Bound to the Cruel Duke (Wicked Virgins #1)

Chapter 1

Desperate Measure

“You cannot possibly be serious,” Morgan said with a chuckle.

Gerald looked at the Marquees of Whitemore and his best friend as the whiskey sloshed inside the precious glass, the amber light catching the light of the fireplace.

Gerald drank slowly, sitting on the armchair in his study.

Morgan’s face dropped immediately when faced with Gerald’s stony expression.

“Let me rephrase that without the chuckle so there is no confusion,” Morgan repeated. “And perhaps more formal. Your Grace, Duke of Albury, there is no way you are serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Gerald said, in his low, gravelly voice that made people keep one step away from him at all times.

“Because,” Morgan protested, “this, let’s be generous and call it a document instead of a joke, is talking about living, breathing human beings as part of some transaction!”

“Everything is a transaction.”

“Not this!”

“It is a contract.”

“It is a joke between two obviously heavily intoxicated men!”

“Can you stop shouting?”

“I don’t know,” Morgan shook his head. “Could you try basic human emotions?”

“I am trying basic human logic.”

“Logic? Are we bringing logic into this?” Morgan laughed. “Because this,” he pointed at the contract on the table, “is the very definition of illogical.”

“It is a contract between my father and the Viscount of Lambourne that clearly states that I can marry any of the Viscount’s daughters. I fail to see the problem.”

“You fail to see-”

Morgan ran his fingers through his hair and went for the whiskey decanter to pour some for himself. The room was filled with a heavy silence, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. Morgan downed the whiskey in one gulp, feeling the burn.

“Gerald,” he said seriously. “You cannot invoke this to get married.”

“I can and I will.”

“Gerald, this was clearly a jest between your father and the Viscount.”

“If you knew my father,” Gerald said with an icy voice, “you would know he was not one to make jokes.”

Gerald got up from the armchair, and suddenly the room seemed to dwarf. He was a tall man with a build that set him apart from the rest of the ton, looking more like a northern warrior of the old, rather than a refined gentleman.

“Even so,” Morgan tried, “this is clearly not legally binding.”

“It is a contract of honor between two gentlemen.”

“A person is not cattle nor land to be given away at their master’s will.”

“I will merely ask the Viscount to honor his word.”

“You mean you will terrorize the poor man into giving you one of his daughters?”

Gerald looked at his best friend over his shoulder, his eyes cold and calculating. Morgan sighed and shook his head, drinking more of his whiskey.

“What I really want to know,” Morgan said, “is why would you go to such lengths to secure a wife by invoking a doubtful contract when you could, I don’t know, try the old-fashioned way?”

Gerald turned very slowly. He looked at his friend over the rim of his glass, eyes blinking slowly. Morgan has been friends with the Duke for many years, but he still couldn’t help but feel the cold bite of Gerald’s disapproving look.

“Come on, chum,” Morgan tried. “You are rich enough to fund a small army, powerful enough to lead it. And if one squints just right, enough to miss that permanent scowl, you are not half-bad looking.”

Gerald was not amused. He dropped his chin, looking at his friend.

“There,” the Marquess said, amused. “That is the look I have been talking about.”

“If this annoying detour is over, can we go back to our conversation?” Gerald growled.

“We are still on topic. You are trying to have a wife. I am telling you how to get one. You have all that all the mamas in the ton are looking for in a suitor for their daughters. All you need to do is… smile?”

“Smile?”

“Yes, Gerald. Smile. Not baring your teeth at them like a wolf would do in front of a bunny. Actually smile.”

Gerald growled deep in his chest and looked at his best friend, eyes unblinking.

“Perhaps just stay in a company not looking as if you are calculating the quickest way to dispose of their body, and send young ladies look for their smelling salts to keep from fainting.”

The two of them knew each other for a long, long time. Morgan was right in his assessment. In all those years, Morgan might have never seen him laugh, perhaps not even smile.

“You know darn well, Morgan,” Gerald moved to his desk, “that the ton fear me.”

“You give them a good reason, Gerald! All I am saying is if you could just soften up a little… Every lady of the ton would simply fall at your feet so that they would-”

“Enough!” Gerald’s deep voice made the window glass vibrate.

Morgan shook his head and gave up with a deep sigh of disappointment.

“All I am saying is that you are going through life like a battling ram. Had it ever occurred to you that you could just, I don’t know, knock on the door for once?”

“If I knocked, no one would open.”

“Gerald, instead of this old parchment that was clearly signed by two old men over too much brandy, you could present your calling card. I am sure the Viscount would at least hear you out and consider-”

“So, you know him,” Gerald cut Morgan’s speech.

“I do.”

“And what about his daughters?”

“Gerald, you are not-”

“His daughters.”

Morgan gave up and headed for the decanter in resignation. He poured a hefty amount and sipped on it for a few minutes.

“The Viscount has two daughters,” he sighed.

“Go on.”

“That are obviously blessed with a stupid father that signs nonsense and the lucky star of being in your radius of interest.”

“Your disdain is noted. Carry on.”

Morgan took a long sip of his whiskey, stalling. Gerald waited. He was good at waiting. Predators always were.

“The eldest is Miss Bridget. She is a very… reserved girl.”

“Reserved. Are you using softer language because you really want to call her a simpleton? I don’t have time for that. Speak.”

“One of these days, I am going to kick you in the shin, Gerald, I swear.”

“You can try. Miss Bridget.”

“She is, in fact, very reserved. There is something… gloomy about her. She is a beautiful girl, don’t get me wrong, but she seems to be constantly sad.”

“That won’t do.”

