Duke of Lust (Sinful Dukes #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ G ood morning, Witmore,” said Lady Annabelle Elkins cheerfully, with a slight skip in her step as she walked from her coach towards the entrance of Heartwick Hall in the May sunshine, her maid at her side. “How lovely the house looks at this time of year! I’m so glad to be here again.”

Short and curvaceous with lively blue eyes and a mass of strawberry blonde curls pinned earlier that morning but now escaping from beneath her bonnet, Lady Annabelle looked to be exactly what she was - a good-tempered young woman of appealing aspect but slightly younger in personality than years.

The usually staid butler looked bewildered and not particularly happy as he came down the steps to meet the two women but nodded at Annabelle’s remark and gestured two footmen towards the coach to bring in the baggage. Annabelle had caught him exchanging some tense words with other servants but had not been able to make out what was said. Regardless, the atmosphere was uncomfortable.

Still, Heartwick Hall did indeed look very beautiful today with clematis and wisteria both coming into bloom around the front door, and some of the potted plants that Duchess Sarah tended so carefully with her own hand also beginning to unfurl. There was no need for Annabelle to concern herself with what was likely only a squabble among the domestic staff. But where was the dowager duchess?

“Is Duchess Sarah indisposed?” Annabelle wondered aloud, looking around the front of the house with a frown. “I hope she does not have that awful cough that is going around the ton. My mother was quite ill for two full weeks and we feared what could happen if the contagion were to pass to Father.”

There had always been someone to meet her here on previous visits. Before marriage to the Duke of Walden, it would have been her friend Penelope, of course, but Duchess Sarah was usually there too, smiling gently in the background, wearing the muted clothing of an extended widowhood. Penelope was mistress of her own home now at Walden Towers and about to embark on the great adventure of motherhood.

Witmore shook his head gravely, still appearing rather displeased. It made Annabelle feel like a child again, a naughty child who had trespassed in a forbidden orchard or shed, perhaps.

“The dowager duchess is visiting the Duke and Duchess of Walden.”

“Oh!” Annabelle said incredulously, halting on the steps. “But Duke Frederick and my brother arranged for me to stay here while my family is away. I believed Duchess Sarah was expecting me today. I do not understand…”

Beyond not understanding, Annabelle did not at all know what to do in the absence of either host or hostess. Should she even go inside? Should she return home, more than an hour’s ride away? That was likely not even an option. Aside from a skeleton staff, the servants would be gone, either accompanying her family or taking their own holidays.

“Your arrival is certainly expected but not for at least another week, Your Ladyship,” Witmore said shortly, and then caught the eye of a junior footman. “We shall make all necessary rearrangements with your rooms. Gordons! Go and inform Mrs. Kimble of Lady Annabelle’s early arrival.”

The youth swiftly hurried away to carry these tidings to Mrs. Kimble, the Heartwick Hall housekeeper.

“But Frederick must be home,” Annabelle commented, continuing to look around and noting another small carriage, tucked around the side of the house rather than in the carriage-house, as though for a quick getaway. “I see he has a visitor.”

“The duke has many acquaintances,” Witmore responded cryptically, leading the two women into the house. “I could not say who is presently calling. Do make yourself comfortable in the drawing room, Your Ladyship. If your maid goes to Mrs. Kimble in the meantime, she will advise on your rooms.”

Now Annabelle was entirely thrown. More than ever, she felt like an unwelcome trespasser, and an unwise one too. Duchess Sarah was absent and Duke Frederick had an unknown caller about whom Witmore was either unable or unwilling to comment. Stephen would never knowingly have sent her here under such circumstances. This was not the usual warm welcome guests received at Heartwick Hall. What on earth had gone wrong?

“There was definitely a letter sent ahead last Tuesday, confirming that I would be arriving today,” she told the butler, in case he was thinking that she had deliberately –and rudely – arrived without notice. “If that wasn’t convenient, Duchess Sarah or Duke Frederick would have written back. It must have been lost. How vexing! Stephen will be most displeased with the messenger when I tell him.”

At these words, Myrtle, Annabelle’s elderly but much loved maid gave a nervous cough and grasped her young mistress’ arm, bringing them to a standstill in the hallway.

