What the Duke Desires Read online

  “And this is my niece’s traveling companion and friend, Miss Lillian Mayhew,” Aunt Isabel said, the only one oblivious to the impact of this meeting. Certainly Gabby was staring back and forth between the two of them, her face pale and lips thin.

  Lillian stepped forward, trying to remember to breathe, trying to remember herself at all.

  “Good afternoon,” she whispered, glad that her voice did not tremble and betray how much this stranger had moved her with just a fleeting glance.

  He reached out and took her hand lightly in his. He wore gloves, as did she, but the warmth and strength of his fingers still radiated through the two layers of fabric.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Mayhew. Welcome to my home. I am Simon Crathorne”—Lillian sucked in a breath, her smile actually rolling off her face like a waterfall as he completed the sentence—“the Duke of Billingham.”

  Chapter 2

  So now that you’ve had a chance to examine them, what do you think of your potential brides?” Rhys asked as he settled into a comfortable leather chair in Simon’s office.

  Simon didn’t move from his place standing before the window, staring out at the green lawn behind the estate. The women had gathered there a short time ago to share tea with his mother. The duchess had returned to the estate to host this gathering at his side. It wasn’t a situation she relished, as the two had never been close, but she was good at carrying through the motions for the sake of the continuation of the title, and he appreciated the act.“You speak of them as if I were examining cattle, Waverly,” he finally responded, referring to Rhys by his title, as his friend preferred.

  Simon strained to see the women in the distance, and one stood out to him. Lillian Mayhew with her honey blond locks that were currently just peeking out from the edge of her bonnet. He had felt the strangest connection to her when they met, an electricity that made his stomach jump…as well as other, lower parts of his anatomy. But when he introduced himself, she had snatched her hand away, her face suddenly pale. Oh, she’d covered her reaction quickly enough, but it lingered in his mind.

  “It is as good a comparison as any,” Rhys said, interrupting his thoughts. “Livestock are an asset. So is the proper wife. Why should you not examine her as carefully as you would a mare or a goat?”

  Simon shook off his thoughts of Lillian and spun away from the window with a snort of derision. “Is that how you think of Anne, then? As a goat that will increase your holdings?”

  Rhys folded his arms as his nostrils flared slightly. “You purposefully misunderstand me. You know I do not think of my fiancée as a goat. No one ever could. Lady Anne has breeding, beauty, and grace. She will make an excellent duchess, be the best hostess in London, and ultimately raise sons I shall be proud of.”

  Simon stared at his best friend. He was all for propriety and marrying within his sphere, but sometimes he thought Rhys took it a bit too far.

  “But shouldn’t a marriage be about more than just those things?” he asked with a shake of his head. “You speak of it as if it is merely a business transaction.”

  “Don’t mistake it for a moment, my friend.” Rhys took a final sip of his tea and got to his feet. “It is a business transaction. Anyone who claims otherwise is trying to justify a poor match.”

  “But attraction, friendship, passion…”

  His friend waved him off. “Of course you’ll be attracted to the woman you wed. All the girls you have invited to the party are more than pretty enough to make fulfilling your husbandly duties a pleasure when the time comes. As for friendship, why is it necessary? You have friends aplenty, you have little need for another. And passion is why you’ll have a mistress.”

  His friend clapped a hand on his shoulder as he joined Simon at the window to stare down below at the women of their party. “Now tell me, is there anyone in particular whom you have singled out?”

  Simon shifted. Although he and Rhys had very different ideas about marital happiness, he respected his friend’s opinion. He shrugged one shoulder.

  “It is too early to truly know anything about them, but I did feel a connection to one woman.”

  “Excellent. Which one?”

  “Lillian Mayhew.” Simon flicked a finger toward her, sitting across the courtyard chatting with some of the other women.

  Rhys wrinkled his brow as he stared blankly at the group. “Mayhew…”

  “She came with Lady Gabriela, the Earl of Watsenvale’s daughter.”

  His friend turned on him with a look of horror lining his expression. “Dear God, man, that one? Now I know why the name is familiar.”

  Simon drew back in surprise at the contempt in his friend’s voice. He hadn’t been expecting that, and now burned with curiosity as to the reason. “You speak so strenuously about a girl you have yet to meet.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Meeting her is unnecessary. I can already tell you she is entirely inappropriate on so many levels I can hardly name them all.”

  “Try.” Simon folded his arms.

  His friend ticked off one of his fingers. “For one, her father was of little importance. Just a younger son of a younger son. No title, very little money. Normally you might be able to overlook such a thing if there were other benefits to the match, but there is more to be held against her. Her brother is rumored to be quite wild since their father’s death six months ago. But most importantly, there is her mother. You must know about her.”

  “No.” Simon shook his head.

  His friend rolled his eyes before he paced away. “Christ, man, you are a duke. You’re leader of one of the most respected families in England, not to mention you are now responsible for upholding the legacy of honor and esteem you inherited from your late father. You must make yourself more aware of those below you, as well as those of your own rank. Especially when you consider a match.”

  Simon felt his frustration rising. Although he liked Rhys a great deal, was probably closer to him than any other friend in his life, sometimes he could not abide Rhys’s pompous attitude.

