over and continue the routine.

Instead, Lewis stepped forward. “We have taken the liberty of drawing up qualities we believe will make the best wife for you. Sir.”

Lewis held out a folded sheet of foolscap, sealed with wax, and addressed in his son’s large and painfully neat hand to His Grace of Ashford, Berkeley Square, Mayfair.

Ash stared down at the paper, trying to keep his anger at bay. The anger was not directed toward Lewis, but at himself. What had Ash done to make his children believe he needed saving? By marriage?

He would have to nip this idea in the bud. Ash took the letter politely and slid it into his pocket.

“Very well. Now, enough. To bed.” He sent a stern look to Nanny, who came to life.

“Your father is correct, your lordship, Lady Evie, Lady Lily. In your beds now. Make haste.”

Lewis and Evie complied, but Lily hesitated, her blue-gray eyes troubled. “You’ll read it, won’t you, Papa? It took us ever so long to write.”

“I give you my word,” Ash said to her solemnly. He’d look at what they’d written—Ash never lied to his children.

To his relief, they at last went obediently to their cots. As Nanny tucked them in, Ash read another chapter in the continuing adventures of the castaway, and then left them.

It was a little after nine of the clock—the ritual had taken ten minutes longer than usual—when Ash shut himself into the library, ready to go over his notes on treaties and other business of the ministry until one in the morning. After that, he would retire. He would rise again at half past seven, wash and be shaved, dress, eat his breakfast, and walk back to St. James’s.

He removed the children’s letter from his pocket and set it on his desk near his other correspondence. He would read it, as he promised, but not now. There was much work to do.

When the clock struck eleven, Edwards opened the door. “The Honorable Mr. Lovell, Your Grace.”

Guy Lovell, second son to the Marquess of Keeling, breezed in with his usual verve. Distant cousin to Ash’s late wife, the two men had become close friends during the Peninsular War and had remained close through Ash’s marriage and Olivia’s death.

“Not here to disturb you—just after a restorative.” Guy helped himself to brandy from a side table as Edwards retreated.

Guy was Ash’s opposite in many ways—profligate where Ash was frugal, spending his evenings in clubs gambling for high stakes and downing bottles of port while Ash sipped strong coffee and pored over papers regarding the future of Great Britain. At one time, Ash had been as fun-loving as Guy, until responsibility had swept away the man-about-town he’d been.

Guy settled himself into a chair and swung his feet over its arm as he imbibed the brandy. He let out a quiet “Ah,” of satisfaction, but said nothing more. Guy had learned not to speak while Ash was working, and Ash didn’t mind Guy’s silent company.

Sometimes not so silent. “What’s this?” Guy asked abruptly. “Precious missive from the king?”

Ash glanced up as Guy came off his chair and swept a paper from the ground, pushed aside by Ash’s work. The seal had broken, and Ash saw with alarm that Guy held the letter his son had given him.

Ash rose as nonchalantly as he could and reached for it. “The children. Bit of nonsense.”

Guy spun away from him, an interested gaze on the words. “Item one: She must be tall so she does not have to stand on her tiptoes to kiss you. What the devil, Ash?”

“I told you, a bit of nonsense.” Ash stopped himself trying to snatch away the paper. He pretended indifference. “Lewis has decided I need a wife.”

“Has he indeed?” Guy’s dark eyes glittered. “Wise lad. Item two: She must not be too thin or too wide. Hmm, very specific. Item three: She must like children, even when they are loud and less than punctual.”

Ash folded his arms, something punching him in the gut.

“Item four: She must know how to sew so she can mend tears in your shirts and spare Edwards, who is tired of you throwing them at him.” Guy broke off in admiration. “That boy is destined for greatness.”

Ash was torn between pride and annoyance. “Leave it, my friend.”

Guy ignored him. “Item five: She must not adhere to timetables, and must teach you to leave off them. Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter.”

Ash cleared his throat. “It is possible I’ve grown too fond of my routine.”

Guy burst out laughing. “Too fond of your routine? Give me strength. All in London set their watches by it. Those who don’t know you believe you mad, or at least eccentric. I defend you every night to ignorant fools.” Not noticing Ash’s firming mouth, Guy returned to the paper.

“Because we know, dear Papa, how little time you have to pursue the matter, we will ask a person to assist you.”

“What? Who on earth would they ask?” Ash tried to hide his unease. “You? A recipe for disaster. I’ve met your volatile mistresses, and you’ve never been inclined to matrimony.”

“No, they have someone entirely different in mind. Lewis says, We have written to Mrs. Courtland and asked her to help find a suitable woman to marry you, which will be handy as she lives next door.” Guy looked up, smile wide. “Oh dear.”

Anything amusing about the situation rapidly dropped away. Ash, blood cold, advanced on Guy and ripped the paper from him. He turned it around to see the words in plain black ink, scrawled in Lewis’s young penmanship.

Helena Courtland. The widow next door, an unmistakable busybody. Talkative, gossipy, and absolutely the last person in the world who should be involved in Ash’s private life.

Mrs. Courtland was a fairly young woman, not yet thirty, having buried a husband nine years ago. She had no children of her own and had taken to Ash’s offspring rather too well. They enjoyed regaling Ash with her many and bizarre opinions on everything from the latest in clothing to the governing of the British Empire.

“Dear God, not Mrs. Courtland.” The paper crumpled under Ash’s big hand. “I forbid it,” he said hotly, with a sinking sense of futility. “I absolutely forbid it.”

His words were drowned by Guy’s loud and prolonged laughter.

HELENA FINISHED READING the letter the footman had delivered to her breakfast table and rang the bell for Evans. When her lady’s maid appeared, Helena said, “Fetch my wrap, Evans. Quickly. I will just catch him.”

The clocks were striking half past eight when Helena tripped from her house, her shawl wrapped around her against the crisp morning air.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she sang as she stepped in front of the Duke of Ashford.

