A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (27 page)

Henrietta touched his cheek and smiled at him. “You were not a rake, my love.”

“Lord Chesterfield said that ‘few men can be men of pleasure, but every man may be a rake.’ At the very least, I was hasty in my pursuit of our pleasure this afternoon, but only because my desire for you was so great, and I was eager to wipe any thought of Lord Waldo from your mind.”

“Who?”

Blake laughed. “This time, my sweet Henrietta, I’m going to make love to you properly, slowly, and all night long.”

“That sounds intriguing. I think I will love it.”

Blake smiled at her. “I’ll make sure you do.”

He bent his head and captured her lips with his own as his hand caressed her cheek.

Henrietta thrilled to his touch.

The End

Dear Readers,

I hope you have enjoyed reading Blake and Henrietta’s story in
A Duke to Die For
as much as I enjoyed writing it. Blake’s cousins, Lord Raceworth and Lord Morgandale, have their own stories to tell.

It is also my hope that you found pleasure in reading the numerous quotes from Lord Chesterfield. While doing research, I stumbled onto this man who wrote hundreds of letters to his son over the course of several years late in the eighteenth century, and I was intrigued by him.

In
The Rogues’ Dynasty Trilogy
, you’ll find many of Lord Chesterfield’s words sprinkled throughout the pages. All quotes at the beginning of each chapter are taken word for word from his letters to his son. I took creative liberty in attributing quotes to him that I know he didn’t say, but in each case, I have a character in the book question the authenticity of the quote. I do this merely for fun and entertainment, not to give credit where it isn’t due.

Please mark your calendars now to look for Lord Raceworth’s story in
A Marquis to Marry
, which will be published in October 2009, and Lord Morgandale’s story in
An Earl to Enchant
, which will be in bookstores in April 2010.

In the meantime, you can e-mail me with questions or comments at [email protected] or through my website at ameliagrey.com.

Happy Reading,

Amelia Grey

Read on for a preview of

Book Two in The Rogues’ Dynasty series

by Amelia Grey

Coming from Sourcebooks Casablanca

in October 2009

One

My Dearest Grandson Alexander,

I am confident you will agree with these wise words from Lord
Chesterfield: “At all events, a man had better talk too much
to women, than too little.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

ALEXANDER MITCHELL RACEWORTH, THE FOURTH Marquis of Raceworth, stared at the cards in his hands, but his mind was on the surprisingly bold, albeit beautiful, Miss Maryann Mayflower. She sat beside him at the card table, slowly rubbing her foot up and down his leg. It was her second Season, and the talk around the clubs was that she would do anything to make a match before it ended.

That rumor gave Race pause, even though the invitation she issued under the table was tempting. He wouldn’t mind a tryst in the shrubbery with a willing miss, but he wasn’t interested in getting caught in a parson’s mousetrap.

For the past three years, Race had held a popular afternoon card party in his garden during the Season. Only this year, the coveted outdoor event had to be moved inside because of a hellish rainstorm. The social gathering was so well attended that he had to move the furniture out of his drawing room and the dining room and place it in other areas of the house so that he could accommodate more than three-dozen guests who had come to play whist, cribbage, and speculation.

“Excuse me, Your Lordship.”

Race looked up at his stocky housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Frost.”

“Could I have a word with you in private?”

The woman was well trained. She wouldn’t interrupt him unless it was something important. “Of course, I’ll be right with you.”

He looked at the players at his table. There was the comely blonde next to him who wasn’t letting a little thing like a housekeeper standing so close keep her from seducing him with her foot. The other lady at the table was the quite charming and unattached widow, Mrs. Constance Pepperfield, and the other gentleman of the foursome was his cousin Morgan, the ninth Earl of Morgandale.

Race laid his cards face down on the white-linen-covered table. “Excuse me, ladies, Morgan. I have to bow out of this hand. As you know, this is the problem with being the host of a party.”

“Must you?” Miss Mayflower asked, pouting.

“I’m afraid so,” Race assured her pleasantly and moved his leg away from hers. “It seems duty is calling me. Morgan, can I depend on you to charm the ladies while I’m away?”

“More than happy to.”

Race rose and went in search of Mrs. Frost. He found her in the vestibule, closing the front door.

“You needed to see me?”

“Yes, Your Lordship,” she said with a grimace on her plump face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I knew you would want to know that the Dowager Duchess of Blooming is here to see you.”