  His friend had always been obsessed by bloodline. He had formed “The Duke Club” when they were in Eton, excluding any young man who did not come from a ducal family or have a chance to inherit that exalted title. And from the moment Rhys’s father passed and he inherited the title of Duke of Waverly, his arrogant attitude seemed only to grow.

  But Simon remained friendly with him because of one powerful reason. Once one was within Waverly’s circle of friends, the other man was more loyal than anyone Simon had ever met. Rhys had almost gotten himself killed standing up for Simon during one drunken brawl years ago. His friend might take a bullet for him if the situation arose. That was a rare commodity in the circles they ran in, where friendship was often tossed aside for personal gain, so Simon had found ways to ignore the parts of Rhys’s personality that were less attractive.

  “What about the mother, Waverly?” he pressed.

  Rhys leaned forward. “There were whispers she was a…” His voice dropped even lower. “Suicide.”

  Simon flinched as he paced away from his friend, but not for the reasons Rhys intended. Rather than making Simon less interested in Lillian Mayhew, this new information only solidified his awareness of the young woman. After all, he had only recently lost his own parent, a father he had looked up to and adored his entire life. He could only imagine what Lillian felt, losing both her parents, and perhaps one to a suicide.

  He found himself seeking Lillian out again at the next window down the wall, away from Rhys’s disapproving stare. She was laughing now, and her smile was so wide and genuine that his lips twitched with a desire to join in her pleasure.

  Why shouldn’t he?

  At thirty-two, he was not in his first Season examining the young ladies around him and trying to determine if they would make an appropriate bride. In all the years since he had been old enough to look at them with real intent, very few had sparked his interest. The ones who had were a disappointment upon closer inspecti
on.

  So despite Rhys’s warnings about a lack of standing, money, and Lord knew what else, Simon intended to get to know Miss Mayhew a little better. After all, if she was friendly with the Earl of Watsenvale’s family, that meant she had some connections, and certainly many a man had elevated through marriage a lady from an untitled family.

  Since his father’s death, there had been more pressure than ever to find the woman who would be his duchess. He needed to provide the family with its next heir so everyone could breathe a bit easier, including his nearest cousin, a vicar who repeatedly reminded him how little he desired to become a duke by default.

  “You are determined to pursue this, aren’t you?” Rhys snapped, his sharp tone interrupting Simon’s thoughts.

  He glanced at his friend with a smile. “Indeed, I am. There was an intensity to her stare, Rhys. A determination I have rarely seen in a lady. It interests me, and I would like to see if there is something more there. Likely there is not and that will be the end of it.”

  His words seemed to comfort his friend somewhat, but Rhys still looked concerned as he gave the woman across the courtyard a final glance.

  “Just be careful, Billingham,” his friend said as he returned to his seat and his abandoned tea. “A woman who reaches beyond her sphere is often looking for something. You are my closest friend and I would hate to see you snared in a trap.”

  Lillian folded a chemise carefully and set it in the chest of drawers in the large chamber she was sharing with Gabby. From her position sprawled across the bed, her friend watched her with a frown.“Maggie will do that for you.”

  Lillian shrugged. Her friend’s maid had been very accommodating since Lillian had been forced to let go of her own due to a lack of funds, but at this country party the servant was overworked. Even more so since it had been discovered that Gabby’s favorite gown had a small stain on it. Maggie had rushed down to the laundresses to oversee the washing herself.

  Even if the servant hadn’t been busy, Lillian was loath to allow the girl to add to her work. It was rather humiliating, if nothing else, to have to beg the services of someone else’s maid because one could not afford one’s own. But she couldn’t tell Gabby that. With her friend’s teetering financial status hanging over her head, it would only be cruel to give her a glimpse into her possible future.

  “I’m restless,” Lillian explained as she closed the drawers. She left the trunk where it was for a footman to remove later and moved toward the bed, where she worried a loose thread dangling from the edge of the coverlet.

  “I see that.” Gabby stifled a yawn into her palm. “We could call for some warm milk or a bit of brandy. Perhaps it would calm you enough to join me for a nap.”

  Lillian tilted her head to examine her friend. “You do look exhausted after the long journey. I’m sorry, Gabby, I’m keeping you from your rest. Why don’t I go do a bit of exploring—”

  “Snooping,” her friend interrupted as she let her eyes close.

  “Exploring,” Lillian insisted with a laugh. “And I’ll come fetch you in an hour or so.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Gabby said as she shifted into a more comfortable position. “I think a nap would be quite restorative. Don’t get into any trouble, though.”

  Lillian ignored her friend’s playful parting shot as she slipped from the room and closed the door behind her quietly. In the hallway, she took a long, calming breath before she gazed around in wonder. After months of trying to figure out how she could get her revenge on the man who had all but murdered her mother, now she was here in his home.

  And it was overwhelming. She had no idea where to start her search. In truth she didn’t even really know what she was looking for. After all, Roger Crathorne had spent decades carefully crafting a public image of piety and goodness, fidelity and decency…it wasn’t as if he would leave details of his evil deeds just lying about for her to stumble upon.