He was tall, but Helena was tall for a woman, so she did not have to tilt her head back much to study him. Dark hair curled from under his hat, and gray eyes as frosty as a late autumn morning met her gaze. He had shaved—she smelled the soap—but his cheeks and chin were shadowed, his hair so dark his valet could never completely scrape the color away.

Ashford halted, always polite, even if his eyes were forbidding. “Mrs. Courtland.” He gave her a well-mannered bow and then made to move around her.

Of course. His precious schedule. He’d want to be in his offices at the ministry at nine precisely.

Helena again stepped in front of him, determined not to let him flee. Lewis’s letter had touched her heart. She’d do anything to wipe the bleakness from the little faces of Ash’s children, poor mites. The duke had shut himself off when Olivia had died, and finding a wife for him was just the thing to open him up again.

“I shall call ’round this evening,” she said. “I wager you know what about. There aren’t many young ladies in Town at the moment, but we will come up with a strategy. If I can’t have you married off by Christmas, I am certain I can when the Season begins.”

Ashford’s focus sharpened as Helena spoke, and now he leaned to her, making her heart beat faster. Goodness, but he was a large man—in a strong way. Nothing of the corpulent about him.

“Mrs. Courtland,” he said in clipped tones. “You will not speak to me or to my children on this matter again. You will forget all about it. Do you understand me?”

Helena met his gaze. Difficult, because there was such rage in his eyes. Behind the rage she saw frustration, unhappiness, and pain.

“I understand you quite well,” she said. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

Ashford stared at her a moment longer, then he straightened, tipped his hat, and marched away.

Helena watched as he strode along the square and down Berkeley Street toward Piccadilly, and she shook her head.

“I certainly will not forget all about it,” she said to his distant back. “We will get you married by hook or by crook, Your Arrogant Grace. I shall dance at your wedding and laugh very hard.”

Helena kept her gaze on Ashford’s tall body and steady gait until he disappeared from sight. Determination and anticipation tingled through her, making her more animated than she’d been in years.

Now—where to begin?

CHAPTER 2

IT WASN’T DONE for a lady to call upon a gentleman unless he was a relation or they had business to discuss.

Helena did not let this stop her as she settled her three-plumed turban on her head and took up the shawl she used for late calls. Nothing so formal as what she wore to the theatre or balls during the Season, but nothing so casual as to be insulting. Helena, constantly sought after for her sage advice or to chaperone ingenues, knew exactly what to wear when, though she’d agonized a bit over how to dress to confront the Duke of Ashford.

She waited until ten minutes past nine—she knew His Grace read to his children until nine o’clock—and rang the bell at the house next door.

The duke’s abode was the mirror image of Helena’s—her fan-lighted front door lay to the right of her main rooms; his lay to the left.

The ground floor was for the public—drawing rooms that could be opened into one grand room for dancing. Not that Ashford had hosted anything like a ball or at-home in years. The ground floor was dark and silent, like Helena’s.

The footman who answered the door was disinclined to let her in. “I’m sorry, madam,” he said, his young face unhappy under his old-fashioned white wig. “His Grace is not receiving visitors.”

“Nonsense, Henry. I am expected—His Grace must have told you. Besides, you do not want me informing your mother about what I saw you and Alice doing on my back stairs a few days ago, would you?”

The kiss had been innocent, and a bit touching, but Helena kept her voice firm. His mother would be most displeased, and Henry knew it. Looking even more unhappy, he yielded.

“His Grace is upstairs, madam. Not to be disturbed.”

“I know. You’re a good lad, Henry.”

Helena patted his cheek and hurried up the stairs. One hurdle past. The formidable Edwards, Ashford’s valet, looming on the landing above her, would be a more difficult obstacle.

To her surprise, Edwards, gray-haired and imposing, stood aside and stared into space as Helena climbed the stairs, pretending not to notice her slide past him. Well, well.

His Grace’s study was on the second floor, above his private dining room. The duke’s bedchamber was the next floor up, she knew. He slept well above the street and exactly beneath the nursery.

Helena tapped on the door of the study and admitted herself when she heard Ash’s distracted, “Come.”

Helena entered a chamber lined with bookcases, books piled across the tops of those already filling the shelves. She’d always known the duke was a reader, though when he found the time, she could not imagine. He did read to his children, they had told her. Interesting books too—an admirable trait in an otherwise inflexible man.

Ashford did not look up from the papers he read at his desk, so Helena said brightly, “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Ashford jerked his head up then came to his feet with comical rapidness, his hard face turning as red as Henry’s. “What the devil? Madam, these are my private rooms and you have no appointment.”

He was struggling to remain civil and barely winning the fight. My, my—would he stoop to bodily pushing her out of his house?

And could Helena stop him? Not really. He’d be considered wholly justified in ejecting an intruder, and there were those who found Helena a bit forward for a woman.

She should fear him—she’d observed his strength—but she did not. Strange. Helena might be foolish in her courage, but so be it.

“I believe I told you I would call this evening,” she said. “We must discuss your children’s request. Not a bad thing, Your Grace, for you to find a wife. I grew up with only a father for many years, and it was a relief when he wedded again. Indeed, my stepmother and I have become great friends.”

“I know.” Ashford’s lips thinned. “The pair of you natter at the theatre. I hear you—your box is next to mine.”

“I only natter, as you call it, when the play is deplorable. When we have fine actors and excellent singing, we listen most attentively. Now.” Helena removed a paper from her reticule and bravely approached the desk. “I would not presume to push you into encounters with these ladies without your approval, so I have made a list for you to look over beforehand.”

“Mrs. Courtland.”

Helena looked up to find His Grace standing tall and stiff beside her. “Yes?”

“You will take your list and your good self and remove both from my house. My son had no business approaching you, and you will forget all about this foolishness. I will explain to him why he is wrong.”

Helena pictured young Lewis as his father sternly instructed him to stay out of his affairs. The lad would be humiliated, embarrassed, hurt. Her resolve increased.

“Perhaps you could listen for a fraction of a moment, Your Grace. Your son only wishes to see you happy. You cannot tell me that walking to and from Pall Mall every day with never a deviation—for years—can make a person happy. A walking corpse, you are, never looking from side to side. A winter snowstorm, a spring shower, a fine summer day are all the same to you. You never leave London—it isn’t healthy for children to stay here in the heat. You should be at your country house in the summer, where they can ride and run and play.”

