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The Devilish Duke
Alice Gaines
Miss Rosalind Weaver is on a mission. She must convince the Duke of Fallon to marry her, or her father will give her away to the next highest bidder, a man she cannot stand. She thinks all the Duke desires is reassurance that she can give him an heir, but she soon learns he wants a more thorough test of how she will fare as his wife in the bedroom
Miss Rosalind Weaver is on a mission. She must convince the Duke of Fallon to marry her, or her father will give her away to the next highest bidder, a man she cannot stand. She thinks all the Duke desires is reassurance that she can give him an heir, but she soon learns he wants a more thorough test of how she will fare as his wife—in the bedroom….
The Devilish Duke
Alice Gaines
www.spice-books.co.uk (http://www.spice-books.co.uk)
Contents
Chapter One (#ub1110219-a04b-5781-8912-6ac06a05d1c7)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Rosalind Weaver arrived at the home of the Duke of Fallon with nothing but the clothing on her back and a confident smile on her face. She’d practiced the expression during the two-mile walk from the public coach and had even rehearsed what she’d say to the duke, but nothing could have prepared her for Fallon Hall. Four stories tall and fully as large as three fine houses in London, it grew truly intimidating as she trudged the long gravel drive to the circular area at the end. Even here, her journey hadn’t ended. She had a whole flight of stairs to climb to the front door.
As she ascended, the door in question opened, and a servant in livery climbed down to meet her halfway.
“What are you thinking, miss?” he said. “A new maid goes around to the back.”
She lifted her chin in the best imitation of hauteur she could manage. “I’m not a maid. I’m here to see His Grace.”
“You are?” the man said. “You came on foot, did you?”
“I’ll discuss that with your employer. Now, if you don’t mind, would you please tell him Miss Rosalind Weaver is here.”
The man appeared torn. He couldn’t risk effrontery with the duke’s guest, but people of that station never arrived with no carriage and hems covered with dust from the road.
“Stay here,” he said finally and went back up the stairs and into the house.
She did as he’d ordered, counting out the minutes in her head. She couldn’t go away again. Even if she could find the energy to walk back to the coach road, she hadn’t any money for the fare. She would get in the house and through the front door, and she would see the duke.
When she’d waited more than she could bear, she started upward again. This time, a butler appeared on the threshold. His gaze took her in, showing no more approval than the servant had. Then, his features settled into a neutral expression. “This way, please.”
Sighing in relief, she followed him into a cavernous entry hall. She kept her gaze focused forward, as if she passed through such splendor every day. She couldn’t show the staff—or the duke, himself—any self-doubt.
The butler led her into a dining room.
“Miss Weaver, Your Grace,” he said softly and then left.
For a moment, she couldn’t help but stare—at the huge hearth, the heavy candelabras around the room, the table and, most of all, the man at the other end.
The Duke of Fallon, Richard March by name, stood, setting his napkin to the side of his plate. “Who sent you here, Miss Weaver?”
She dropped a curtsy and then straightened to her full height. “I came on my own.”
“Why?”
“To negotiate.”
“I don’t believe that you and I have an arrangement in the works,” he said.
“You do with my father,” she answered. “An agreement for me to become your wife. I’ve come to close the deal.”
“Do tell. Have a seat.” He pointed toward the chair at the opposite of the table from him. So far away they wouldn’t be able to see each other clearly. “Tom, set a place for Miss Weaver.”
A footman who’d been standing in the shadows came forward to pull out her chair. From the sideboard, he produced china and silver and then platters, first of roast beef and then potatoes. The odors wafted into her nostrils, making her stomach cramp with hunger. Still, she forced herself to cut dainty pieces and not shove the food into her mouth.
“How did you get here?” he asked after a moment.
She glanced up at him. That far away and with the shimmering of the candlelight, his facial features were mostly planes and shadows. She’d seen him often enough at home, though, when he’d visited to oversee some of his property. Always tall on his huge chestnut gelding, his skin kissed by the sun, his black hair and eyebrows shaggy. One time, he’d looked at her directly, and the blue of his eyes had made her breath catch. A striking if not a handsome man.
“Miss Weaver…” he prompted.
“I’m sorry.” She took a breath and set her fork and knife aside. “I took the public coach.”
“And then, walked here? All alone?”
“It was the most direct way,” she answered.
“When I last saw your father, he kept a carriage,” he said. “He hasn’t gambled everything away yet, has he?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“He doesn’t know you’ve come, does he?”
She didn’t reply. He’d hardly see her if she shook her head, so she let silence be her answer.
“You didn’t trust him, so you came on your own,” the duke said.
“As your wife, I’ll have no secrets from you,” she said. “But, I’d rather not tell you now.”
