An Undesirable Duke

  An Undesirable Duke

  Hot Historical Romance

  Dayna Quince

  Copyright © 2017 by Dayna Quince

  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.

  Contact Dayna at daynaquince.com

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Newsletter Sign up

  About the Author

  Also by Dayna Quince

  Chapter 1

  May 2, 1825

  The knot in Violet’s stomach tightened as the carriage rolled steadily closer to the castle on the hill. Her nails dug into the plush leather, her back rigid against the seat, as the carriage climbed the gentle incline. Selbourne Castle was not romantic or whimsical the way castles sounded in books and fantasies. Castles, in general, were drafty and ill-tempered. Violet knew this from personal experience.

  A little more than five years ago her sister, Heather, married the Duke of Ablehill. He welcomed their little family of mother and three daughters with open arms and swept them away to his Scottish castle. It was old and full of scratchy stone walls, but it was home now. Violet had grown fond of it and of her new brother-in-law. There was no finer man, in her opinion. Castle Selbourne had none of the charm her home had, not from this vantage point anyhow. But nothing would stop her from entering this dreary castle, not until she set eyes on its owner, and not until she knew without out a doubt that his heart was forever out of her reach.

  She inhaled slowly, holding her breath until her chest ached, and then let it out in slow increments. Her heart raced with the wheels of the carriage. She lost view of the castle as the vehicle turned and tore her eyes from the window. There was not much to look at besides swaying grass, hills, and the sky. She met her mother’s eyes across the carriage; a book lay open on her lap, neglected by the looks of it.

  “Finished reading?” Violet plastered a confident smile on her face.

  “I’ve been reading you, actually.”

  Violet repressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh? I didn’t realize I’m an open book.”

  Her mother sighed. It was the sort of sigh that meant a prolonged discussion on Violet’s behavior was forthcoming.

  “This is your fourth season,” her mother began.

  “I’m aware,” Violet muttered. She glanced out the window again. If she was going to lie through her teeth, she couldn’t do it meeting her mother’s gaze. Her mother was shrewd and knew all of Violet’s deceptive tricks.

  “I’d like you to give Lord Roderick Andrews a significant amount of your attention and truly consider him as a prospective husband.”

  “I always do.”

  “And yet you’ve turned down eight proposals.”

  Violet’s head snapped back to her mother. “I am aware.”

  Her mother slammed the book closed and set it aside. “Don’t think for a moment I don’t remember that day at the park. I recall the Marquis of Denton quite well, and I studied his family lineage. He is the duke now, but rumor has it he plans for his brother to inherit in the near future. It leads one to believe the duke is ill. I fear you won’t let go of this romanticized version of him you have in your heart until you face him again. That is the only reason I accepted such a ridiculous invite to this house party.”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  Lady Everly put her hand up to silence her. She took a deep breath. Violet knew that she was truly angry. “Heaven knows if the rumors about the duke are true, but we were invited here for Lord Roderick Andrews, not the duke, and Lord Andrews is who we will seek to impress. A younger brother who may one day inherit is not a bad bargain.” Her mother sighed and brushed an errant silvery curl from her temple. Her gray-green eyes sharpened, “I won’t force you to marry anyone, but this will be your last season. This traveling back and forth wears on me. I’m not as spry as I used to be, and I want to remain close to Heather and my grandbabies. I would do no less for you and Prim. You’ve had every chance to find a husband in London, and you chose not to try. This house party is your last chance, and then we will return to Ablehill.”

  “But you said—”

  Her mother cut her off with a pointed look and turned back to the window. It was no use defending herself. She thought she’d hid it well, but apparently, she had not. Her mind returned to that day in the park. She could picture that stupid red kite as it danced in the air, higher and higher, and then barreled down into his head.

  Was it kismet? Destiny? Violet remembered the exact moment her eyes met his. She’d felt as light as the kite, as if the wind could carry her away at any moment. She couldn’t remember breathing or speaking. The world had quieted; her sisters and the chaos of Hyde Park at peak capacity faded away.

  “I changed my mind. I challenge you to a duel.” He flamboyantly removed his glove and threw it to the ground. “I demand to know the name of my opponent.”

  “Miss Violet Everly.” Her heart exploded into a gallop. Her eyes never strayed from his. They were blue-green, like the ocean on a lovely day shimmering in the sunlight like whitecap waves. She sucked in a breath, lest she forget herself and be carried away by the promise in those eyes. They transported her to a sandy beach, a salty wind whipping at her hair and skirts. She shook her wits in place, her knees knocking together. This wouldn’t do. She’d never swooned in her life, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it over a man, no matter how lovely his eyes. She lowered her gaze to his nose, it was a bit large but still acceptable. Her eyes dropped down to his mouth, and her heart stopped beating. His lips. Dear God, his lips. They were plump and curved wickedly as he smiled. Had those lips graced the face of a woman, Violet would have been green with envy, but on him, they elicited a startlingly different response.

