A Highly Unlikely Duchess (The Brooding Dukes #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Are you quite all right, Your Grace?”

Theodore didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his head slightly, pressed two fingers briefly to his mouth, and cleared his throat with as much dignity as the situation would allow.

Which was, admittedly, not a great deal.

The champagne had caught in the back of his throat the moment Lady Beatrice uttered that ridiculous statement.

He swallowed hard, his lungs burning as he fought to remain elegant while his body staged a minor coup.

He straightened his waistcoat, the broad line of his shoulders shifting as he forced his breath to level out.

“My apologies, Lady Beatrice,” he said, his voice a fraction rougher than it had been a moment ago.

He took a slow breath, and his gaze narrowed as he looked down at her.

“The bubbles in this vintage are surprisingly aggressive tonight. Now, I must have misheard you. You were saying something about... a list?”

Beatrice offered a small, knowing smile, seemingly charmed by his momentary lapse in poise. She leaned in a fraction closer, the scent of her lavender water brushing past him.

“The list Lady Julia Birks’ is keeping,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “For you.”

Theodore looked at her. Then he looked at his champagne glass.

He had consumed precisely one and a half glasses that evening, which was nowhere near enough to be hearing things. Yet... he wasn’t entirely sure he... wasn’t hearing things.

“A list?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“For me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She smiled, tilting her head slightly.

The night had been going so well.

That was the thing. That was precisely the thing that made it so jarring.

Theodore had spent the better part of an hour cultivating what he considered to be a rather masterful evening with Lady Beatrice Hartwell, and it had been going beautifully.

She had laughed at exactly the right moments.

She had held his gaze a beat longer than propriety strictly allowed.

She had even, at one delicious point, touched his arm while making a point about something he had already forgotten, which in his considerable experience meant he had her.

Not in any improper sense, naturally. Simply in the way that mattered at a ball. She was charmed. He had charmed her. It was what he did, and he did it well. The evening had been unfolding with the smooth inevitability of a situation that was always going to go his way...

...Until it didn’t.

“What sort of list?” he asked with a sigh.

“A list of suitable candidates, Your Grace.”

“Candidates,” he said slowly, testing the word as one might test thin ice. “For what, precisely?”

She smiled. It was a very patient smile. “For marriage.”

Theodore’s smile remained perfectly in place, though it felt suddenly heavy on his face.

He stared at her, the silence between them stretching long enough to become awkward.

To him, marriage was a word that belonged in dusty ledgers and funeral sermons, not in a ballroom filled with the scent of expensive perfume and the promise of a light, meaningless evening.

“Marriage,” he repeated. He let a small, breathless laugh escape. “I was under the impression that I was already wedded to my bachelorhood. It is a very happy union, I assure you. We never argue about the draperies.”

Beatrice giggled lightly. “Well, Lady Birks mentioned that you were finally ready to take your place. She is vetting a selection of ladies to ensure only the most suitable are presented for your consideration. She spoke to Lady Marriot about it only an hour ago.”

Theodore looked across the room, his mind racing. He was the man who lived for the thrill of the chase, the maverick who treated the Season like a playground. He was not a prize livestock to be groomed for market.

“I take it you,” he began, his eyes narrowing. “...you have joined this... registry?”

“I spoke to her myself,” Lady Cecily admitted, her cheeks coloring a delicate pink.

“I mean, you are exceptionally handsome, Your Grace. Charming, titled, wealthy.” She gestured vaguely, as though the full inventory of his appeal was too extensive to list standing up.

“Who in their right mind would not want to be on the list?”

“I see,” he said, his voice now a masterpiece of smooth, deceptive calm.

He leaned in just a fraction, enough to make Beatrice’s breath hitch.

“Did Lady Birks happen to mention the qualifications for this 'perfect bride'? Does one need to be proficient in the harp, or is a simple willingness to be bored to death by me sufficient?”

“Bored?” Beatrice laughed, the sound bright and a little breathless as she leaned instinctively toward him. “Your Grace, I truly doubt there is a woman in all of London, or the whole of England for that matter, who could ever find you boring. You are far too...energetic for such a thing.”

Theodore tilted his head, his blonde hair catching the light as he offered her a conspiratorial wink.

