The Duchess Pursues Her Pleasure (The Society of Wanton Widows #1)

Chapter One

Death reeked of spilled port, tobacco, and a lifetime of regret. Unfortunately, the truth was far less poetic. Cassandra Sterling, the Duchess of Tolland, sat in her late husband’s study drowning her misery in a third glass of port and staring into the flickering flames.

“To you, James.” She saluted the vacant room with her nearly empty glass. “May you rot in hell.”

Only three hours earlier, she’d attended a lavish dinner held in memory of her deceased husband.

Everyone in attendance had sung his praises, yet she’d burned with seething hatred for the man they so elegantly touted as a visionary and a saint.

He had been a brute, a cad, a worthless bastard who’d loved whores and money more than his own wife.

Her arm throbbed where the bruises lay beneath her black widow’s weeds.

The fabric chafed her skin and the high neckline threatened to choke her.

A long-dormant scream lodged in her throat, suffocating her.

She tore open the fastening and gasped, filling her lungs with musty air.

Cassandra nearly threw her glass into the hearth at the memory of their final confrontation.

But that would have been a waste of perfectly good liquor.

Instead, she swallowed the remaining liquid and then tossed the empty vessel into the fire.

A smile complemented the hum of satisfaction coursing through her at the sound of shattering glass against iron and stone.

It was almost worth destroying every piece of glassware in the enormous house to purge the rampant fury racing through her veins.

She eyed the decanter with malicious glee but decided against it.

The servants would know. But they already knew every horrid detail of her nearly three-decade marriage to an absolute tyrant. Their miserable union was no secret to them. Would they… Could they blame her for wanting to burn it all to the ground?

It would take little effort to destroy everything.

She had dismissed the servants for the night, wanting nothing more than silence.

James had been dead for less than three days, and she’d endured endless waves of heartfelt condolences and sympathy.

It would have been enough to drive her to madness if James hadn’t done so already before his death.

One spark, and she could burn it all to ashes. But could she bear to burn with it?

“Your Grace.” A deep, cultured voice broke her morose thoughts. “Are you well? I thought I heard a crash.”

With a start, Cassandra turned to find her late husband’s valet standing in the doorway. “Evans, what in the devil are you doing here? I dismissed you all for the evening.”

His presence sent a delicious shiver of awareness through her as he stepped into the room.

With a tall stature and broad shoulders, he filled out the simple black suit perfectly.

The sharp angles of his face blended both boyish charm and seductive grace while maintaining a professional demeanor.

Her gaze skimmed the top of his dark head, finding not a hair out of place before traveling over the rest of his immaculate attire.

A lord’s regal bearing in the body of a servant. A damned temptation.

“You did, madam, but you should not be alone. Not tonight.” Evans came alongside her, his hands clasped behind him.

“I thank you for your concern, but I am quite content on my own.” She reached for the decanter and another glass.

His lips pressed into a thin line and concern echoed deep in his hazel eyes as she poured herself another glass of port.

“For heaven’s sake, Evans. Out with it.” She took another drink.

“You should not be drinking alone, madam.” His lips tightened before he added, “It is not becoming for a woman of your stature.”

Cassandra choked on the liquid but quickly recovered her composure. She glared at him.

“It is unbecoming for a servant to speak to his mistress in such a condescending tone.” She set the glass aside.

A rush of dizziness threatened to topple her.

She gripped the chair with one hand to catch herself.

A pleasant warmth radiated through her where Evans’s hands rested upon her waist, steadying her.

His touch burned through the thin silk of her gown, igniting a need she had suppressed for years.

She jerked out of his grasp, knowing if she lingered, she might make a fool of herself.

He stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back and awaiting instruction.

“I can do whatever I wish.” She waved her hand. “I will not have a servant lecturing me.” Cassandra sniffed, uncomfortably aware of his silent judgment. “If I wish to indulge in a nightcap, then so be it.”

Evans glanced at the half-empty decanter of port.

It had been full when she’d entered the study several hours ago. Had she really drunk that much?