“Oh, My Lady, this is all my fault,” the poor woman said with some distress, holding out a slightly creased letter with unsteady fingers. “I was meant to give this to the messenger last week, wasn’t I? But here it is still in my pocket. Mr. Witmore, I must apologize to you, and to the duke and dowager duchess. What a foolish old woman I am to cause such problems!”

Annabelle patted the maid’s hand sympathetically. Myrtle was becoming increasingly forgetful in her old age but she had served the Elkins family faithfully for more than forty years and Annabelle could not be truly angry with her. Nor did Witmore choose to take issue with the innocent error, to Annabelle’s relief.

Our staff are perfectly capable of accommodating Her Ladyship and yourself today,” he said to the distressed maid. “The duke and dowager duchess will not be inconvenienced.”

“Indeed, it is as Witmore says,” Annabelle agreed. “Duke Frederick won’t give a fig if I’m here today, tomorrow or next week, will he? He has his own life. As for Duchess Sarah, if we write and tell her of the mix-up, perhaps she will come home straight away. Yes, it can all be ironed out and we won’t even need to tell Stephen…”

“You are both kind to an old woman,” sighed Myrtle, “but I am shamed to cause such breach in etiquette in the home of a duke, no less. I could never have led a young lady into such a tangle twenty years ago.”

“Really Myrtle, Frederick might be a duke but he’s still just…Frederick,” Annabelle continued to reassure her as they entered the drawing room, despite feeling increasing qualms herself. “From everything I hear around the ton, he’s the last man in the world to value propriety for its own sake. Some people even call him…”

Biting her tongue as she remembered injunctions from both her mother and Stephen about avoiding indiscretion and showing good manners, Annabelle stopped before she could actually call her friend’s older brother a rake in front of his own staff.

Thankfully, Witmore had not entered the room with them and was standing in the doorway looking as though he had overheard nothing of her words to Myrtle.

“Let me escort you to Mrs. Kimble, Mrs. Muggins,” said the butler smoothly. “Tea and cake will be brought presently, Your Ladyship.”

“Will Duke Frederick and his other guest be joining me?” Annabelle queried as Myrtle now followed the black-suited manservant out of the room.

Witmore’s face was inscrutable as he turned back to answer.

“Duke Frederick is not to be disturbed this morning, Your Ladyship. If Duchess Sarah were here she might suggest a walk in the gardens after you have rested, or perhaps you might like to make use of the library or the music room.”

“Thank you, Witmore,” Annabelle replied, feeling more lost and unsure than ever as the door closed behind the two servants before she sat down to await her solitary morning refreshments.

When it arrived, the tea and cakes were as fresh and tasty as they always were at Heartwick Hall, although Annabelle found she did not enjoy them as much without the company of Penelope and Duchess Sarah. Even the Duke of Heartwick loitering about the room with his mercilessly teasing remarks would have been better than the silence and ticking of the clock.

Some in society might call him a rake but that was never the face that Frederick showed directly to Penelope or Annabelle.

“Is Duke Frederick still with his other guest?” Annabelle asked the young maid who eventually came in to take away the tea tray an hour later.

“I wouldn’t know, Your Ladyship,” said the mousy girl quietly without raising her eyes. “Can I get you anything else?”

“You surely must have some idea,” pressed Annabelle but the young woman shook her head.

“Mr. Witmore and Mrs. Kimble say I must keep to the main rooms downstairs when the duke has personal guests and not ask any questions. I do as I’m told, Your Ladyship.”

“You don’t even know who he is? The other guest, I mean.”

The young girl again shook her head without raising her gaze and Annabelle gave up. Like Witmore today, the little maid’s attitude was decidedly odd and put Annabelle further on edge.

“Never mind. You may take the tray back to the kitchen.”

As the girl scuttled away, Annabelle felt a further lurch of uncertainty in her gut. She now strongly wished that her brother had not sent her here at all.

Without Duchess Sarah in residence, he never would have done so. Frederick might be a family friend but he was also a notorious rake and there was no way that a man as proud of his family’s reputation as Stephen would want his sister to remain alone under the Duke of Heartwick’s roof for a single night.