Helena ran out of breath, knowing she’d gone too far, but she squared her shoulders. She’d only spoken the truth.

“Mayfair is a perfectly fine place,” Ashford countered. “In all seasons. But I do not need to justify my choices—it is my business, madam, and none of yours.”

“If only you were involved, I’d gladly leave you to walk yourself to death. You must have worn a groove in the pavement between here and St. James’s by now. But you force your children to live as you do, and they are miserable.”

“And they are my children.” Ashford took another step closer, his body tight. “They will not remain here forever—Lewis will be off to school and the girls will have a governess and be trained at my estate in Somerset before they enter their Seasons. All has been provided for, you needn’t worry.”

“So you will pack them off like unwanted parcels?”

Ashford’s usually cool voice rose. “Which do you want, madam? For them to stay here and be miserable in London, or off to the country? You are objecting to both.”

Helena waited impatiently until he finished. “Of course I am objecting to both. The children have no say in the matter, do they? Cooped up in London or shunted away, when all they want is to be with their father. If they had a mother, they wouldn’t have to be alone—or perhaps you are too stubborn to understand that.”

“Any woman I married wouldn’t be their mother. No one else can ever be.”

His voice cracked the tiniest bit, and Helena softened a fraction.

“Well, of course not. But she can be their friend, someone they can turn to. Like my stepmother and me. Not exactly like us, you understand, because my father married a lady but two years my senior, and Lily is only seven.” She touched her list. “Now then, Hannah Werner, the Honorable Miss. Her father is Viscount Cosgrove as you know. A bit of a stickler, but he could have no objection to his daughter marrying you. I hear she is very shy, but you already have an heir, so you wouldn’t need to bother with siring more. She could be more a companion than for strengthening the bloodline.”

Ashford went a peculiar shade of red. “For God’s sake—”

“Lady Megan Winter’s family is even more blue-blooded than yours, I believe. The Earls of Rutledge have been around since the Conquest, and they let no one forget it. Megan is sweet, however, and she’s fond of children.”

“You are not going to leave off, are you?” Ashford’s gray eyes were stormy. His morning shave had long worn off, his dark whiskers catching the lamplight.

“I was commissioned by his young lordship, and no, I am not. Next is Miss Lucy Howard. She is much younger than the others, but she’s got a good head on her shoulders, nothing of the flighty miss about her. A lady will need backbone to stand up to you.”

“Why would she have to stand up to me?” Ashford demanded. “A wife knows her duty to her husband and her place in the household—there is no reason to have an argument about it.”

Helena dropped the paper to the desk. “Oh dear. You haven’t had much experience of women, have you?”

“I was married, madam,” Ashford said, thin-lipped. “For seven years. My house was peaceful.”

“Yes …” Helena cocked her head. She had been acquainted with Olivia, Duchess of Ashford, who’d been rather in awe of her formidable husband. Losing Olivia had been painful for him, so Helena decided to keep her opinions of the lady’s timidity to herself. “Mmm.”

“And will be peaceful again once you are gone,” Ashford concluded. “Good night, Mrs. Courtland.”

Helena didn’t move. “Deadly silent is not the same thing as peaceful. You do know that your children worry about raising their voices when you are home? Apparently, you growl when your routine is disturbed.”

“Absolute nonsense.”

“You see? You are growling even now.” Helena touched a finger to her chin. “I knew it would be a challenging task when Lewis asked me, but I did not realize you would be quite so difficult. I see I will have to ease you into the subject.”

“No, indeed, the subject is closed.” Ashford straightened to his full height, his entire attention on her. Rather unnerving, that. “Return home, Mrs. Courtland. I will explain to Lewis that this idea is more than ridiculous.”

“More than ridiculous? Good heavens. That is quite a lot of ridiculousness, if you think it through. They are only worried for you, Your Grace, as you sit here alone night after night. I think of you, you know, on the other side of the wall from me, absorbed in your papers while life in all its colors flows past you, unnoticed.”

Anger flashed in Ash’s gray eyes. “What I do in my study is life, madam. I help run the nation.”

“The nation is full of people, laughing, talking, going to plays, helping each other, but of course you take no notice unless they are figures on a piece of paper.”

“You have no idea what you are talking about. This conversation is—”

“More than ridiculous?” Helena sent him a determined smile. “You will have to come up with another adjective. Let us think of some. Ludicrous, preposterous, absurd, farcical …”

“All of those,” Ashford said in a near shout. “I am finished with it. Good night, Mrs. Courtland.”

He loomed over her, eyes blazing, like a ghost in her favorite shivery novel. Ashford, however, was very much alive, with his tall frame, flushed face, and dark hair mussed by fingers absently pushing through it as he worked.

Goodness, it was warm in here.

Ashford could have rung for his manservant or a footman to eject her, but he did not. He only glared at her, leaving it up to Helena to depart instead of embarrassing her by tossing her out. He did have some manners.

Or perhaps he was simply too angry to think. Helena heaved a sigh.

“Very well. It is growing late. I will leave you to contemplate what I’ve said. Study the list tonight, and we can discuss it later.”

Ashford growled. An actual growl, an animal-like sound in his throat. He snatched the list from the desk, stalked to the fireplace, and thrust it into the flames.

He turned around and resumed his glare at Helena, like a lion both irritated and smug that he’d bested her.

Helena sent him a pitying look. “I did, of course, make a copy for myself. I will bring another tomorrow, and I suggest you read it. When you meet the ladies in question, it will be better for you to have consulted my notes.”

The lion finally roared. “I will not meet them, I will not consult your be-damned notes, and never again will we speak of this. Now, leave my house. At once!”

Botheration. A direct order left no room for argument. And it was, in fact, Ashford’s house, and he could have her turned out without any harm to himself. Helena would have to withdraw to fight another day.