  And then there was her earlier encounter with his son, the new Duke of Billingham. Simon Crathorne had thrown her mightily. She had been out in Society long enough to recognize the signs when a man was attracted to her, and she certainly knew herself well enough to feel when she was attracted in return. Outside on the drive, both had been abundantly clear.

  But Lillian didn’t want to be attracted to the new duke, not with the ugly history their families shared. She certainly didn’t want him attracted to her. His interest meant he would watch her. He might even seek her out, which would all but devastate her plans to quietly search his home without detection.

  She would have to be careful how she handled him from here on out.

  Shaking off her troubling thoughts, she moved through the halls. Unlike earlier in the day when the guests had been arriving in noisy waves, all was quiet now. After sharing tea, almost all the female guests had retired to their chambers to organize their things, take naps…and probably gossip about their handsome host. The men were likely off drinking port or whatever it was men did when they left the ladies and had a few rare moments of peace.

  Which meant this was the perfect time for Lillian to discover the lay of the estate house. Even if she was caught snooping, she had the perfect and true excuse that Gabby was napping and she was restless and hadn’t wanted to keep her friend from her sleep. As long as she didn’t behave suspiciously, no one would question her intentions.

  Moving down the long, curving staircase into the foyer, she looked around. There were so many doors, so many corridors, one could hardly choose. But finally she picked one randomly and pressed it open slowly, just in case there were people within.

  Happily, the room was empty, but it was only a parlor decorated with a floral motif. Pale pink furniture, bright curtains, it was clearly a ladies’ gathering place. She winced at the cloying prettiness of it and shut the door again. The next room was another parlor, then a sunny breakfast room. She made a mental note of each chamber, in case she had a chance for a deeper search later.

  She moved to the next door, ready to do a brief perusal and move on yet again, but when she pushed the heavy wooden barrier aside, she caught her breath and couldn’t help but move into the chamber and gaze about in wonder.

  A library! And fully the most beautiful one she had ever seen. High cherrywood shelves stretched up to the vaulted ceilings, so elevated that there was actually a terrace to reach the higher books and a wheeled ladder on each level for the same purpose.

  A fireplace sat along the back wall, with a cheery fire dancing invitingly to warm and brighten the room. Two chairs were positioned before it, with a table in between. One side of the room had a high, broad window, its panes polished to a gleaming shine to allow the most light in for reading. Finally, a window seat covered in a soft, light green fabric beckoned her to sit and lose herself in story for the next few hours.

  Lillian found herself gliding along the shelves, sliding a finger across the spines as she read every title from Shakespeare to medical journals to foreign tomes she didn’t even recognize. Better yet, the books appeared to have been read rather than simply collected there for show. In fact, a few were obviously well-read, for their spines were worn and cracked from being opened and shut so many times.

  “Are you also an admirer of the Bard?”

  Lillian jumped and spun around to face the voice that had shocked her from her reverie. There, leaning negligently in the doorway, was her host, the Duke of Billingham. Lillian drew in a breath of surprise. Not a quarter of an hour before she had been vowing to avoid him and here he was. Yet her first reaction was not regret or displeasure, but something else. Something she shoved away as he gave her a crooked smile that invited her to join in the expression.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she stepped away from the bookshelf and folded her hands in front of her demurely.

  “I am British. Is it not law to be an admirer of the Bard, Your Grace?” she replied.

  Instantly she regretted her words, for the duke’s crooked smile widened into a full grin and his ja
de eyes danced with humor. Both stuttered her heart. Damn, she had amused him. Not the right path if she wanted to become forgettable in his estimation.

  “Perhaps that law is on the books,” he mused as he stepped toward her. “If it is not, I shall propose it to the House of Lords when we next meet in a few weeks. I’m certain there will be much support for such a thing from all parties.”

  A clever retort danced on Lillian’s tongue, but she forced herself to swallow it back. Playful banter was not in her best interest, no matter how tempting it was.

  “I did not mean to intrude,” she said, purposefully avoiding Simon’s pointed gaze as if she could not be less interested in him. “My friend Lady Gabriela decided to take a nap, but I was too restless to sleep.”

  “I see,” he said, looking around with a contented sigh. “Well, if there is any room in this home to soothe you, this library is the one. It has long been my favorite place to gather my thoughts.”

  Lillian found herself staring at the man for a long, charged moment. If not for his familial ties, he would be very attractive to her at present. Physically, yes, for no one could deny he was a fine specimen of his sex.

  But there was more to it than that. After just a few moments spent together, she could sense how intelligent he was. And apparently well-read, which had always been appealing to her. Not to mention that whenever he smiled, she couldn’t help but look at his mouth. And that made her tingle a little too much for comfort.

  With effort, she shook off his strange effect on her. “But you have come here to enjoy some privacy, Your Grace. I would not dream of intruding.”

  She moved for the door, but he took a quick sidestep and suddenly he was blocking her path. Just as she had when he took her hand outside a few hours before, Lillian couldn’t help but swallow hard and look up into his face. His very handsome, very friendly face.

  “I did not come here for privacy,” he said softly. “I came because the door was ajar. And I did not ask you to go, Miss Mayhew.”