If Stephen found out about the mix-up, he might rush all the way back from Norfolk. He might even fire poor Myrtle for her part in the confusion. Hopefully Frederick would see that it was imperative that Duchess Sarah return immediately and send an express message.

It was unfortunate too that so many other close friends and family were out of town, ill or expecting babies. Of the wider options, Stephen had already dismissed the possibility of Annabelle staying in a hotel, even with Myrtle. It would have been fun to visit Victoria Crawford, the very modern and educated younger sister of the Duke of Walden, who was presently residing with her cousins in London.

Despite their contrasting personalities, Annabelle and Victoria had become good friends since Duke Maxwell married Penelope. Stephen, however, was only slightly less dubious about the propriety of Annabelle staying with another young woman in London than the hotel idea. Her brother could be such a stick-in-the-mud about his principles sometimes, like a man twice his age.

Stephen had settled on Annabelle staying at Heartwick Hall, even obeying Frederick and following his guidance throughout the season in Stephen’s stead. She had wondered if Frederick would he be as strict as her brother or more permissive, given his own habits? She had hoped for the latter.

Well, whatever attitude the Duke of Heartwick took, and however the present mix-up with Duchess Sarah was resolved, this year Annabelle had her own goal and no one was going to stop her achieving it.

“Not even you, Duke Frederick!” she stated aloud and then jumped slightly as the clock struck twelve.

Noon and there was still no sign of Frederick. He must know of Annabelle’s presence by now, mustn’t he? It was actually quite rude not to even acknowledge her arrival. She thought again of the small carriage around the side of the house. Had Frederick actually been drinking with a friend until late last night and was still sleeping it off?

Briefly, Annabelle hoped that Frederick and his unknown friend suffered the terrible headaches and stomach aches they doubtless deserved. But she was a kind-hearted person who could not seriously wish anyone ill. Also, what if Frederick had actually fallen and hit his head?

She well-remembered the appalling events at Huntingdon Manor last year, a story only gradually revealed after the wicked Lord Silverbrook had fallen drunkenly on the stairs while attempting to assault Penelope. The Duke of Walden had luckily witnessed the scene and managed its consequences.

Frederick had probably not fallen down the stairs, or the staff would have found him Still, he could have stumbled inside his room and hit his head on the solid oak furniture He might be bleeding, unconscious or too weak to call for help… The possibility of Frederick genuinely being injured plagued her.

Eventually, Annabelle went into the hall and ran upstairs. She remembered how she and Penelope had taunted the teenaged Frederick by knocking on his door and running away early in the mornings when they were little girls. At thirteen he had shouted and chased them down the corridor.

Would Frederick be equally cross today if Annabelle woke him? She wouldn’t run away now, of course. Anyway, if he were angry, so what? That would mean that he wasn’t sick or injured. Then it would serve him right to be disturbed. It was far too late to be laying in bed and she needed him to send an urgent message to Duchess Sarah.

Feeling bold and justified, she marched up to the next floor and turned onto the corridor where she remembered that Frederick’s bedroom lay.

Standing outside the door she raised her hand to knock but then froze as a strange and rather animal sound issued from inside the room. The moan was almost pained but with some peculiar quality that Annabelle could not name, and the voice did not sound like Frederick’s. But who else could it be in his bedroom? Perhaps he really was injured and unable to speak properly!

“Frederick!” Annabelle called out in a panic, grasping the door handle and pushing it open before she even knew what she was doing. “Are you hurt? Frederick?!

If her limbs had frozen a few moments earlier, now her very blood seemed to have turned to ice at the sight that met her eyes.

Frederick was here. Frederick was well. Frederick was also half-naked, kneeling on the floor between the thighs of an equally disheveled woman, spreadeagled on the bed with her hands tangled in his blond hair.

Good God, what was this?! Shocked to the core, she could only stand there wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the woman retreated swiftly under the bedclothes and Frederick stood and turned to face Annabelle.

Bare-chested and barefoot, he wore only his under-breeches and she felt her face flame as hot as a bonfire at the sight of his bare limbs, never mind the attitude in which she had just found him. At such close quarters and in such a state of undress there was no disputing that Penelope’s elder brother was a handsome, well-built man.

