Outwitting the Duke Read online

  Outwitting the Duke

  When the Duke Comes to Town

  Deb Marlowe

  Aileen Marlowe

  Lily George

  Night Shift Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Earl’s Hired Bride

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About Deb Marlowe

  Also by Deb Marlowe

  His Unsuspecting Heart

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About Aileen Fish

  Also by Aileen Fish

  The Captain Takes a Bride

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About Lily George

  Also by Lily George

  Epilogue

  Evading the Duke

  Thwarting the Duke

  Dismissing the Duke

  Copyright © 2016 by Aileen Fish, Deb Marlowe and Lily George

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-311-93142-9

  Created with Vellum

  The Earl’s Hired Bride

  Deb Marlowe

  Dedication

  For my Great-Uncle Ed, who was funny and kind and who told me many times that I was the spitting image of my Grandma when she was a girl.

  Prologue

  Half Moon House

  April, 1817

  “The gentleman did not give his name.”

  Hestia Wright shared a glance with her boulder of a footman. She and Isaac had been together for years. They both knew that the number of gentlemen who wished not to advertise his association with her was legion.

  The man in her office could be anyone. Perhaps not a former protector—the majority of them were too wealthy and influential to appear unnoticed here in Craven Street. A present business associate or charitable sponsor, then? Or a future benefactor for the work they did at Half Moon House? The twinkle in Isaac’s eye told her that there was something special about this one.

  Even so, she was caught by surprise when she breezed into her office.

  “Your Grace,” she said with pleasure. She dipped into the elegant curtsy that had once been envied and imitated in Europe’s finest parlors. “What an unexpected but delightful surprise.”

  The Duke of Danby rose from the chair before her desk. He bowed, but it was an impatient gesture. “I’m sorry to burst in on you unannounced and without an appointment, but no one knows I’m in Town yet.”

  “Well, I did not know,” she said with a smile, “which means that indeed, likely no one does.”

  “I’d like to keep it that way, for just a little while longer,” he said with a significant glance at Isaac.

  “Your Grace,” Hestia chided. “You know we are the souls of discretion. Your secrets are safe with us.”

  “I do know it—and that is why I am here.”

  “Come and sit.” She waved him away from the desk and toward the grouping of chairs before the fire. “Let us be comfortable. Isaac will bring tea.”

  “You are still a stunningly beautiful woman, Hestia,” he said bluntly as they settled into their seats.

  “Thank you.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m not the young sylph I was when we assisted each other with that matter in Prague, so long ago.”

  “But you are ten times the woman, by all reports.” The Duke leaned in. “Which is why I am here to ask for your help once again. And yes, before you ask, I’m ready to give you a sizable donation for your good works, in exchange.”

  “Oh, dear. Not even a negotiation? I do remember our collaboration, Your Grace. You make me worry that this must be a difficult task indeed.”

  “It is,” he admitted. “It’s a damned tricky business.”

  Isaac knocked and Hestia called for him to enter. She watched the duke fidget while she poured. When they were both served she sat back and eyed him over the rim of her cup.

  “I’ve done my best by my family,” he said as the door closed behind her footman. “It’s important to me. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to negotiate most of the younger generation into alliances with solid spouses of good character and situation.”

  “And bullied and manipulated when negotiation failed, if the gossips have it right?”

  “Gossips be damned. My family is by and large ready to continue on in happiness and prosperity. It’s a worthwhile life’s work, if you ask me. But there are a few cases left—and I’m here about a particularly delicate one.”

  “Do tell,” she invited.

  He set down his cup. “This is for your ears only, you understand.”

  “You have my word,” she assured him.

  “You will perhaps have heard of my sister Georgina?”

  Hestia knew the family history of most of the important houses in England and Europe—and a great many of their secrets, too. She suspected she was about to discover a new one.

  “I have heard of her. Her name has been mentioned of late, mostly due to your success in marrying her granddaughter off to the new Lord Ellesworth. Congratulations, by the way.”

  He nodded his thanks. “What have you heard of Georgina, then?”

  Hestia frowned thoughtfully. “Let me recall . . . She was married to Charles Bolton, the great adventurer and scholar, correct?”

  “Yes. It was a sensation, back in its day. Charles was a dashing, intelligent, handsome man. No one questioned why she wanted him.” He took a sip of tea. “What they should have wondered, and did not, was why she was allowed to choose him.”

  “I should think the Whitton stubbornness was explanation enough.”

  “It appears it was. But it wasn’t the real explanation.”

  Hestia stilled.

  “Yes, you’ve guessed it aright, I see. Georgina was compromised.” He held up a hand. “She was not harmed. She didn’t suffer physically, at least.” He sighed. “She fancied herself in love with a scoundrel though, as some girls are wont to do. He seduced her, got her in the family way and then demanded a snoot full of money to keep it quiet.”

  “He wouldn’t marry her?” Hestia let her surprise show.