  “Name your second, Miss Everly.” His smile twitched.

  “Miss Primrose Everly.” Violet waved to her younger sister. Primrose swallowed and straightened her shoulders.

  “You surprise me.” He briefly looked in Heather’s direction, who was clearly older than Prim.

  “She will wed the Duke of Ablehill in two weeks. Dueling is beneath a duchess.”

  He laughed, light and boyish. But there was nothing boyish about him. He was all man. His wavy brown shoulder-length hair and full lips did nothing to detract from his aura of masculinity. And for the first time, Violet felt like a woman. Her body tingled with awareness of his manliness, answering it with an internal shiver.

  “My congratulations.” He nodded to Heather.

  “And may I know the name of my opponent?” Violet boldly asked, if only to hear his voice again. She never wanted this interlude to end.

  He bowed. “Lord Weirick Andrews, Marquis of Denton, at your service.”

  “Thank you for your gracious understanding, but we must be going.” Heather’s curt tone shattered th
e spell over Violet. She blinked, becoming aware of the crowd gathered around them.

  “Pity that.” He handed the kite to Violet. “I look forward to our formal introduction.” Violet nodded her thanks, afraid to speak to him in front of so many strangers, but she hated to leave, even though Heather tugged on her arm firmly. She turned away, her feet heavy, and couldn’t stop herself from stealing looks back at him as they traversed the open grass to their waiting landau.

  * * *

  If only she’d known that it would be five long years before she would see him again.

  At last the time had come. No amount of scandal, heinous rumor, or illness would keep her away. She may have to pretend an interest in his brother—she’d been doing that for years, pretending to be interested in other gentlemen—but all along she was waiting for him, longing for him. She kept clippings of every mention of him in the paper, though she didn’t believe a word of it. She didn’t yet know why he’d left England or where he’d been, but she was determined to find out.

  More importantly, she was determined to see if he still had the ability to make her feel as she did in that park five years ago. If he did, nothing was going to prevent her from winning his affection.

  * * *

  The carriage rolled to a stop. Violet’s heart beat like a drum, the percussion loud and nauseating. The door opened, and a footman assisted them out. Looking up at the castle, her stomach dropped to her feet. The papers said he was a monster, scarred and mad with exotic diseases. This castle certainly looked capable of housing a monster.

  She climbed the steps beside her mother, her feet tingling in her slippers. One side of a large wooden door opened, and a butler waved them through. Mother handed him their invitation. His face was stoic as he read their names.

  “Welcome to Selbourne Castle, Lady Everly, Miss Everly, if you would please follow me. I am

  Mr. Greyson, should you have need of anything.

  “Thank you, Mr. Greyson,” her mother said.

  Violet hoped her smile was adequate. She wanted to hide behind her mother as Mr. Greyson led them across the large hall. Voices pulled her attention to the end of the hall where steps led up to a small room. Two gentlemen and a lady stood from the sofas before the fire. Violet tried not to stare, so instead she lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

  A gasp escaped her.

  Her mother screeched to a halt and looked up. Her gasp closely followed.

  The magnificent, intricately carved wood arches glowed like honey, bathed in the afternoon sun from the large stone windows above high, wood paneled walls. Everything about this place was large and a bit overwhelming, but it left Violet in awe. It was beautiful in its own way, steeped in its history like a strong tea.

  “I wish a woman would look at me that way,” a male voice said.

  Violet dropped her gaze to the smaller room at the end of the hall. The occupants now stood on the steps.

  The woman must be the Duchess of Selbourne. On her left, Lord Andrews. She’d seen him in passing during her three seasons. He wasn’t the type that lingered in ballrooms. He was a blade, a rake, as Violet understood it.

  Violet steeled herself as they reached the bottom of the steps and looked to the right of the duchess. The duke was partially cast in shadow by the heavy velvet drapes adorning the archway, which led to this cozier room off the grand hall, but she could still see him clearly.

  His eyes caught hers, just as before. He looked startled, but then he blinked, and his expression changed to something unreadable. His gaze broke from hers and went to his mother. Violet had only a second to take him in or appear rude for gawking. The single moment of eye contact left her reeling. Her pulse thundered and heat washed over her body. He was entirely different than the man she met before: larger, broader, intense in whole new ways—and not the least bit sick in any way. The first startling revelation was his eyes. They still had the ability to devastate her nerves. Next was his head.

  It was bald.

  Other than a minor scar to his right eyebrow and upper lip, he looked normal—if normal was devastatingly handsome and intimidatingly large. The papers had lied. There was no monster here.