“I have no wish to outstay my welcome, of course,” she said with a conceding nod. “Good night, Your Grace. Do consider the young ladies I have mentioned. Discuss them with your children if you like. After all, we are doing this for them.”

Ashford started for her. Two steps along, he stopped, fists balled, as though it took all his effort not to cross the room and shake her.

Gracious, the duke everyone called a cold-hearted automaton obviously had plenty of emotion. He radiated it.

“Sleep well, Your Grace,” Helena said cheerfully. “We will speak on the morrow.”

She gave him a quick curtsy—she could show she was polite—and scuttled from the room.

Edwards and Henry lingered on the landing, both starting guiltily when she dashed out. Well, this had probably been the most interesting thing to happen in the house in a long while, and she couldn’t blame them for listening.

Helena bade them a pleasant good night and descended the stairs, Henry darting ahead of her to open the front door.

She adjusted her gloves and feathered headdress before she stepped outside. The night was brisk, very pleasant after the warmth of summer. It was still early—perhaps she’d go to the theatre or call upon friends. Many of them spent the autumn on their country estates, but London was never truly deserted.

Helena returned home and dressed to go out, adding jewels to glitter on her throat and ears. She felt animated and alive. She realized, as her carriage took her toward Covent Garden, that for all Ashford’s bluster and snarling, she’d very much enjoyed arguing with him.

Enjoyed it very much indeed.

BLOODY WOMAN. Blast her and all womankind.

Ash rose in the morning, groggy after too little sleep. Helena Courtland had made him lose his temper, shout, and do all manner of uncouth things. His pleasant, clockwork-like existence had been put asunder, as though someone had taken an intricate timepiece and smashed it with a sledgehammer.

Ash had lain in bed all night, his skin hot, his heart tripping. He could not push aside the image of Helena’s wide smile in her pretty face, the silly feathers in her turban bobbing and dancing with her animated speeches. Her wide brown eyes, the one dark blond curl that drooped to her shoulder, the way her bosom moved behind her cream-colored bodice.

Mrs. Courtland was a widow—she ought to be wearing black or gray, drab brown at the very least. Not a light gown with sprigs of silver that shimmered as she moved.

Damned female. When Ash at last drifted to fitful sleep, his dreams put him back into his library with Mrs. Courtland, she floating about the room while he tried to chase her down to shove her out.

In his dream, he caught her, but she wrapped her arms around him, and Ash tipped her smiling face up to his and kissed her.

And kissed her. A deep, thorough, hungry kiss that had his heart pounding and long-buried desires erupting to the surface. His sleep-clogged mind conjured her scent, the sweet fragrance of some spice he couldn’t identify, and the heat of her mouth under his.

No! Ash had jerked awake, air painfully flooding his lungs.

Damn her, damn her. Damn. Her.

His sleep was even more fitful after that, and he woke late, Edwards raising brows in surprise when Ash finally dragged himself from bed. There was no time for a proper shave, and Ash felt the whiskers burn his jaw as he took himself off after a hasty breakfast at a quarter to ten.

There she was. As Ash emerged from his house, Mrs. Courtland was just exiting hers to a waiting carriage. She was neatly attired in a dark green redingote over a gown of lighter green, every line of the ensemble in place. Her straw bonnet, its ribbon matching the redingote, perched on the side of her head, giving her a charming asymmetry.

Mrs. Courtland nodded at Ash, the feathers in her bonnet dancing. “Good morning, Your Grace.” Her mouth curved, the lips he’d kissed in his dreams red and delectable.

Ash’s heart thudded until his hurriedly downed breakfast roiled in his stomach. He made himself bow. “Good morning, Mrs. Courtland.”

The words were as curt as possible, the bow stiff. Not letting his gaze linger on her, Ash marched down Berkeley Street, his usual route.

The walk would do him good, he assured himself. He’d be fine when he reached St. James’s. A few meetings into the day, and he’d forget all about her.

Ash strode on, ignoring Mrs. Courtland’s call of farewell in her light voice. He caught himself staring at the pavement, searching for the groove worn by his own feet, before he snarled at himself and hurried onward.

AN HOUR LATER, Ash stood, dumbfounded, while his mentor took a pinch of snuff, snorted into a handkerchief, and gave Ash a keen eye.

“I know it’s difficult, Ash, but you’re out, for now. There will be a call for elections, and you’ll be back. Once the Season begins, mark my words, you’ll return to London in your full glory. Take the time to see to your estate, ride, hunt, stroll in your garden. Or hang out a shingle for a wife, dear boy. It’s high time someone softened you up.”

CHAPTER 3

THROUGH HER SITTING ROOM WINDOW, Helena spied the trunks and valises trickling from the house next door, and Ashford’s strong footmen loading them onto a cart.

She hurried out of her house to the street. “Good heavens, what is all this?”

A maid passed a valise to a footman and curtsied to Helena. “His Grace is off to the country, ma’am.” She announced this with a look of relief. While Ashford was not parsimonious to his servants, it must be trying to have him always in residence, his routine to be followed to the exact second.

“Excellent news,” Helena said.

She followed the maid into Ash’s house, never mind it was not a proper time to call. Helping the children ready themselves for a journey was an excellent excuse for admittance.

She heard Lewis, Lily, and Evie in the upper reaches of the house, excited and laughing, and Ashford on the second floor rumbling orders to his manservant. Boldly, Helena ascended the stairs.

“’Tis only I,” she called. “Can I help?”

Ashford charged out of his study, stopped short when he saw Helena come off the landing, turned around, and went back in. Helena followed him.

Boxes lay about, books stacked neatly in or beside them. Ashford was taking much of his library with him.

Instead of snapping at her to go, Ashford’s shoulders tightened, and he faced her with a resigned look.

“You are getting your wish, madam. I am hieing to the country, whether I like it or not.”

“Oh, dear. What has happened?”

She did not expect Ashford to answer, except perhaps to shout that it was none of her affair.