Frederick had the long clean limbs of an athlete, likely thanks to his love of riding and other sports which balanced out his drinking and carousing. The golden hair of his head also glinted on his strong forearms and chest, running all the way down to his navel. He looked something like a young Greek god from her old story books, perhaps Apollo.

The expression on his face made Annabelle swallow. Flushed and slightly wild beneath the tousled hair, his blue eyes were surprised but oddly fierce as though he had been interrupted in the middle of a fight rather than… whatever this was.

His gaze locking on hers sent a strange fire running through Annabelle’s veins now as well as ice, and jolted a good dose of both indignance and bemusement in her stomach for good measure.

What on earth had Frederick been doing to that woman and why had she allowed it? What she had witnessed did not fit into Annabelle’s limited understanding of the sexual act. The one thing she was sure of was that it was all highly improper.

Finally regaining control of her legs, Annabelle turned and physically ran from the room.

“Annabelle?!” Frederick called behind her, his voice sounding rougher than usual although not with anger. “Annabelle!”

“There you are, My Lady!” exclaimed Myrtle as Annabelle almost collided with her on one of the landings leading back towards the main staircase. “I went to the drawing room to tell you that your room is ready but you were gone. We thought you must be taking a turn in the garden.”

“I must go to my room, Myrtle,” Annabelle said, slightly breathless after her flight from Frederick’s bedroom.

“Of course. You’ll be wanting to change out of your travel dress before luncheon, won’t you?”

“Yes. That’s it. I must change,” gabbled Annabelle. “I must be decently dressed for luncheon mustn’t I?”

“I’ll lay out the sprigged muslin, shall I? Or the blue poplin?”

“You have done enough, Myrtle. Go and take some rest. I shall change my own dress.”

“Are you sure, My Lady?” said the maid a little doubtfully, although Annabelle knew that any rest would be appreciated.

“Please, Myrtle. I am quite sure. I know how hard travel is on your rheumatism.”

As the old woman agreed and set off back downstairs, Annabelle went to the room she always occupied on her visits to Heartwick Hall and closed the door before leaning back against it and dropping her head into her hands.

Why had she had to witness such a scene? And what had she even witnessed? Again Annabelle’s mind replayed that strange sound and then the sight of Frederick’s semi-naked body rising up from the ground, his face flushed and eyes so intent. Strangely, she could barely remember the other woman, only her nakedness and posture. It was the memory of Frederick speaking her own name that made her tremble.

A few minutes later, the sound of carriage wheels made Annabelle fly to the window, half-wondering if this was Duchess Sarah’s return. No, that was a ridiculous idea. Frederick had certainly sent no message, whatever else he had been doing since Annabelle’s arrival. Nor could she have covered the distance from Walden Towers so quickly. It was at least a two hour journey.

The small open carriage outside was departing Heartwick Hall, not arriving, carrying only a single passenger, whose face was well hidden under hat and veil, although Annabelle could just about make out her blonde hair underneath.

The clock on the mantelpiece read thirty minutes after noon. In half an hour, Annabelle must presumably face Frederick over the luncheon table, regardless of the scene in his bedroom earlier. She must pretend she had seen nothing and talk of relatives, parties and mutual friends as though everything was perfectly normal. It would be awful and it was all Frederick’s fault.

Frederick Hayward, Duke of Heartwick might have the face – and body – of an angel but he was certainly not one of their number. Annabelle had finally seen him today as other women presumably saw him: a highly desirable but dissolute man.

Angrily, she paced the room, unable to push the unwanted sounds and images from her head. No wonder Witmore and Mrs. Kimble wouldn’t let the young maids venture far when the duke had company. Did Duchess Sarah have any idea what he had been doing this morning?

At this moment, the unlocked door opened and Frederick himself stepped inside and closed it behind him.

“I did not invite you in!” Annabelle squeaked, noticing that while he had thrown on trousers and a shirt, he had not yet fastened the latter garment, her gaze inexorably drawn once again to his torso.