Race’s brows drew together. He didn’t like surprises. “A dowager duchess to see me? I wonder whatever for.”

“I have no idea, My Lord.”

Unlike his cousin Blake, the fifth Duke of Blakewell, who was notorious for forgetting appointments, Race knew every entry on his social calendar. He certainly would have remembered if a dowager duchess had requested to call on him. But what was he going to do? He couldn’t see her this afternoon. His house was filled with people chatting nosily around card tables.

“Where is Her Grace now?” Race asked Mrs. Frost.

“In her carriage. I didn’t speak to her. The duchess sent her companion to the door to say she would like a few minutes of your time, if you would be so kind. I told her you had a party going on. The companion apologized for the interruption and said Her Grace was content to wait in her coach until you are available to speak to her.”

“That’s odd,” Race mumbled more to himself than to his housekeeper.

“It was a quick win for me after you left,” Morgan said, walking up to Race. “Those two ladies don’t know much about cards. I got them both a cup of punch and told them I’d check with you to see if you wanted us to wait for you or continue. What’s going on?”

Race stepped away from Mrs. Frost and in a low voice said, “I don’t really know. The Dowager Duchess of Blooming is here to see me.”

His cousin’s blue eyes narrowed. “Good Lord, who is she?”

“The devil if I know.” Race brushed his light brown hair away from his forehead and studied over her name, drawing a blank. “There are at least a dozen dukes, if not more. I’m not acquainted with all of them. And I certainly don’t know how many dowagers there are.”

“The area of Blooming is up near the Northern Coast,” Morgan offered. “That is probably the reason we’re not familiar with the name.”

“I haven’t a clue why the dowager would be here to see me.”

“Maybe she was a friend of our grandmother’s and would like to converse with you about her.”

“Damnation, Morgan, I can’t do that now with a house full of lively guests to help entertain. She’s come without an appointment and wants to wait until I’m available to see her.”

Morgan grinned. “And I can see you are on the verge of telling her just where she can wait.”

Race smiled mischievously. “Tempted? Yes.”

“Our grandmother would roll over in her grave that you would even think of treating an older woman—titled or not—any way but as if she were a queen.”

“Don’t remind me.” All humor vanished from his face. “Why wouldn’t Her Grace do the proper thing and leave, and then later make an appointment to see me?”

“It tells me she wants to do more than just converse about our grandmother. Is there any chance she’s here because you slept with one of her maids, or worse, one of her granddaughters?”

Race glared at his cousin.

“Blast it, Race, whoever it is you’ve slept with, I suggest you turn on that famous charm. Better to win her over up-front. She’ll go easier on you when you have to ask her forgiveness later.”

“Bloody hell, Morgan. I don’t even know who she is, so how can I know if I’ve slept with someone she’s related to?”

“Are you in any other kind of trouble that I don’t know about?”

“No,” Race stated, cocksure.

“Hmm,” Morgan said, and then added, “It’s too bad Blake and Henrietta missed the party. With him being a duke, they would know exactly what is and isn’t acceptable in a situation like this.”

“Why the devil isn’t our cousin here? What’s he doing today, anyway?” Race asked in an annoyed tone.

“He married Henrietta two weeks ago.” Morgan grinned. “You figure out what he’s doing on a rainy Sunday afternoon.”

Race uttered a curse under his breath. “Oh, right.”

“Where is Gibby? He’s been around long enough he should know what to do.”

“I don’t know what he’s up to. I received a short note from him earlier today saying he couldn’t make it.”

“So what are you going to do about the duchess? You can’t leave her in her carriage in front of your house. That’s an outrage.”

As much as Race didn’t want to concede to Morgan or the dowager, his grandmother had raised him and his cousins to respect women. As inconvenient as it was now, he couldn’t change his nature. And, he had to admit that the woman had piqued his interest. While he’d had his share of unannounced females showing up at his door, none of them had been old or titled.

“You know I’ll do the proper thing,” Race finally admitted.

He called to Mrs. Frost, who had remained silently by the front door. “Go out to the carriage and inform Her Grace that I insist she come in and join the party. If she refuses, which I expect she will, have some of the servants move enough furniture out of the music room to make a comfortable place for her to sit down. If she refuses, which I expect she will, have some of the servants move enough furniture out of the music room to make a comfortable place for her to sit down.

Race turned to Morgan and grinned. “Satisfied?”