“It seems that every committee in every office in which I have a presence has decided my opinions matter very little these days,” he said stiffly. “Lord Merrivale, my most trusted confidant, the man who practically raised me and helped me carve out a career, had to tell me no one wanted me about.” Hurt lurked in Ashford’s eyes, though his face remained a mask of irritation. He gazed at her in sudden suspicion. “You didn’t have a word with him, did you?”

Helena blinked. “You believe I went around to St. James’s Palace, or wherever you take yourself of a day, and told them to toss you to the pavement? They’d hardly listen to the likes of me. It is more likely Lord Merrivale and your colleagues saw that time away would benefit you.” And them, she did not add.

Ashford gave her a narrow stare, then he shook his head, his expression clearing. “I beg your pardon. I am being fanciful. Towering rage makes me unreasonable.”

“Regard this as a blessing, Your Grace. You’ll have plenty of time to attend to your children, and to seek a wife. That rather large house has room for a ball, a house party—a host of gatherings. A house party would be best, I think, so you can invite the families of all the young ladies to stay. You could observe them at your leisure, and then you—”

“Mrs. Courtland!” His shout cut through her words.

“Yes?”

Ashford’s face was red again, his hair awry in that fetching manner. “The country will have one distinct advantage. You will not be next door.”

“No, that is true. Hmm.”

Helena’s late husband’s estate, now governed by his rather foolish nephew, was in Lincolnshire, while the Dukes of Ashford ruled from a vast tract of land in Somerset.

However, a girlhood friend of Helena’s now lived in the village next to the Ashford estate, and was always begging Helena to come for a long visit. Millicent was happily married with four bouncing children, a state Helena envied. She would write to Millicent forthwith.

“You will need a hostess,” she said. “Yes, your aunt Florence is just the lady. She’ll enjoy it.”

Helena turned away, eager to begin her correspondence. She had much to do.

Before she reached the door, a heavy hand landed on the doorframe, barring her way out. She turned to face the dark countenance and furious glare of the Duke of Ashford.

She smelled his shaving soap—he must have told his valet to scrape him clean once he returned to Berkeley Square, but the shadow on his chin remained. Helena had the most pressing urge to run her fingers along his jaw to discover what the whiskers felt like.

Ashford’s gray eyes flickered with raw emotion, and he did not move his hand from the doorframe. If any other gentleman had loomed over her so, Helena might be frightened or angry, but Ashford’s nearness had her heart hammering.

His breath warmed her as he leaned closer. She expected Ashford to rail at her, but he remained strangely silent.

His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth, and Helena’s lips tingled. What would it be like to kiss him? Ashford was a strong man, and a handsome one—she had always noticed this.

Would he kiss with precision, as he did everything else? Or would he at last abandon himself to passion, and kiss with ferocity?

Helena suddenly wanted to know.

With him leaning to her, and her own height, she did not have to rise far to reach his lips. Helena closed her eyes and brushed a kiss to his parted mouth.

Ashford jumped in shock. Helena expected him to jerk away, to snarl at her to remember herself, perhaps to shove her from him in horror.

He froze the barest moment before dragging her to him and kissing her back with a fierceness that stole her breath.

He was shaking but wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her with strength. Helena leaned into his hard chest while his lips parted her mouth, his tongue tangled hers, his thigh pressed her hip.

The kiss tore open places Helena hadn’t known were shut, whisked away the barrier around her heart, and sent her blood flowing to all regions of her body.

The stiff, coolheaded Ashford had coalesced into a virile man, and Helena, most definitely a woman, responded. She’d longed for this, she realized, every day for the past few years, when he’d nodded at her in passing or patiently listened to her go on about his children.

He was fire in her arms, his kiss igniting. Helena dared reach up and touch his face, which she found pleasantly coarse with whiskers.

Ashford deepened the kiss, a soft sound in his throat, but there was nothing soft about the way he held her. He pulled her closer, Helena’s breasts crushed to his waistcoat, behind which she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. No clockwork automaton existed beneath his skin—he was flesh and blood, heating her body.

A step in the corridor made them both give a violent start. It was Edwards, coming to assist his master with his packing.

Ashford jerked from her, and the kiss shattered. Helena backed a step and nearly fell, her legs weak as she pressed fingers to her hot and shaking lips.

Edwards had discreetly withdrawn, but Ashford’s eyes were wide, his expression haunted.

Helena gazed at him a long moment, unable to move. She knew she ought to flee, to save them both from embarrassment—or perhaps to keep herself from kissing him again, she didn’t know. But her feet remained fixed in place.

“Papa?” The young voice of Evie floated in, followed by Evie herself, Ashford’s middle child, the sensitive one. “Nanny says I can’t bring my favorite dress, but it’s so pretty, and Lewis says I’m being a ninny. Will you tell Lewis I’m not a ninny?— Oh.” She broke into a wide smile when she saw Helena. “Aunt Helena, will you tell Lewis? And Nanny? She listens to you.”

Helena’s face scalded, and her heart refused to calm. But bless the child—she had saved the moment.

“Of course, darling. You shall take every pretty dress you wish. Let us be off to the nursery and finish your packing.”

She was aware of Ashford standing in the middle of the carpet where she’d left him, but Helena could not bring herself to look at him, didn’t trust herself not to reveal how her heart sang with his touch.

She seized Evie by the hand and let the child lead her to safety.

AUNT FLORENCE TURNED UP, bag and baggage, on Ashford’s doorstep the day after he and his children arrived at Middlebrook Castle, the five-hundred-year-old seat of the dukes of Ashford.

“Tuck me into a corner somewhere,” she said from within the recesses of her large traveling bonnet. “Worry for nothing, Ash, dear. I received Helena’s letter and of course I don’t mind at all playing hostess to your at-homes. Will liven the place up.”

She regarded the golden stone house that rose in glittering glory from the wide sweep of lawn and shook her head, as though she found it wanting.

Ash opened his mouth to explain that he’d returned home to take care of the place, not host gatherings. He wanted to see to the farms and ensure that the tenants had tight roofs over their heads for the winter. He’d confer with the steward on what crops they’d plant come spring and discuss the yield of the early harvest.