Her thoughts clouded, crowded by horrible memories enhanced by the port, and she frowned. Perhaps she had indulged in one too many. She swayed as she took a step toward the door, to put distance between her and reckless temptation.

Evans’s watchful gaze followed her.

When her husband had hired Evans as his gentleman’s gentleman five years ago, she’d had reservations.

The young man of twenty-five had had no recommendations and no history.

Her husband had won his services in a game of cards from another gentleman with little restraint and no common sense.

Nevertheless, Evans had shown talent and forethought, his services had kept James content, and so he’d become a steadfast member of the household as a valet.

A position she no longer had any use for as a dowager, even though she could find a hundred uses for the man outside of his expected duties.

She licked her lips, ignoring the hum of attraction pulling her toward him. Her hand tightened on the doorframe. “You are dismissed, Evans.”

He inclined his head in recognition of her words as a clear dismissal but took no action to leave.

“I have no use for a valet any longer,” Cassandra clarified, her voice tight. “If you need a recommendation, I shall be happy to provide one for your impeccable service.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes before it vanished with a blink. “I beg your pardon.”

“I have no need for a valet. Your services are no longer required.” Cassandra stood her ground, confident it was the right decision. Having such a distraction in her home would only prove disastrous. She was close to breaking and desperation made fools of even the strongest women.

“I have other skills, madam.” He inclined his head, regarding her carefully. “I can manage an estate. I can cook. Perhaps a gardener or a stablehand.”

“I have no need for an estate manager or another cook.” Her courage slipped. He truly was a man full of surprising talents and secrets. But his insistence that he remain in her employ left her baffled.

“Have I done something to displease you that you would banish me so quickly from the household?” His full lips parted, as if caught on a breath waiting for her response.

For five years, Cassandra had avoided the handsome valet. She was keenly aware of his presence and quickly established a routine in which to circumvent him. With her husband’s death, he had no one to serve but her. The knowledge left her both desperate and overheated.

He was handsome, talented, and young. Evans was closer to her son’s age than her own, a reminder that sobered her instantly.

At six and forty, and now a widow, Cassandra had certain expectations placed upon her shoulders.

A dalliance with her late husband’s valet was most assuredly not permitted… or acceptable.

“You have not displeased me.” She smoothed her hands over her dressing gown.

“You served my husband faithfully, but I have decided to reduce the number of staff I employ and move to a smaller home. My son will take over his father’s household, but he has a valet of his own.

My allowance going forward will diminish substantially. It is simply a matter of economics.”

“Then allow me to take on the position as butler.”

His charming smile made her heart flutter. Oh, he was dangerous, this one. Charming and clever, he missed nothing. Was it possible he’d overheard her conversation with her son earlier and his plea for her to remain in the house until he found a bride?

None of that, she scolded the offending organ. “And what makes you think Orson will give up his post?”

“Orson is nearly eighty and has expressed his desire to retire to Wales and live out his remaining days there.” Evans held her gaze steadily.

“It would be merciful of you to grant him these remaining years to pursue his own passions. I am sure the duke would agree that I would fill the role admirably.”

“I suppose you have a valid argument.” Cassandra pointedly ignored his choice of words and the turmoil they created within her.

She fought for any excuse not to keep Evans on staff, including her unhealthy and quite vivid daydreams about the younger man.

Even if she remained in this house, as her son had suggested, she could not bear to see him every day.

She could find no fault in his performance or any undue behavior on his end.

“But why do you wish to remain with me? I could find you a more suitable post elsewhere.”

“I do not wish to serve another house.”

“You were loyal to my husband.” Cassandra’s heart twisted. Not me, her mind added in secret.

“I am loyal to all in this family.” His gaze bored into hers. “I was his servant as I am yours.”

The words echoed like a drum in her head painting a vivid image in her mind. I am yours. The impropriety garnered by those simple words left her breathless and flummoxed.

“I have served you as faithfully as I did your husband.”

Cassandra licked her lips, cursing the port and his persistence for making her head swim. “What do you mean?”