“It could have some effect on whether or not I want to make you my duchess.”
“Please, Your Grace.”
“Tom, more wine,” he said. “And pour some for Miss Weaver.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Try it,” he ordered. “It’s excellent.”
When the footman filled her glass, she took a sip. It tasted dark and floral all at once. With nothing to judge it against, she couldn’t have spoken to its quality.
“Now then, negotiations.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You become a duchess. I give your father a large sum of money. What do I get?”
“What you must have been looking for all along,” she answered. “It’s common knowledge you don’t have an heir.”
“And, why you, Miss Weaver?”
“Not all families will give their daughters to the devil duke.” There, she’d said what everyone called him behind his back. He had to know of it, even if it was never said to his face.
“Repeat that,” he said.
“They call you the devil duke.”
The candle caught a light of something in his eyes. Anger? “Do you know why they call me that?”
“Because both of your wives died.”
“And the fools think I had something to do with it.” He sighed. “In truth, I did.”
She set her wineglass down with a clatter.
“Don’t look shocked,” he said. “I didn’t murder them, but I had a hand in their deaths, nevertheless.”
If what she’d heard was true, the first wife had died in childbirth and the second had committed suicide. No sign of foul play, and yet, enough to rouse suspicions.
“Are you still willing to give me an heir?” he asked.
“I am.”
He brought his glass to his lips and stared at her over the rim. “You know what that involves, do you?”
“Of course, I do.”
“All right. I have a test. If you pass it, you’ll become the Duchess of Fallon.”
She lifted her chin. “I can pass any test.”
He chuckled but without mirth. “You’re sure of that?”
“Try me.”
“All right.” He gestured to his footman. “Tom, have a bedroom made up. The way we discussed. And then, bring us our dessert.”
When the man bowed and left the room, the duke turned his attention back on her. “When you leave this table, Tom will lead you to your room. Take off every stitch of your clothing. Put on the night rail laid out there—nothing underneath—and lie on the bed.”
“And then?”
“I’ll visit you.”
“But you can’t,” she said. “We’re not married yet.”
“I won’t ruin you. You’ll have your virginity when I’ve done.” He set down his glass. “But I will touch you.”
“That’s a test?”
“I want to watch you spend,” he said.
“Spend?” she repeated.
“Spend, climax. I want to witness your orgasm. Will you let me do that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You can go home to your father,” he said. “I’ll send you in my carriage.”
Back to her father and to a different choice—either the man who’d offered more for her than the duke or to be put out into the street.
“I’ll take your test, Your Grace.”
“Good.” He leaned back against his chair. His expression might have been carved of stone.
The footman reappeared carrying a tray.
“Enjoy your dessert,” the duke said.
* * *
A queen might have occupied the bedroom Fallon had ordered for her. The huge four-poster could have slept three, and it stood so high she’d have to use the stool by its side to climb onto it. The canopy disappeared into the shadows. She wouldn’t even know the fabric until the morning.
After removing her shoes and stockings, she took off her dress and hung it on a hook in the wardrobe. A ghostlike reflection of herself in the oval mirror nearby looked on as she got out of her other clothing. She had to struggle to unlace her stays without help, and she likely wouldn’t be able to get the corset back on at all without help. Finally, she stood nude and couldn’t help but stare at her image in the glass.
A very unremarkable woman looked back. No great beauty and with the yoke of a known gambler of a father, she’d gone through three seasons with no prospects of marriage. Who could have imagined a duke would take an interest in her at her age?
If Fallon hadn’t come along, her father would have sold her off to Lord Tewksbury, and he would have yet, if she hadn’t taken matters into her own hands. The old bastard had lusted after her for years, even before his wife had died. Now, with the lady’s inheritance in his firm control, he’d bid for her again, and she’d find herself sharing the bed with a man older than her father.
No, she’d done the right thing, even if she’d have to endure a stranger’s touch to rescue herself. She just prayed the duke was a man of his word and would marry her if she pleased him.
Only, how could she do that? She knew nothing about sexual congress except that a man had some part of his body that he put inside her and the woman allowed him to do it to conceive his child.
Fallon would touch her so that he could watch her climax. She’d climaxed before through her own explorations, but always in secret so no one else knew of her shame. Could he actually want her to repeat that in front of him? And would she manage to do it? How utterly humiliating if she did and worse if she couldn’t.
She went to the bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. Using the stool, she climbed on top of the coverlet and lay on her back to stare up into the darkness. Calm. She’d remain calm. Relax as best she could.
Breathing evenly, she let her mind wander to her favorite fantasy. A green valley, nestled between towering mountains. The nearby waterfall sent jewels of spray into the air. Emerald, ruby, sapphire, all falling into the pool at the base of the mountain. She walked naked through the grass to the water.