He closed his mouth. If Aunt Florence wanted to chivy the servants and plan balls, let her. Ash would spend his days on the farms, turn up in time to show his neighbors he hadn’t withered to a stick in the city, and then retire.

“Very well, Auntie.” He kissed her cheek. “How pleasant to see you.”

Aunt Florence gazed at him with his father’s gray eyes, suspicion in them. A widow after thirty years of happy marriage, Aunt Florence was in her fifties and as unbowed and robust as she’d been at thirty.

“And you, Ashford,” she said, still wary. “Now then, where are my nieces and nevvy?”

ASHFORD’S PLAN TO avoid the goings-on in the house worked well. He soon admitted that a sojourn in the country had been a wise idea. Long rides woke him out of his stupor, returned vigor to his body, and improved his temper.

Likewise his children seemed happier and hadn’t mentioned marriage or Mrs. Courtland since their arrival. Lily had once begun to say Mrs. Courtland’s name and been hurriedly shushed by her brother and sister.

Ash realized he could indulge in strict routine here as well. Up at seven to breakfast, off on his horse at eight. A ride through the village and then around to the home farm and the steward’s house for a meeting at half past. They’d discuss business—much to do—and then Ash would ride through his lands, with or without the steward.

It was harvest time, with some fields already shorn, others still growing, others in the process of being cut. Ash had wheat to sell, barley for the brewers, root crops for cattle and horses to eat over the winter. Sheep lazed in fields he rode past, shearing time near.

Ash began to wonder why he’d neglected the place so long. He hadn’t entirely abandoned his duties as landlord—while in London, he carried on a detailed correspondence with the steward and the estate’s majordomo, but it was no substitute for being here himself.

He also welcomed the time with his children. Every afternoon, from three to five, after Ash’s ride around his boundaries, he would meet Lewis, Evie, and Lily in the garden. They’d run about, or play games of hide and seek, Ash laughing with them as he hadn’t laughed in years.

Sometimes he and Lewis would walk together and talk, man-to-man, as the girls played among the flowerbeds. Lily loved digging in the dirt, and Ash suspected she’d grow up to be an avid gardener. She’d be covered with loam at the end of the afternoon, to the despair of Nanny. Ash didn’t scold her. Lily would be scrubbed up and on the marriage mart soon enough.

The thought squeezed him painfully. Why the devil should young women be paraded past gentlemen like prized horses? As duke’s daughters, Lily and Evie would garner much attention.

Ash determined not to push his daughters to wed until they met gentlemen who were their equals in every way. His own marriage had been conventional enough, but he’d been lucky that Olivia had been a mild and sweet woman, never minding Ash’s odd ways.

Now Helena Courtland was determined to push him back onto the market like a somewhat bruised hunk of flesh.

As always when the thought of Helena popped into his head, Ash tried to hastily close the door on the troubling memory of the kiss.

He must have lost his mind. Of course, he’d been quite agitated from his conversation with Lord Merrivale and the decision to leave London. And bewildered by the unnerving dreams he’d been having of Helena. Yes, all those things combined.

And yet …

He could not banish the remembered sensation of her softness, her scent, the warm silk of her lips.

He tried to joke with himself that at least the kiss had rendered her silent. Then again, while Helena liked to rattle on, her voice was pleasant, like velvet, not shrill and resounding. Damn it all, Ash liked hearing her talk—that is, if he ignored what she was saying.

None of that mattered now, he told himself. Ash had found sanctuary at Middlebrook Castle, one he hadn’t understood he’d needed. If Aunt Florence wanted to invite the county to stroll about the galleries of an evening, she had his blessing. Let her enjoy herself.

The first gathering occurred after Ash and family had been home two weeks. Aunt Florence truly had invited the entire county, Ash mused—he hadn’t realized he had so many neighbors. Most he recognized to nod to, some had become good friends, and a few were complete strangers. Aunt Florence knew everyone, of course, and Ash went through the ritual of introduction several times.

He only realized his predicament when he was introduced to Miss Lucy Howard and her family. Miss Howard was tall for a lady, young, but with intelligence in her eyes.

The name was familiar. Alarm bells rang in his head when Ash remembered she’d been on the list of Helena’s potential brides.

Ash was a bit more abrupt to the poor girl than he ought to be, but she looked puzzled rather than hurt, likely labeling him a boor.

Coincidence that she was here, nothing more. Aunt Florence had sent out the invitations, not Helena.

The alarm sounded again when he met the Honorable Miss Hannah Werner, and then Lady Megan Winter. And then another lady, a young widow this time, whose name he’d spied on the list before he’d thrust it into the flames.

Damn and blast. Aunt Florence would answer for this.

Ash was cursorily polite and escaped the ballroom at the first instance. He had so many guests no one would blame him for attending those in other parts of the house.

He made for the card room, that realm of safety where husbands and fathers retreated once their obligatory greetings were finished. Ash had almost reached it when an all-to-familiar voice pulled him up.

“There you are, Ashford. Your home is most splendid. I cannot think why you do not live here more often—it must be a magnificent view over the park when the sun sets. Have you met my ladies, yet? I apologize for being late, but dear Millicent is a bit slow. She likes to arrive last thing, though I have pointed out that this is a bit rude.”

Ash stood frozen in place while the words washed over him, then he slowly turned.

It was not a dream. Helena Courtland stood behind him, red lips smiling, in a silver and blue gown that rendered her a glowing angel.

CHAPTER 4

HELENA COULD PRETEND all she liked, but Ashford did not look happy to see her. His cold gray stare as she neared him was quite forbidding.

My, he was handsome in evening dress. The trousers suited him, as did the fit of his coat across broad shoulders. His waistcoat emphasized his slim torso, the ivory silk broken by the fine gold chain of his watch fob. The only other color amid all the black and white was a sapphire pin in his lapel.

The clothing showed his athletic build that Helena believed had grown even trimmer since he’d left London. Lady Florence had told her he spent most of his time riding or tramping about, and it showed.