“I am, but she’ll probably think you’ve treated her atrociously.” Morgan chuckled lightly. “You will be the talk of the ton after this little escapade.”

“Probably,” Race agreed. “No doubt it will give the scandal sheets a week’s worth of articles.”

“Or more, and they’ll love you for it. Gossip makes them money. And look on the bright side. It could encourage other ladies to show up at your door unannounced.”

“I don’t see any harm in that.”

Morgan clapped Race on the back, laughing as they rejoined the party.

Several games of cards and at least two glasses of wine later, Race was enjoying another good hand at a table with two delightful young ladies and their father when Morgan tapped him on the shoulder.

Race looked up at his cousin and frowned.

Morgan leaned down and whispered, “Have you met with the mysterious duchess?”

“Not yet,” Race said, glancing down at the two aces in his hand. “I was giving her time to have a cup of tea.”

Morgan cleared his throat. “She’s been in the music room over an hour. I think her cup might be empty by now.”

That got his attention. Race sighed. “Do you mind taking over this hand for me? Some problems just won’t go away without a little push.”

Race downed the remaining wine in his glass and, with a grimace, excused himself from the game once again and headed for his music room. Upon entering, he saw a gray-haired woman sitting in a side chair with mountains of furniture piled up behind her. He stopped in front of her, bowed, and kissed her hand. “Your Grace, you should have joined us. I take it you aren’t fond of cards, but I trust my servants made every effort to keep you comfortable.”

“Please, My Lord, I am Mrs. Princeton.” She rose and curtseyed. “May I present the Dowager Duchess of Blooming.”

The woman pointed to a much younger lady standing by the window and staring at him with an amused expression on her face. Race’s heart skipped a beat. The duchess was not an old, unattractive lady. She was a stunning beauty.

She walked toward him with a slow, confident stride, stopping a respectable distance away. “You know, I’ve heard that about you,” she said.

His stomach did a slow roll. “What’s that?”

“That you can charm a leopard out of its spots and a nun out of her virtue.”

Race raised one brow. “I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the gossip pages.”

“In your case, I think they may be right.”

Race cocked his head and slowly perused her. She had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. They were a light shade of green, large and expressive. She wore a deep forest-green traveling dress, accented by a matching pelisse. Her glossy, dark brown hair was swooped up to the top of her head, with soft wispy curls framing her face.

“Then tell me, Your Grace, are you a leopard or a nun?”

Mrs. Princeton gasped.

Race cleared his throat. For a moment he’d forgotten the other woman was in the room.

The dowager hid her smile behind her hand, not answering his question, but saying, “My Lord, thank you for agreeing to see me. I realize that you are unacquainted with me or my circumstances. This is my companion, Mrs. Princeton. My husband died shortly after we married. His son from his first wife is now the Duke of Blooming, and he and his duchess reside at Chapel Glade in Blooming.”

Her words brought to mind the vague memory of gossip about a young lady who was married to an older, reclusive duke because of an indiscretion. Could she be that lady?

“I see,” he said. “I have to admit that you have caught me at a busy time, Your Grace, and I feel at a complete disadvantage.”

“I’m sure that’s not a place you often find yourself.”

“To say the least.”

That amused smile played at her beautifully shaped lips again, and it irritated the hell out of him. So much for thinking she’d be horrified at being left alone to sip tea for the better part of an hour.

“Do you mind if we speak alone?” she asked.

“No, of course not, if you are comfortable with that.”

“I am. The rain has stopped. Perhaps your housekeeper could take Mrs. Princeton on a tour of your garden.”

She smiled again and Race’s heart fluttered so fast he felt thunderstruck. What the devil was that feeling all about? And why was he so sensitive to every move she made?

She was the most intriguing woman he’d ever met—and it had nothing to do with her being a duchess. Because of Blake, Race had been around dukes and duchesses all his life, and he wasn’t awed by them, as were most of the people in Polite Society. Her Grace’s beauty was very appealing, but that’s not what unnerved him, either. He had the pleasure of beautiful women around him all the time.

She unsettled him because of her poise, her self-confidence, and her regal manner. She was simply alluring and, when he looked at her, he was completely captivated. His fingers itched to touch her. He had never met anyone like her. Everything about her told him that, in her, he had met his match.

After Mrs. Princeton had left with his housekeeper, the duchess said, “I believe I owe you an apology for showing up at your door unannounced.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you don’t apologize often?