  “He might have, but she wouldn’t have him once she discovered his true colors. She vowed she’d whelp in a barn and live there rather than face a lifetime tied to a liar and a vile betrayer.”

  “As I said, the Whitton stubbornness.”

  He nodded. “We most all of us live with a dose of it—and Georgina had more than most. A family consult was held, and my grandmother—a wicked wit of a harridan herself—took her off on tour to hide the situation. They let it out that they were for Europe, but headed north instead. A couple in Edinburgh was found to take the child. He was a successful linen draper, and well able to take good care of the girl.”
>
  “Ah. Charles Bolton was from Edinburgh as well, was he not?”

  Danby sighed. “Yes. He was home from one adventure or another and met Georgina while she lingered there, recovering. They were smitten from the first, or so the story goes. My sister learned from her mistakes, though, I’ll give her that. She took it slow with him—and she told him the truth about the babe. It didn’t deter him. In fact, they pledged to continue anonymous support for her—and they did, until she was grown and married.”

  “Your sister was lucky—as was her daughter. I know so very many other women for whom things did not turn out so well.”

  “Yes, well, that’s just it. I don’t think it’s ended.” Danby’s expression grew pained, but his tone remained earnest. “I never knew the full extent of the story until I stepped into the dukedom and by then it was over. I admit—I’ve had occasional pangs over it. After all, there’s a woman out there somewhere, my niece by blood, if not law.” He trailed off. “I made a few enquiries, once, when I had business in Edinburgh. The girl had moved on, though, and no one was left who could say where. I figured it was for the best.”

  “And what has changed now?”

  “I got a note from an old friend, who reported seeing a girl here in London. Young. And reputed to be the very image of Georgina.”

  “I see.” Hestia thought that could very well mean something . . . or it could not.

  “I thought at first that he must have encountered Glenna in her bookshop or about Town. She does bear a resemblance, although her hair has that auburn tint that Georgina’s never had.”

  “But you don’t believe so now?”

  “I got a second note last week—from a different acquaintance. Glenna hasn’t been in London since Christmas, as you know. She removed to Ellesworth’s estate right after the marriage. My friend remarked on the uncanny likeness the girl bore my sister—even down to the same thick, ebony hair.”

  Hestia sat, silent.

  “I came to investigate.”

  “And you found . . . ?”

  “There can be no doubt. I lay in wait at the park where my friend had seen her. We waited together and it took two days—just two old men loitering in the sun. We spotted her—and I swear I was transported back in time. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she marched up and scolded me for spoiling her doll’s dress. She must be Georgina’s granddaughter.”

  “You wouldn’t be here if it were that simple, Your Grace. What happened?”

  His hand shook, just the slightest bit, as he sipped his tea. “She was dressed . . . like a servant. Or perhaps not that well. Just slightly better than a street urchin. She looked thin. You know the hungry look I mean, more than most.” He shook his head. “It rattled me.”

  “Did you approach her?”

  “I tried. The chit saw me. I got the notion that she knew who I was—and wanted none of me. She turned immediately and blended into the crowd. I followed. I’m not so old as to be given the slip by a bit of a girl.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I found her, but she’s a wily one. She stood at the gate to the street and stared back at me. She shook her head at me, the minx. And then she jumped on the back of a hackney like she’d done it countless times before—and disappeared.” He slumped back in his seat. “But it doesn’t add up. She was in the park by herself—in the fashionable hour. If she’s a maid, wouldn’t she have been with her employer?” He closed his eyes. “A grand-niece of mine—a maid. Or worse.”

  He sat up suddenly and met Hestia’s gaze. “I will have her found.”

  “To what end, Your Grace?” What do you intend to do with her?” Hestia was reliably sure she knew the answer to that already.

  “I will see her settled, of course.” He shuddered. “Wipe that look off of her face.”

  “Married?” she asked gently.

  He raised his brow and gave her a very ducal look. “Were you not listening, my dear? It is what I do. She’ll be brought into the fold. And she’ll be married—into happiness and prosperity.”

  Hestia favored him with a healthy dose of skepticism. “That is a tall order, sir. I see why you sought my help.”

  He nodded. “You’ve got contacts in every layer of London. If anyone can help me bring this about, it is you, Hestia.”

  “True. Together, we might achieve it. In a far different manner than what you are accustomed to, though, sir. You are going to have to give me some leeway.” She steepled her fingers together. “This is going to take a very particular sort of gentleman.” She shot him a look. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “No, more’s the pity. Do you?”

  “Not yet. But give me a few days.” She smiled slowly. “I do love a challenge.”

  Chapter 1

  Light spilled into the street. The theatre was lit up like a beacon. Swinging carriage lamps and torches carried by footmen further brightened the area—as did the sparkle of embroidery and jewels on the ladies and gentlemen moving to ascend the broad steps.

  Emily Spencer stepped out of the shadows. “Excuse me, miss. You dropped this from your reticule.”