“I beg your pardon, Ashford,” Helena said in a light voice, as though she’d forgotten all about the kiss they’d shared—the passionate, blood-stinging kiss. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“What the dev—” Ashford straightened and cleared his throat. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Courtland?”

Her brows went up. “Well, that is not much of a greeting. I was invited, of course, by your aunt. My friend Millicent lives not a mile outside your gate, so we are neighbors once again. Is that not entertaining?”

Ashford advanced on her. To throw her out? Or kiss her once more? Helena waited eagerly to find out.

He halted three feet away, to her disappointment. “You brought those ladies here,” he said in a hard voice. “The ones on your be-damned list.”

“Indeed, I did. I instructed your aunt whom to invite. Which lady do you favor? Or do you need more time to converse with them?”

“Do they know why they are here? Did you recruit them as a general recruits his soldiers?”

“Goodness, no. They’d be horribly nervous if they knew a duke looked them over with an eye to marry them.”

“But I do not have an eye to marry any of them.”

“Perhaps not immediately. You’d hardly go down on one knee and propose to a young lady in the middle of the ballroom tonight. It would embarrass her, and you. No, none of them have any idea you’re hanging out a shingle for a wife.”

“I am not …” Ashford broke off with that strange growl. “Of course, they’ll believe it. I’m a duke, a widower, and I’ve allowed my aunt to invite eligible young women into my house, along with my busybody next-door neighbor. They’ll believe my shingle is hanging high and swinging mightily.”

Helena’s breath caught as his eyes flashed his rage. Ashford was so very handsome—did he not realize? The young ladies here would be in transports if he closed in on them as he did so now with Helena.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her back in London—she knew that. She’d sprung upon him, he’d been angry, and she’d talked too much as usual. He must have been very confused.

And good heavens, why did she long to kiss him again? She was meant to marry him off to one of her young ladies and have done.

The pain in Helena’s heart surprised her. Ashford wanted nothing to do with her, she told herself firmly. She’d promised his children she’d help him find a wife. That was all.

“Where are you rushing off to?” she made herself say. “All will be disappointed if you do not dance.”

“I am not a caper merchant,” Ashford snapped, his cheeks staining red.

“No one believes you should be. But you are the host. You must be gallant and dance, not hide in …” She glanced past him, but she had no idea what lay behind the double doors he’d been heading for. “Wherever that is.”

“The card room. Where many of my gentlemen guests are waiting. Shall I abandon them instead?”

“A host must circulate, yes, but I know you are a fine dancer. One country dance will not hurt you. Nothing shocking like a waltz will happen at this affair—your aunt has seen to that.”

Ashford straightened and seemed to gather himself, but his gaze remained fixed on Helena. Difficult to meet his eyes, gray like winter skies.

“Very well.” His voice quieted but filled with deadly strength. “I will dance. You will be my partner and keep those bloody debutantes away from me.”

“But—”

Helena’s protest cut off as he seized her by the hand and towed her down the long hall and back into the ballroom.

AS SOON AS Ash swung Helena into line in the old-fashioned country dance, he knew he’d made a mistake.

She was flushed and eager, not chagrined that her ruse of inviting the young women on her list would not work. Her left toe tapped as the music began to play, and she smiled as she curtsied with the row of ladies.

The dance was one of slow but steady movement, of ladies and gentlemen meeting and parting, turning, promenading, circling back to place, greeting a second partner, and always returning to join hands with the first.

Helena danced on light feet, never missing a step, her smile welcoming for ladies and gentlemen alike.

She loved to dance, Ash realized. He’d not seen her do much of it at the gatherings Aunt Florence talked him into attending. Helena usually remained at the side of the ballroom with a clump of matrons and widows, chattering away. A flower among faded weeds, he’d thought.

As young as she was, she was expected, as a widow, to sit against the wall while the girls she helped chaperone took her place. Helena had been married scarcely two years before her young and rather feckless husband had wrecked his phaeton on the Brighton road and quickly expired.

She’d changed overnight from flitting butterfly to a shadow in widow’s garb, resolutely turning away the attentions of gentlemen who’d tried to swoop in and pluck her up, fortune and all. Helena’s husband had provided well for her, leaving her a large pile of cash in a trust that his nephew couldn’t touch, and the use of the Berkeley Square house for her lifetime.

In those first years of her widowhood, Ash had helped keep the ambitious swains from her doorstep, and Olivia had guarded her like a dragon.

When Olivia had died, Helena had been there at once, returning the courtesy by looking after Lewis, Evie, and Lily while Ash had gone to hell and back.

She’d always been there, Ash realized, a rock in the torrent that had threatened to sweep him away. She’d been “Aunt Helena” for his children to cling to in their grief and bewilderment, while Ash gradually returned to life.

Not that Helena had performed these angelic deeds in silence. She’d chatted to him whenever she’d intercepted him, about anything and nothing—the weather, stories in the newspaper, his children and what they’d said to her, speculations about life in other countries and was it similar to life in England? Helena could never not talk.

Even now, as they danced, she kept up a stream of conversation.

“I vow, there is Sarah Wilkes. So brave of her to come after that horrible man jilted her. I must speak to her—I know a young man who admires her so. He’s not much to look at, but honorable and kind. She will need someone like that now, do you not think, Ashford?”

Ash laced his arm firmly through Helena’s to promenade her to the bottom of the line. “Can you not cease your matchmaking impulses for one dance?”

“Do you know, I do not think I can. The instinct comes unbidden. I long to pair up people and see them happy. Don’t you?”

“I mind my own business,” Ash said, but absently. Helena’s soft bosom against his arm was distracting.

“How dull for you. People are interesting, are they not? Infinite variety—everyone has a story. In this room are so many tales, so many little dramas. I want to learn them all and set the players on the path to contentedness. I know I never can, but I enjoy speculating.”

“You are …” Ash trailed off, fumbling for words, he who could eloquently out-argue the most smooth-tongued of his fellow peers. “A unique woman, Mrs. Courtland.”

She turned startled brown eyes to him. “I will take that as a compliment, Your Grace.”

