The Devil’s Accidental Duchess (Ton’s Devils #1)

Chapter 1

“You are my beloved match, and I cannot wait to take you into my arms?!”

Selina winced as her father’s voice boomed across the empty parlor, laced with such unrestrained fury that she could have sworn she heard the tiny crystals tinkling from the chandelier over her head.

Her stomach twisted into knots as the Duke of Barlow crumpled the missive in his fists, his eyes boring holes into her sorry figure.

“Tell me why you are in such intimate correspondence with that cursed progeny of our family’s mortal enemy?” he demanded, absolutely incandescent with rage. “And why in heaven’s name would that abhorrent cur be so eager to touch you? Why would you be anywhere near his arms?!”

Selina hung her head, avoiding her father’s outraged gaze. “I doubt he is truly as eager,” she muttered under her breath.

What could she say? She had only just read the words herself.

“And on the first Sunday after the banns were read at that!” her father carried on. “The same banns for your engagement with another gentleman.”

She flinched at the reminder of her engagement.

The Marquess of Ramsbury was a fine gentleman, by all accounts. She was certain that he had some redeeming qualities aside from being titled and of apparently sufficient wealth, what with Miss Wesley carrying on and on about just how wonderful the man was.

Unfortunately, she had yet to witness the man’s supposed marvelousness.

Oh, yes, he was polite, almost to a fault, but that was where her experience of her betrothed ended.

She had partaken in exactly one dinner and one afternoon tea with the gentleman, in which any attempt at conversation had been monopolized by her father.

The Marquess would make a decent husband for anyone—Miss Wesley certainly came to mind—but Selina? He had hardly made a dazzling first—or, indeed, second—impression. He was, to damn with faint praise, perfectly fine.

But nothing like I have dreamed of on late nights with my books.

The letter crushed in her father’s hand, however, now that would have been the kind of thrill her heart craved, had it not been so hastily snatched from her clutches.

My forbidden fruit. My apple of Eve, ripe on the bough.

At least her father hadn’t read that part aloud. Selina would not have been able to bear the embarrassment.

“Oh, John, please would you calm down and take a breath for a moment,” her mother sighed softly.

“Perhaps this is all just a misunderstanding.” She cast Selina a furtive look, to which Selina eagerly nodded like a famished chick pecking at grain.

“Besides, there has been no interaction between that family and ours for more than two decades.”

Well, her mother was mistaken on that account, but Selina was not so foolish as to add more rope with which her father would most certainly hang her.

“Mother is right,” Selina seconded.

She hesitated, thinking of the book tucked down the side of the nearby settee, where this humiliation had all begun.

It had come with the letter. A book that half the young ladies in the ton had struggled to get their hands on.

It was that wicked. A French novel, translated in secret—a rare and passionate story about a soldier and a maiden on opposing sides of a war, falling hopelessly in love.

Passionate, descriptive, titillating love.

The accompanying story was how she knew the true origin of the letter, though it would be hard to explain. Perhaps the punishment for reading such shameless literature would be less than receiving a letter from her father’s sworn enemy.

“You see, there is this book, and—” she tried.

“What is there to misunderstand?!” her father roared, cutting her off in the middle of her defense. “My daughter is in possession of a confession from a descendant of that vile bloodline!”

Of course, he would not listen to her. He never did, not when she told him that she did not wish to marry the Marquess yet, and not when he had all but convinced himself that she had been consorting with the heir to his most hated enemy.

She could see how it looked, but if he would just hear what she had to say, this could all be swept aside.

“The book, Father,” she tried again. “It is—”

“I told you to watch her.” He turned to her mother. “And look what has happened? This is your fault, Charity. This is all your fault.”

Selina could have counted on one hand the number of times she had heard her father speak her mother’s name. It was never with fondness, always in anger or rebuke, as if it were a cursed word.

She watched despondently as her mother shrank back and dared not speak any more in her defense.

He turned his furious gaze back to Selina. “There is only one thing left to do now.”

“If you would just permit me to explain, Father,” she urged. “It is not what it seems. It is silly, really.”

“Silence!” her father barked. “I have heard and read more than enough. It is decided.”

Her heart sank at his words.

Please, she prayed, do not let it be what I think it is.