  The duchess stepped down the three steps to meet them and introductions were exchanged. Lord Andrews brushed a kiss over Violet’s knuckles with practiced charm. He was handsome, a watered-down version of his brother the duke, from years ago, but with fashionable hair. He was everything that a woman would want in a prospective husband upon first appearance, but to Violet, he was a mere shade of the man she truly wanted. She turned in the duke’s direction, determined to snare his attention, but he was gone.

  “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s been away from civilized company for some time,” Lord Andrews said.

  “Oh?” Violet had no choice but to accept Lord Andrew’s offered arm and his assistance up the steps into the smaller room. It was equally as lovely, but far more comfortable than the grand hall.

  Her grace offered tea or the option of retiring to their rooms to freshen up. Violet was grateful her mother chose the latter. Their journey hadn’t been long, coming from Scotland rather than farther south like all the other guests.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Kemp, was summoned to guide them to their rooms. Violet was eager to escape Lord Andrew’s presence, not that she had any ill feelings toward the man, but she was not here for him, no matter what she told her mother. They were shown to adjoining rooms, decorated in pleasing shades of creams and blues. Their luggage had already arrived.

  “I’m going to rest my eyes, Violet. Our journey was short but my head is aching.”

  “Yes, I will rest as well. Shall I wake you for tea?”

  “Yes, my dear. More guests will have arrived by then.”

  Violet nodded as her mother entered the adjacent room and closed the door, but not fully. There was a small crack of light that warned Violet she was not completely alone. She could hear their shared lady’s maid, Janice, in her mother’s room helping her mother undress. Violet did the same, but instead of crawling under the counterpane, she opened her trunk and pulled out a simple, hunter green walking dress. She tossed it over her head as the door creaked. Poking her head out the top, she saw Janice standing there with her arms folded.

  “Close the door,” Violet whispered as she tugged her dress down.

  “I won’t ask what you’re doing,” Janice said in her lilting Scottish accent.

  “Just as well.” Violet turned so Janice could do up the back. “I’ll be back before my mother wakes for tea.”

  “And if she wakes before?”

  Violet looked over her shoulder. “I’m going for a walk. It’s the truth.”

  Janice rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet it is.”

  Finished dressing, Janice fixed Violet’s falling curls and left her mistress to her own devices. Violet dug through her trunk and pulled out the tattered red kite. She wasn’t going to bother creating an elaborate excuse when a simple walk was enough reason to do a little exploring outside. It was a lovely day, and her stiff muscles could use the exercise after spending hours in a carriage. Kite in hand, she whispered a prayer, hoping the kite would work its magic again.

  A maid directed her to the rear of the castle, which thankfully, wasn’t built like a maze. Violet exited a side door and stepped out onto a gravel path that led to the back gardens. She wouldn’t have known this castle had gardens. From the front drive, it looked barren and lonely. There wasn’t much to them, but she was swept away by the view. The gardens sloped down in tiers, with neatly boxed flower beds edging each tier. The garden overlooked the sea, blue-green water sparkling under an afternoon sun. It was just like the duke’s eyes. Was he born here? Was he shaped in the sea and soil and birthed from the earth? She shivered and hugged the kite. Wherever he was, he wasn’t in this immaculate garden. Something told her he preferred more untamed beauty.

  She followed the top garden tier to a path that led away from the formal gardens, and down a slope to wha
t looked like a stable surrounded by paddocks and open fields. There was a lone rider approaching the stable. He wore a hat but her gut clenched at the sight of him, and Violet knew it was the duke. The wind coming from the sea plastered her skirts to her legs, and she shivered, her hands shaking as she unwound the kite. It was difficult to run and hold the kite steady, but she managed to keep her stride, and soon the kite took flight, the spool of string jerking in her hands as the wind caught it.

  Chapter 2

  Weirick looked up and yanked on the reins. Hugo neighed in revolt but halted as his rider bid.

  A red kite.

  His hands tightened on the reins. He kicked the horse into motion again and rode into the stables. He wasn’t going to appease her curiosity. She was nothing but an opportunist. Sure, he remembered, hers wasn’t a face a man could easily forget, but she was one of many. Before the accident, women begged for his attention. Now he was a curiosity, a sideshow they wanted to line up to stare at. It was his brother they wanted now. Roderick was the shiny new trinket, and Weirick was the broken toy.

  It would be easy enough to pretend he didn’t remember her. With luck, I can escape her without being hit by the kite, Weirick smirked.

  He dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. Hugo hadn’t even worked up a sweat on the short ride, a burst of speed to clear his head from the fog. Seeing her again… It was like seeing a ghost. She was his past, something rosy and lovely, something that could have been. But she belonged to his past. He knew better than to believe in paltry things like emotions, no matter how stirring said emotions were. He remembered the first time he set eyes on her, the way she blushed a perfect pink, wholesome and pure. He’d teased a smile from her, their eyes locking on each other. There was so much promise in her eyes back then.