A Devil of a Duke Read online

  A DUKE’S SKILLS

  Stunned, she watched that glove go down until it bunched near her wrist. Then his head dipped. He kissed the inside flesh of her elbow. Warmth. Intimacy. It had been so long. So very long to be alone. One kiss. Two. Both warm and luring. With the third press of his lips, he found a spot that sent an intensely sensual shiver up her arm.

  He looked up into her eyes in a frank acknowledgment that she had done nothing to stop him. “Was that nuanced enough? Suitably subtle?”

  He straightened and pulled her to him. He placed his palm on her face while his other hand continued stroking her inner palm. He held her to a kiss.

  It shocked her to discover that he did indeed possess inordinate skills.

  Praise for The Most Dangerous Duke in London

  “Hunter has created an intelligent, fast-paced romance, chock-full of sensuality and spiced with mystery.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Hunter has a thorough understanding of the architecture and fashion of the era. . . . The writing is lively and the characters fun, and the duke’s cronies promise to make good heroes in future books. A thoroughly enjoyable read.”—Kirkus Reviews

  “The first in Hunter’s seductive new Decadent Dukes Society series is an elegantly written story with richly nuanced characters and a surfeit of intoxicating sensuality that will have fans of soigné Regency-set romances sighing happily with satisfaction.”—Booklist

  “The Decadent Dukes Society [is] just what Hunter fans crave: gorgeous, sexy, scandalous men who are about to meet extraordinary women. Hunter merges passion with vengeance, and pride with romance in this perfectly balanced love story. As always, the wonderful, witty prose and unforgettable characters enhance the intricate plot, and there is no doubt readers will be captivated.”—RT Book Reviews, Top Pick

  Praise for The Wicked Duke

  “Hunter is known for her brilliant, compelling heroines, and Marianne is one of her best.... Marianne and the dark, brooding duke are an ideal match, and their discovery of mutual trust, passion, and, finally, love makes The Wicked Duke an excellent read.”—The Washington Post

  “The complexity of the characters and the mesmerizing allure between Lance and Marianne propel the novel forward at a breathless pace, making this one of Hunter’s best works to date.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “I fell in love with Madeline Hunter’s prose in her first book, By Possession, and I have been faithfully following her ever since. That lyrical and persuasive style is in evidence in [The Wicked Duke].... Hunter does a bang-up job.... Marianne and Lance are very complex and well-drawn characters.... I loved their story. . . . I highly recommend The Wicked Duke.” —All About Romance (“Desert Isle Keeper” Review)

  Praise for His Wicked Reputation

  “Hunter . . . spins the intrigues of an enterprising bastard son and a resourceful artist to delightful effect in this excellent launch of the Wicked series of Regency romances.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Hunter’s PhD in art history stands her in good stead in this fascinating, danger-tinged novel, the first in a new trilogy. With her usual aplomb, Hunter seamlessly marries seductive wit with smoldering sensuality in her latest impeccably written Regency romance.”—Booklist

  “Plot and passion come together to make this a sexy, compelling story.”—BookPage

  Praise for The Accidental Duchess

  “A rash, adventure-seeking heroine and an honorable, take-charge hero clash splendidly as passions blaze in this complex story that pairs another marvelously singular couple, brings the bad guys to justice, and cleverly ties up the loose ends—to the delight of all concerned.”—Library Journal

  “Fueled by an abundance of subtle wit and potent sensuality, The Accidental Duchess . . . is another exquisitely crafted love story by one of the romance genre’s masters.” —Booklist

  Praise for the previous novels of Madeline Hunter

  “Another stellar Regency-set historical romance that hits all the literary marks. Hunter’s effortlessly elegant writing exudes a wicked sense of wit; her characterization is superbly subtle, and the sexual chemistry she cooks up between her deliciously independent heroine and delightfully sexy hero is pure passion.”—Booklist (starred review)

  “Intelligent and memorable . . . as smart and sharp as the best of Regency romances can be. With its tangy dialogue, Pride and Prejudice themes, bits of mystery and nefarious characters, readers may be reminded of Jane Austen.” —Romantic Times Top Pick

  “Hunter’s books are so addictive.”—Publishers Weekly

  “Hunter’s flowery centerpiece will suit every romance table. Highly recommended.”—Library Journal

  Books by Madeline Hunter

  The Most Dangerous Duke in London

  A Devil of a Duke

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A Devil Of A DUKE

  MADELINE HUNTER,

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  A DUKE’S SKILLS

  Praise for The Most Dangerous Duke in London

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Madeline Hunter

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4392-8

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4392-1

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4393-5

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-4393-X

  Dedicated to my son, Thomas

  Chapter One

  Lady Farnsworth ceased caring about the ton’s opinion after her husband, the baron, died. Within a month of his funeral, she took to dressing and behaving as she pleased. Three years later, generous members of society called her an original. The rest employed crueler words.