Ash wasn’t certain what he’d meant, except the truth. In all the players and stories she talked about filling this ballroom, Ash wagered none were as interesting as Helena herself.

The thought startled him so much he stopped in the middle of the dance, missing his steps.

Helena banged into him, a crush of soft woman. She shot him a surprised look then laughed and pulled him along. “Move with the music. There we are. No one noticed, I think.”

Ash found his balance again, shaken, aware of Helena studying him. “You look unwell,” she said as they came together. She said something else, but it was lost in the music as she parted from him.

She continued to chatter, but to Ash, the sound was a blur in the background. The dance mercifully came to an end, and Ash led Helena from the floor.

He planned to settle her in a chair and bring her refreshment, as a gentleman should, but Helena was invited immediately to dance once more. With her high color and the silver-blue gown floating like gossamer, it was no wonder gentlemen were lining up for her. Ash ought to be relieved, but he watched her go with reluctance and irritation.

He made himself escape the ballroom but headed for the terrace this time instead of seeking the card room. He needed air.

Ash walked out to frigid chill. Nights were growing colder, days shorter.

Scarcely feeling the weather, he rested his gloved hands on the stone balustrade and gazed at the garden, which twinkled with paper lanterns. No one walked there—the guests were sensibly in the warm house.

“Deep thoughts, Ash?” Guy Lovell emerged from the shadows, the lit end of his cheroot an orange smudge.

“Appalling ones.” Ash drew a breath to tell him of his astounding thoughts about Helena and the kiss they’d shared, then let it out again. There were things a man didn’t reveal, even to his closest friend. “Mrs. Courtland has brought eligible women for me to look over.”

“I saw that.” Guy chuckled. “Too many ladies fishing for husbands tonight. Hence, my retreat. Devoted bachelor, me.”

Ash folded his arms, tucking his balled hands under them. “She’s recruited my aunt and has moved in with my nearest neighbor. I can’t shake the woman and her schemes.”

“Give in,” Guy said with a shrug. “Marry one of them. Then Mrs. Courtland will go tamely home.”

“Somehow, I think she won’t,” Ash said. “Even if I’d do such a damn fool thing as you suggest. The children love her, for one thing.” He let out an exasperated breath. “Damnation, why does that woman get under my skin?”

“Like a burr one can’t shake?”

“I suppose.” Ash scowled at the garden, silent fountains marble-pale in the darkness. “If Mrs. Courtland is so keen on marriage, why hasn’t she married again herself?”

“Why should she?” Guy asked in a reasonable tone. “Her husband turned out to be a complete idiot, but his wise man of business made certain she was set for life.” He took a pull of the cheroot, the smooth smoke wafting over Ashford. “I know—I’ll marry her. I’d put aside my abhorrence of the married state for a pretty woman in my house. We’ll sojourn on the Continent until she forgets about her idea to get you paired off. That should take her out of your hair.”

“No,” Ash said abruptly.

“Hmm?” Guy’s brows went up. “I was joking. But why not?”

“Because …” Ash rearranged his words and cleared his throat. “No need for her to drive you mad in the bargain.”

Guy took another pull of the cheroot and studied him as smoke trickled from his mouth. “Ah,” he said, then smiled. “I’ll put that idea to rest.”

“See that you do.”

Ash didn’t miss Guy’s grin as the man dropped his cheroot into a bowl left on the terrace for the purpose. “I believe I’ll stroll back in,” Guy said. “Time to lose my money at cards. Pity I’m such a bad player.”

Guy often lost when he first sat down to a game, it was true, but he skillfully won everything back by the end of the night. He enjoyed the challenge.

Left alone once more with his thoughts, Ash gazed at the dark garden long enough to grow restless. He abandoned thoughts of returning to the ballroom and strode down the steps to the gravel path below.

HELENA, standing just inside a door to the terrace, watched Ash go. He was frustrated, poor man—she and his aunt had sprung the young women on him too abruptly. Lady Florence hadn’t warned Ash they were coming, which had probably been for the best. Else he might have disappeared altogether, left the country even.

Helena pulled her fringed shawl close and stepped out of the house, skimming across the terrace and down to the garden. She hurried in the direction Ash had gone, following the sound of his footsteps on gravel.

It was frightfully cold. The afternoon’s clouds had rolled away, and clear air filled the spaces to the heavens. Stars hung thick and bright, a half-moon high. There’d be frost in the morning.

Ash had paused—Helena couldn’t hear his steps any longer. She hurried forward on tiptoe, listening for any movement ... and blundered straight into him.

Strong hands, warm through his gloves, caught and steadied her. Helena lost hold of the shawl, and both she and Ash dove for it as it slithered to the ground. Her head banged his temple, and he grunted as he snatched the shawl up.

“Devil take it,” he growled.

Helena tried to grab the shawl from him, but it floated from her grasp as Ash swirled it around her shoulders. He pulled it closed, his hands meeting over Helena’s bosom.

“My apologies,” she said faintly. Her voice had lost its usual briskness for some reason. A mark on his forehead showed where she’d smacked into him.

“Why are you charging about in the dark?” Ash demanded. He did not release the shawl, the fists that held it warm points above her chest.

“Looking for you. I was afraid you’d be hurt.”

“In my own garden?”

“One never knows,” Helena said. “It is very dark—you might have tripped and fallen into a fountain, bashed your head on a tree limb, had your clothes catch fire from a spark from a lantern …”

He stared down at her as she rattled on, then to her amazement, Ash began to laugh. It was a hoarse sound, as though he hadn’t practiced laughter in a while. “That is—”

“Beyond ridiculous?” Helena gave him a hopeful smile.

“You are the most maddening woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to live next door to.”

“Well, as I’ve lived in Berkeley Square for a number of years, and the inhabitant of that house before my husband took up residence was a lifelong bachelor, and your far neighbor is a widower, there haven’t been many females living near you at all.”

His laughter continued. It was a nice laugh, rumbling and genuine.

Ash gently tugged her closer, his hands full of the shawl. He was warmth in the darkness, strength against the sudden weakness in her knees.