It was a reflexive move, the kind of easy magnetism that had made him the most hunted bachelor of the Season.

“Energy can be exhausting, Lady Beatrice. Don’t you think?

I have been told my company is akin to a very long, very loud thunderstorm.

Exciting at first, perhaps, but eventually one just wants to go inside and find a dry towel. ”

Beatrice giggled, her fan fluttering at a frantic pace. “Then I shall bring an umbrella. Besides, Lady Birks was very clear. She said you required a woman of substance. Someone who would not be easily swayed by your... well, your various distractions.”

Theodore’s internal alarm, which had been ringing since the word 'marriage' was uttered, reached a deafening crescendo.

“Substance,” he mused, his voice dropping to that low, velvety hum that tended to make women forget their own names. “How terrifying. I have spent my entire life avoiding substances. It sounds dreadfully heavy, don't you think?”

“It sounds like exactly what you need,” Beatrice countered, though her blush deepened under his gaze.

“Since you are looking for a bride with such discretion, I thought it only right to show my interest. After all, I am told I have a very sturdy constitution. You would say we get along quite nicely, don’t you think, Your Grace? ”

“A sturdy constitution?” Theodore repeated and chuckled. “Lady Beatrice, you make yourself sound like a fortress, and here I was, thinking you were the most delicate thing in the ballroom tonight.”

Beatrice’s breath hitched again, her fan slowing as she fell into the trap of his gaze. “A fortress can be quite useful, Your Grace. Especially when dealing with someone of your reputation.”

Theodore laughed, a soft, genuine sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“My reputation is mostly smoke and mirrors, I promise you.

Though I suppose my godmother is determined to blow the smoke away.

Tell me, did Lady Birks mention if there are any other 'sturdy' candidates, or am I to be exclusively yours?”

Beatrice giggled, her composure wavering under the sheer heat of his attention. “Oh, there are several, I assure you, Your Grace. But I told her that I would very much like to be at the top of that list.”

He took her hand, his thumb grazing the silk of her glove.

“ Well, I shall have to thank my godmother for her impeccable taste in candidates.” He offered her a bow that was perfectly pitched as he prepared to walk away.

“If you will excuse me for a moment, My Lady. I find I cannot rest until I’ve had a word with the architect of this registry.

I suspect she is keeping the best secrets for herself. ”

“But we are still to have our dance later, are we not, Your Grace?” Beatrice called after him, her voice hopeful as she tilted her head.

Theodore paused, glancing back over his shoulder. He let a slow, devastatingly charming grin spread across his face. “Undoubtedly, Lady Beatrice. I should consider the evening a failure otherwise.”

He held her gaze for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, long enough to see her blush deepen before he finally turned away.

The moment his back was to her, the smile on his face didn't just fade; it vanished. The warmth in his eyes was replaced by a sharp glint. He felt a prickle of genuine anxiety at the back of his neck, a sensation he usually reserved for high-stakes card games or particularly reckless horse races.

A list?

He knew his godmother. Julia was a master of the long game. If Beatrice believed he was looking for a bride, then half the Ton believed it. If there was a list, it was likely already etched into the social fabric of the Season, a blueprint for a future he had spent years outrunning.

He moved past a group of laughing Earls, his eyes sweeping the perimeter of the ballroom with precision. Every second he spent navigating the crowd, the more the air in the room seemed to thicken.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of her near the doorway leading to the terrace.

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

She looked entirely too serene for a woman who had just set a match to his reputation.

She was mid-sentence, her head tilted toward a companion, when she felt him approach; she paused to look in his direction.

Theodore stepped into the alcove, his presence large and imposing enough to startle the other lady into a hasty curtsy. He didn't spare the guest a glance; his focus was a laser, locked onto Julia.

“We need to talk, Lady Birks. Now.”

“A list! I cannot believe my ears. A list, Aunt Julia?”

“Calm yourself, Theo, it’s not —”

“Why would you... how could you...” Theodore temporarily stopped his pacing and took a deep breath. “You will put an end to it.”

Julia crossed her arms and lifted her head. “I will do no such thing.”

“Aunt Julia!”

“Yes?” she answered with raised eyebrows.