  No one, however, approved of he
r bizarre decision to hire a female secretary. Some claimed it an indication that the lady had gone quite mad.

  The secretary in question, Amanda Waverly, knew only gratitude for her employer’s rash act, especially since Lady Farnsworth had taken her on with only the thinnest of references. Amanda sometimes experienced relief along with gratitude, due to knowing more about her background and character than Lady Farnsworth ever would.

  That history was in the back of Amanda’s mind while she worked at her desk in Lady Farnsworth’s library in late May. She used her fine hand to copy an essay that Lady Farnsworth had written. Her source document had seen many changes and cross-overs so she took great care to incorporate all of them in this draft.

  The necessary concentration proved difficult because the loveliest breeze glided through the open library window. When she looked out, she could see Green Street and its activity, and the fine carriages that rolled toward Hyde Park. She liked the open carriages best, because they displayed the bonnets and ensembles worn by the ladies. Bits of conversation and gossip entered her window when they passed, but she enjoyed their carefree laughter the most. It created a little music that set her to humming one of her favorite songs.

  Normally the view brought her contentment at how well her life had turned out, despite its beginnings. Today, however, that reaction sent her mind immediately to the letter in her reticule, and to an errand she had set for herself this afternoon.

  That mission would surely end her advantageous situation should Lady Farnsworth ever learn the reason for it.

  “Are you finished with that?”

  Amanda looked up to see Lady Farnsworth bearing down on her. Dark of hair and eye and long into her middle years, the lady favored a type of dress that only increased the smug humor about her. Declaring that the high waists of the day looked sad on mature figures, she had taken to having dresses made that resembled those worn forty years ago.

  Since she eschewed the corsets of yesteryear as too confining, these dresses made her appear more matronly than she ever would look in the latest fashions.

  Over these laced, ruffled, and beribboned garments, she usually wrapped a long shawl. She flung one end of it over the opposing shoulder like a toga. Today, her ensemble consisted of rose raw silk adorned with blue embroidery and white lace, all beneath a multicolored wrap replete with a detailed pattern of pastel blooms. That shawl’s fabric bore an unfortunate similarity to the flowers that decorated the upholstered furniture in the chamber.

  “I am almost finished.” Amanda focused on her pen. “Perhaps an hour more.”

  “For the first draft? Are you unwell? Normally you are quicker.”

  “There were many changes. I did complete the two letters, however.”

  “Allow me to see.” A strong hand stretched under Amanda’s nose and snatched the papers. “Tosh. You do not need an hour. A quarter hour at best, and this is so well done that we will not require another draft. We will bring this one to the meeting.”

  “We?”

  “Did I neglect to tell you? I want you to accompany me so I can introduce you.” She directed a critical gaze at Amanda’s dress. “Why are you wearing that sad green thing? I gave you some of my dresses to have remade so you would not have to live in such an unflattering color.”

  “I appreciate your gifts, truly. As you have seen before, I have made good use of them. I did not want to get ink all over one of them, however.” She spoke without faltering even though she had worn this old dress for a different reason and she always donned an apron anyway.

  “It will have to do for our visit. No one there will care, but you are so lovely when you do not present yourself poorly.” Lady Farnsworth patted her head the way a kindly aunt might. “They all know what a treasure I have found in you, Miss Waverly, and how helpful and competent you are. That is all that will matter.”

  “I had intended to do some shopping while you went to your meeting. Will that still be possible?”

  “The shops near Bedford Square should suit your purposes. We will not need you for more than a quarter hour. Now finish that so we can depart in good time. Oh, and sign the letters for me. I daresay you do it even better than I do, and I do not want ink on my garments either.”

