My Darling Duke

“But how? I cannot credit it or perceive if I should be delighted or pity the poor lady who will have to withstand your eccentricities,” breathed Penny, looking eagerly up at him.

He scowled.

“Though they are delightful ones,” she added hurriedly with an impish grin. “But truly, how did this happen?”

“As I understand it, it was announced in the papers by Miss Kitty Danvers. I do admit, I have yet to meet this lady.”

The import of his words reached his sister, and she straightened. “Oh dear. I wonder what circumstances would embolden someone to announce such a falsehood? Are you considerably angry?”

Letting his finger trail over the cold marble statue of Hera, Alexander moved with his jerky gait over to the wall of windows overlooking the palatial lawns and gardens of his estate. “I’m…surprisingly not angry,” he murmured, testing the emotions behind the words.

What he was was curious.

The moon struggled to appear, the clouds covering it like a thin veil. It was then he felt the press of silence. It swarmed through him and burrowed beneath his skin. An almost overpowering restlessness came over Alexander.

Who are you, Miss Kitty Danvers?

Intemperate and reckless, that much he knew. There would be no other reason to summon a beast into her life. Why would anyone say they were engaged to him? What charade was she playing—and why?

He was no longer society’s brightest diamond, the mad, bad, and most elusive catch all the beauties had yearned for. He’d become their scarred, reclusive monster. He remained an influential voice in British politics through his pen. No woman wanted him, and he desired none, for his cock was an empty husk that would never rise again. Yet somehow, he had himself a fiancée…one who was taking the ton by storm.

A rustle behind him indicated his sister had returned to the mound of scrolls on the floor. She was quite used to his lengthy introspections and always knew when to leave him be with his ruminations.

He was intrigued. The hovering loneliness with its jagged and sharp edges, which pierced him when he least expected it, flickered as if it sensed something different on the periphery of his soul and thoughts. Instead of icy darkness settling over his emotions, instead of a muted fury of loss, instead of a sense of nothingness, a curious sort of anticipation blanketed his mind.

…

A couple of weeks later, another set of newspaper articles had been delivered to Alexander. Mr. Pryce had executed his commission exceptionally well. Before Alexander, laid out in an organized sprawl on his oak desk, were five stacks of articles, all from various newspapers. The Morning Chronicle, Times, the Gazette, The Morning Herald, and a Lady Goodie’s Scandals and Secrets, a paper he was unfamiliar with but one that promised all the juicy gossip for those avid devourers of scandals.

They were just as silly as himself, it seemed, for they fol

lowed Miss Danvers’s outings relentlessly.

Alexander plucked up the sheet taken from The Morning Chronicle. It was an interview. Incredulous amusement filled him as his gaze devoured her brazen words.

The reporter: “Society has not seen the duke for a number of years. What can you tell us about that?”

Miss Danvers: “That the duke likes and values his privacy.”

Alexander tried to envisage the expression that could have possibly accompanied that sassy remark. An arched eyebrow, a sweetly deceptive curl of her lips?

The reporter: “Will the duke travel to town for this season?”

Miss Danvers: “Dear me, no. The duke much prefers the quiet comfort and fresh air of the countryside. But he does write me quite often. Such delightful letters.”

The reporter: “And where in the country does the duke reside?”

Alexander imagined that she had laughed before responding. Was it low and husky or bright and thrilling?

Miss Danvers: “Come now, Mr. Dawson, surely you do not expect me to own to it. My dearest Alexander surely would not forgive me. I must keep his confidence.”

Now Alexander imagined the reporter shifting closer, entirely charmed by the deceptive vixen.

The reporter: “And what does he write you?”

Miss Danvers: “Oh, the most charming letters and poems.”

Such breathtaking insolence. Had she blushed prettily when she told that lie? Or fluttered her lashes?