  The grandly dressed young woman raked her with a bored gaze, took in the rough, ill-fitting linen of her dress and the dirty cloth hiding her hair. She looked away. “It’s not mine. You are mistaken.”

  Emily did not let rudeness deter her. She stared with admiration at the young woman’s gown, allowed her eyes to wander upward, and gave a happy little gasp. “Oh, my! Are you not Miss Paxton? You are even more beautiful than I have heard!”

  The young lady’s head swiveled back, her expression warmer. “Thank you. Yes, I am indeed Miss Paxton.”

  “Oh, how wonderful! And your dress! It’s so beautiful. Surely it will be described in the papers.” She focused on the sheer overskirt. “How cunning that garland is, how beautifully embroidered!” Emily deliberately looked up, then. “And it is repeated on your headdress. I’m sure you’ll start a new fashion, Miss Paxton!”

  In fact, Emily was more than passing familiar with that particular embroidery. She’d been present for many hours while her own mother labored over it. She’d also been on the premises of one of London’s preeminent modistes, making a delivery, when Miss Paxton had returned the bill for the garment, including a note stating that the dress was unsatisfactory, and not fit to be worn.

  “You’ll be dictating fashion when you are a countess, Miss, won’t you? Many congratulations to you on your engagement!” Emily bobbed a curtsy. “The streets are full of talk of your splendid match.”

  The ice descended once more. “Thank you.” The young lady turned her back and stepped forward.

  “Oh, but wait . . .” Emily allowed a mask of confused dismay to wash over her. “Your betrothed is the Earl of Ardman, so why would you be carrying a gentleman’s handkerchief with these initials?” She ran a finger over the MLH stitched onto the linen.

  Emily knew very well why—because Miss Paxton was engaging in some very illicit behavior with Marcus Lionel Holt—the middle-aged earl’s younger cousin.

  “Hush, you meddlesome creature.” Miss Paxton had turned back. “That doesn’t belong to me, I told you.” Her eyes narrowed. “But give it to me and get from my sight.”

  “Oh, Miss Paxton!” Emily’s voice ranged a bit higher. “Tell me you never stepped out on your betrothed?” She pressed the hanky to her mouth, hoping the linen hid her nerves and allowing the initials to face outward. At least she didn’t worry that it might be unclean. After all, she had purchased and embroidered it herself.

  Miss Paxton snatched at the offending piece of linen.

  Emily stepped back, out of reach. “You did!” she wailed accusingly. “You played the Earl of Ardman for a fool!”

  “Lower your tone, you tiresome troublemaker!” The lady was glancing about now—and beginning to truly worry.

  There. That was the look Emily had been waiting for.

  “I will.” She dropped the subservient, eager-to-please note completely
. “For five pounds.”

  Miss Paxton gasped. “Why you grasping little cheat!”

  “Katharine, come along!” The stout matron ahead beckoned Miss Paxton. “We do not dawdle in the street!”

  “Ten pounds,” Emily said flatly. “Or I start to cry about the poor, mistreated earl. Loudly. In detail.” She steeled her nerves and tilted her head. “I could mention that tryst in Green Park, perhaps? The one in which Mr. Holt tore the sleeve of the rose under-dress you wore beneath a green pelisse?”

  “I don’t have ten pounds.” Miss Paxton could barely speak for gritting her teeth. “Ladies do not carry such vulgar amounts of money.”

  Emily raised her chin. “Nor do they carry on in such vulgar ways in the shrubbery.” She pursed her lips. “An earring will do—if those diamond chips are real.”

  “Of course they are real. As is the ruby!” Miss Paxton’s face had gone red with outrage. “Even one is worth far more than ten pounds!”

  “Is it worth more than your betrothal?” Emily asked heartlessly. She hoped she sounded heartless—and convincing. “I won’t get its full worth when I pawn it, in any case.”

  Miss Paxton speared her with a deadly glare. Emily gave her credit. She showed more spunk than she had expected—growing angry instead of dissolving into a teary puddle of guilt and fear. Good heavens, she would never have had the spine to stand there emanating hatred and calculation.

  Luckily, the reckoning went Emily’s way. Without another word the heiress removed the earring and tossed it at her.

  Emily caught it with shaking fingers and tucked it away.

  “Give me the kerchief,” her victim hissed.

  “No.” Emily turned to go. “I’ll think I will keep it for insurance.”

  She walked off into the dark, leaving Miss Paxton fuming behind her—and telling herself that she felt not a smidgen of remorse. Girls like Miss Paxton did not deserve it. She’d been born with everything—health, wealth, a large, warm home, fine clothes, a name that meant something, and a family that cared for and wanted the best for their daughter. So she’d been engaged to an older man? By all accounts the Earl of Ardman was a kind man, a good caretaker of his properties, a fair lord to his servants and tenants. Perhaps the gentleman had lost a few hairs—he also had a ready smile and a good heart and a willingness to lay them all at Miss Paxton’s feet. And she had repaid him with betrayal.