“We are going to Ashbrook Manor this instant!”

Her head snapped up.

“Ashbrook Manor?” she croaked, but her father did not respond.

He was already storming out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway beyond. She flinched when she heard the creak of his study door opening and the rampant slam of drawers.

“It really isn’t what it seems,” she begged, turning her pleas toward her brother, Reuben, who stood statue-still by the parlor window. “Do you remember the rumors of that book club? It was mentioned in the scandal sheets some time ago.”

Reuben raised his head. “I remember no such thing, dear sister.”

“Oh, why is it so hard to explain?” she muttered to herself as the study door slammed so hard that the entire Mayfair townhouse trembled.

The footsteps returned, and Selina’s heart dropped into her stomach as she saw the pistols in her father’s hands. He tossed one to Reuben, who reluctantly caught it.

“The vile defiler will either marry you or die by my hand! I will have satisfaction for this wretched insult!”

“John!” her mother gasped. “You must not! If anyone hears of it, Selina will be ruined! Perhaps… Perhaps we could invite the Duke to tea and see if a resolution can be reached civilly?”

“Civil?” her father snarled. “After what I have just seen, you expect me to be civil?”

Her mother shrank again, shaking her head.

“As for ruination, my traitorous daughter should have thought of that before accepting his advances.” With that, her father turned on his heel and walked out of the parlor once again.

This time, his footsteps were headed directly for the front door.

Selina could only sink onto the settee, her legs numb. Rage, she had expected from her father. However, she had not anticipated him to demand that she either marry the Duke of Ashbrook or give him the satisfaction of shooting the man who dared to corrupt her.

A great, horrible miscalculation on her part, that one.

But he did not even corrupt me. I do not know him at all.

Her hand reached for the hidden book and, as discreetly as possible, folded it into the fabric of her skirts.

“Reuben!” she gasped, turning toward her brother. “This is madness! You must stop Father! It truly is just a… terrible, terrible mistake.”

Her brother’s answering sigh was hardly reassuring.

“There is nothing that can be done about it now, dear sister,” he told her. “You know how Father is—he will not let this matter rest until you are wed to Ashbrook or he has the satisfaction of a duel.”

“A duel!” their mother gasped, turning white as a sheet.

Selina had to wonder what her mother had thought her father was taking the pistol for, if not for that. Obviously, he meant to duel the Duke of Ashbrook if an agreement could not be reached.

“Yes,” Reuben said somberly. “I do not know the truth of this matter, and maybe it is a misunderstanding, but that will not matter to Father. It is that family. He will never let the Duke of Ashbrook get away with any slight, however small or… silly.”

Oh, but it was no slight at all!

Selina would have repeated herself if she had thought it would make any difference.

“What does he have against that family, anyway?” she cried instead, throwing her hands up in frustration. “It was all in jest, nothing more! The Duke of Ashbrook probably has no idea about it! Father is more likely to make himself look stupid, accusing the Duke of a wrong he has not done.”

A letter I am almost certain he did not write…

In fact, the entire matter could have been swept under the rug of convenience if her father had not raised a ruckus over it. She glanced at her mother, who stood tight-lipped and pale.

“Your father only means to protect you, Selina,” her mother said wearily, as if all the years and cares in the world had suddenly caught up with her at that moment. “And that letter… Why was such a scandalous thing in your possession in the first place?”

The book burned against Selina’s thigh, still tucked away, even if it might save her. Then again, if she showed it to her father, he would probably add an accusation of sending licentious literature to his ‘traitorous daughter’ and shoot the Duke twice.

She shook her head. “It is merely a game among the ladies, Mother. There is truly nothing to it. There is nothing between me and the Duke of Ashbrook!”

She had never even met the man or been introduced to him. She had only heard about him—of his coldness and callousness, the great war hero with the bad temper—and that was enough for her to form an opinion of him.

One that was not so much in favor of marrying him, truly. She still had no idea why that secret little club matched her with him. Maybe the answer was in the book, but she had not had any chance to read it, for obvious reasons.

“Whether or not there is something between you means nothing now,” her mother sighed.

“How can it mean nothing?” Selina pressed. “It means everything, surely?”

“Reuben!”