“I’d say. You have enough gloom to go around; you don’t need to add to that,” Morgan chuckled.

“I am getting the sense that this whole thing amuses you.”

“I can assure you I find it so outrageous that it has circled all the way to comical.”

“The other girl.”

Morgan drank and looked at his friend, trying one last time to make him reconsider. He was faced with a cold wall of determination.

“The youngest is Miss Arabella. She is…”

“Morgan! Go. On.”

“Miss Arabella is the jewel of the ton.”

Gerald’s impassive expression morphed into a calculating look. His eyes, deep green and unreadable, fixed on Morgan with renewed interest.

“She is a very social girl; everyone in the ton knows her and loves her. She is witty and fearless in expressing her opinions. Yet she remains poised and polite, the heart of each ball, and though she knows every gossip, she manages to be a nice person. In fact, it would be easier and faster to say that she is the exact opposite of you.”

“Interesting.”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly. Arabella Marriott will take one look at you, and she will very politely tell you to get out of her merry way.”

“And why hasn’t that jewel secured a husband yet?” Gerald said his gravelly voice dripped sarcasm.

Morgan looked at his friend in a way that made Gerald realize that, despite his protests, the precious Miss Marriott is not that unattainable. Pure resignation reflected on Morgan’s face.

“Neither of the girls has any dowry worth mentioning. Barely any.”

Gerald smiled that wolfish grin that made Morgan huff in irritation. Gerald looked down at the old contract, the signature of the Viscount clear as day, and his smile widened.

“Then the problem was solved,” Gerald said and moved to his armchair, satisfied.

“Whose problems exactly? I have the distinct feeling that Miss Arabella’s problems have just begun. Care to explain to me why you are so desperate to secure a wife?”

Gerald froze for a moment at the question, his jaw tightening. His best friend knew him well. This kind of urgency was uncharacteristic of him. And he had never before expressed any desire to take a bride and produce an heir.

“You know how hard it was to get close to Emrys.”

“Shall I alert the newspapers? You have trouble getting close to anyone.”

“Your insightful comments on my personality are getting tedious.”

“Exactly like said personality.”

Gerald threw a side glance at his friend that could curdle milk.

“Fine, fine,” Morgan conceded. “But I will need slightly more context on how you meeting the Earl and the Countess of Pembleton came to be the one thing that brought poor Miss Marriott in your line of sight.”

“Emrys is a man of family values. He probably allowed me an audience because I am a Duke and denying too many times would be improper. But to actually go into business with me would be out of the question.”

“Why not? You are wealthy and relentless when it comes to business. What does your being a bachelor have to do with the matter?”

Gerald leaned, his elbows on his knees, glass in hand, his eyes on the fires dancing.

“A bachelor has nothing to lose,” he explained to Morgan. “A bachelor gambles and is out every night.”

“Big deal. Most of the men in our club who gamble are respected married ones.”

“A bachelor can take up and leave the Continent, fight, and insult the wrong people. He could be caught up in a scandal, or he could tangle himself in a fight. A bachelor, in Emrys‘s eyes, is reckless, his decisions affecting only himself, so he makes them thoughtlessly.”

“And Emrys values stability.”

“He didn’t build his fortune on skill alone. He is a strict strategist. A bachelor is a man with little at stake, and Emrys needs his partners anchored.”

“You need a wife to prove to him you are reliable. That you have something to lose.”

Gerald raised his eyebrow and drank from his whiskey.

“Just to keep my conscience clear that I helped Miss Marriott avoid such an unfortunate match, I need to ask. Why would you need Emrys? You have money and influence enough.”

Gerald looked down at his glass and eyed his friend. He really hated how people judged others on stupid, short-sighted criteria, but he wasn’t ready to accept his fate without a fight.

“Emrys has managed to secure a strong influence in the Americas. He has some control at the Boston port, and virtually nothing moves through Charleston that he doesn’t know about.”

Morgan took a step back and looked at Gerald as if he were seeing him for the first time in their long friendship.

“You can’t possibly be that morally corrupted that you will marry some girl just to close a business deal?

I will not say that marrying for anything other than that stupid notion of love is not common among the ton, but just to expand your business in the colonies?

There are moments, Gerald, when I scarcely recognize you.

Even for you, that is calculative and merciless. ”

Gerald looked over the head of his friend. No, it was not only the need to present a married front for Emrys and his snobby wife. That thought rose a wave of irritation inside him.

He looked like an animal trapped. Gerald didn’t appreciate being cornered, and he was really cornered to make a decision he had no intention of making. But circumstances changed, and Gerald needed to adapt accordingly.

He got up, realizing that this night there would be no relaxing as he had hoped. His hands sought an envelope strategically placed near the fireplace, propped on the mantel, ready to be thrown into the fire or propped like an important piece in the household. He gave it to Morgan.

“What is this?”

“See for yourself.”

He opened the ivory envelope and procured an invitation. Gerald sipped on his drink as he watched his friend read the invitation and the letter enclosed.

“I see,” Morgan huffed. “You could always decline.”

Gerald chuckled cruelly.

“That would just go over well in the rumor mill.”

“Do you think that they will try-?”

“I don’t have to think. I am sure they will.”

Rage took over his soul, but he reined it in. As much as he would love to resolve the situation in any other way, he would have to do it within the confines of civilized society.

“That,” Gerald pointed at the envelope, “is the main reason I need to get married. And quick.”

Gerald looked out the window into the darkness of the night. All he had to do was go and tell the Viscount of Lambourne that he would marry his younger daughter, and most of his problems would just go away. He would be back in control.