“That cuts both ways, Lady Annabelle, does it not?” he replied pointedly, sparking a self-conscious blush as she recalled her own intrusion. “I think we must both dispense with such niceties today. We have to talk and it is best to do so privately, under the circumstances.”

“How dare you carry on like this! Especially when you have a guest. My brother would be utterly scandalized if he knew what was going on in this house,” she berated him, remaining by the window and as far away from him as possible. “Does Duchess Sarah know of your flagrant cavorting in broad daylight?”

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Annabelle,” he said as he fastened his shirt and tucked it in. “But do not exaggerate matters. My friend has gone. You will not meet her again. There is no need to upset either of our families.”

“If you were capable of being sorry you would not do such things in the first place. You are shameless, and indecent, and, and…”

Annabelle paused, searching for words and conscious that Frederick was regarding her with folded arms and an amused smile.

“You speak of things you don’t yet understand, little Annabelle,” he said, as though she were still a girl rather than a young woman of age.

“And you need to brush your hair!” she threw back at him, matching words with actions as she caught up a brush from the nearby dressing table and hurled it at him. “You utter rake! I can’t believe Stephen has left me here with you.”

Lightning fast Frederick’s arm reached out and caught the brush before it could strike him, the expression on his face becoming more serious.

Her own anger caught Annabelle off-guard. She had a right to be upset, of course, and to pass judgement on such flagrant misbehavior, but throwing things was crossing a line. Maybe she was too angry for her own good but the revelation of Frederick’s other face had been in some way overwhelming.

Where was the teasing, irreverent but light-hearted Frederick she was used to? He was not in the room with her now.

Walking across to the dressing table, the Duke of Heartwick placed the brush pointedly back beside the other tools of the toilette .

“I cannot apologize for what I am, Annabelle,” he said. “I am only sorry that you had to see what you saw. You have always been Penelope’s friend and you are always welcome at Heartwick Hall, but you know that I am not Penelope, nor am I one of your other women friends. I am a man and you must remember that. My bedroom is out of bounds.”

Frederick was standing so close now that she could smell the faint scent of his skin, some combination of fading cologne and fresh sweat. He had evidently not taken the trouble to bathe yet after whatever exertions he had indulged in earlier.

Annabelle might have run past him and out of the room if it had not been for the suspicion that he would actually seize hold of her and make her listen to him. She swallowed hard and then found her voice.

“I understand perfectly. A respectable lady should never be friends with a rake. We need never speak of this morning, or your so-called friend, again, Your Grace. If I encounter other ‘friends’ I shall look the other way.”

Already rather steely, Frederick’s blue eyes hardened further at these declarations.

“I have promised your family that I will keep you safe at Heartwick Hall and I shall do so, Annabelle. I will bring no other women onto the estate while you are here. You were not expected until next week. That was why I was taking my opportunities now. Do you understand?”

While the sternness of his voice and gaze slightly unnerved her, Frederick’s actual words touched Annabelle in some strange way. So, he would never have deliberately brought another woman into the house while Annabelle was here. Did that mean he respected her? Liked her? He was very clear that he intended to look after her regardless.

Part of her wanted to smile at him now, to see his face melt into its usual lighthearted if somewhat provoking expression. Perhaps they could even laugh at this episode together? Then Annabelle remembered again, with shivers passing through her limbs, exactly what she had seen in his bedroom. No, she could not laugh at that with Frederick. It was all wrong.

“I understand, Your Grace,” she said rather pertly, again deliberately not using his first name although she had always done so since childhood. “You will do your duty and I will keep my mouth shut about your liaisons. Your private life is none of my business.”

“Annabelle,” Frederick said crossly, looking directly into her eyes with a expression that evoked some new kind of danger. “Are you actually trying to provoke me this morning?”

“I…”

She stopped, feeling herself on increasingly uncertain ground. Provoke him? What did Frederick even mean by that question.

“If you are, don’t,” he continued before she could think of anything witty or cutting to say in response. “For your own good as well as mine. We will talk further at luncheon. There are actually bigger problems in this house than your naivety.”

With these words, the Duke of Heartwick turned on his heel and left the room. As the door closed behind him, Annabelle realized that her whole body was trembling.