  Need me for what? Amanda assumed all would be revealed in due time. A quarter of an hour’s worth. She prayed it would not take longer than that, although Bedford Square would be very convenient to her errand. So convenient that it seemed fortune had smiled on her.

  She glanced at her simple knitted reticule. The letter inside, obtained from her mail drop yesterday evening, all but shouted its contents.

  She had been too optimistic in thinking that by obeying one command, she might be spared more. An iron edge of rebellion spiked in her at how she was being used, and at the evidence that the scheme was not over yet. Until she learned the name of the person behind it all, she would have to comply, however. Her mother’s freedom, maybe even her life, depended upon her.

  * * *

  Gabriel St. James, Duke of Langford, fumed with impatience while his carriage slowly rolled east through town. At this pace, his visit would take all afternoon.

  The slow progress soured a mood less than bright from the day’s events thus far. He was damned tired of people congratulating him on doing what was by birth and inheritance his duty. The smiles and acknowledgments were hellishly patronizing. Had he known that giving that speech in the House of Lords last week would result in so much smug approval, he would have drowned the notion in a bottle of good claret.

  Now here he was, suffering because his younger brother had bought a house so far out of the way.

  Why couldn’t Harry have remained right on hand in the family home? There certainly was plenty of space. Or if he insisted on misplaced notions of independence, he could have taken chambers or a house in Mayfair. But no, Harry had displayed his confounding eccentricity by choosing a townhome near the British Museum. It wasn’t as if he even needed to visit there. He had been so often that he probably knew every item in its inventory.

  Feeling put upon by the world in general, Gabriel tried to distract himself by plotting a few days of decadent excess. Unfettered debauchery always made him feel better. He intended to lure a certain lady into enjoying the indulgence with him. She had been coy thus far, but he knew progress when he saw it and, at their last rendezvous, her eyes had shown all the right signs.

  The carriage took a turn and picked up a bit of speed. Not enough, however. Gabriel cursed himself for not riding his horse. That was always faster.

  Finally, the carriage stopped in front of his brother’s townhome on Bainbridge Street. Gabriel stepped out and eyed the façade.

  He did not care for this house and not only because it inconvenienced him. Standing alone, its brick face and limestone window headers and sills might have passed muster, even if, with three levels, it hardly spoke of the home of a lord.

  The problem was the next building on this street. A huge house owned by Sir Malcolm Nutley loomed cheek to jowl with Harry’s. It was an old one that had been designed in the day when houses had not shown restraint. An abundance of stone carvings marked its age and made it appear even more imposing. They diminished the modest brick dwelling alongside all the more too.

  The effect could be seen in the reaction of the woman who had paused to gaze at the architecture. A servant, from the look of her plain green dress, she bent her head back until the deep brim of her straw bonnet angled to the clouds. The old-fashioned gray mansion must have impressed her because she paced away to its far corner to get another view.

  Gabriel turned his mind to the matter that had brought him here. This was a brotherly call, a matter of duty but also affection. Harry’s heart had been broken for the first time and it was unlikely he knew how to accommodate the disappointment.

  Gabriel, on the other hand, possessed wide and deep experience with matters of the heart. Inconvenient though it might be, of course he had to ride across town to help Ha
rry out.

  * * *

  The house appeared closed. Amanda examined it while half her mind thought about the peculiar quarter hour she had just spent in another house, the one on Bedford Square.

  A pretty, delicate blond woman named Mrs. Galbreath had greeted her and Lady Farnsworth. Then they all sat in a library with too many chairs and divans while Mrs. Galbreath gently asked questions of Amanda. They were the sort of questions one might pose to a new acquaintance, only a tad more pointed.

  Had she not known better, she would suspect she was being considered for another position. Lady Farnsworth would warn her if she intended to let her go, however. In fact, Lady Farnsworth had looked on indulgently. Only at the end had she mentioned that Mrs. Galbreath was the publisher of Parnassus, that journal she wrote for. Mrs. Galbreath, in turn, had mentioned meeting again soon. Then Lady Farnsworth had excused her to go shopping.

  She forced herself to stop ruminating on the peculiar meeting, and brought all her attention to the big house she faced. She moved her shopping basket full of basic household items to her right arm, so it would be visible to anyone in the house. No one inside would wonder why a woman dressed in this poor garment had stopped to gawk at this house while on her way home from the shops.