Duke’s One-Night Heir

Chapter One

Edward Anthony Harrington was in serious need of sharing a bottle of brandy with his friends at White’s.

The large wheels of the phaeton rolled over the uneven terrain as he coaxed more speed out of the horses, making his way along the dark country roads towards St James’s.

With every mile he covered, it felt good to be putting more distance between him and his father after their heated exchange.

The open carriage offered little protection from the elements, but he welcomed the light rain dampening his face, hoping it would help cool his anger too.

‘How could you even think to taint the family name with your foolish ambition?’ the Duke had hurled at him. ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’

Edward gripped the reins tighter. Perhaps it was futile to keep trying to gain his father’s approval. If he hadn’t managed to do so in four and twenty years, why should it be any different now?

The rain lashed down harder, obscuring his vision, when suddenly, he saw a lone woman step out into the road. He swerved to avoid her and realised he was travelling fast—far too fast for the ghastly conditions. He took the corner too tight.

The wheel veered off the road and the coach began to topple.

He shouted at the horses to stop and they reared sharply, but the carriage lurched.

It began to roll down the bank. He heard the deep wrenching crack of the axle snapping, the sound of the wheels splintering and the panicked whinnies of the animals—along with his own—as the broken carriage ploughed into a ditch with a final, sickening thud.

Damnation.

Edward took a moment to get his bearings. He shook his head; patted himself down, bruises already smarting. Thankfully, he had escaped with just a few scratches, though he was furious with himself.

‘Sir, are you hurt? Do you need help?’

He glanced up to see the woman—the reason he was in this state—staring down at him from the top of the bank, her eyes wide and full of concern. She had come out of nowhere.

‘You have done quite enough,’ he bit back furiously, scrambling to his feet, dusting off the shards of wood from his breeches. He took in his desecrated vehicle, the scattered parts all around him.

The rain was sluicing down now and he knew he’d have to abandon this mess till morning.

He clambered up the bank towards her. ‘What in heaven’s name were you doing in the middle of the road?

’ he barked, raking a hand through his sodden hair, peeling it away from his eyes. ‘You could have got yourself killed.’

Her startled gaze met his. ‘I was just crossing—you could have killed me,’ she retorted accusingly. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be driving so fast. Certainly not in this weather.’

He stared at her. She was soaked through to the bone, like him, and seemed to be in as much shock about what had happened.

Her skin was alabaster white under the pale light of the moon, yet despite her bedraggled appearance, her long hair plastered to her head and shoulders, he could tell she was a natural beauty.

Stunning, in fact. His body hummed in awareness.

‘Where did you come from?’ he said, shaking his head, softening his tone just a little.

‘The inn over there,’ she said, pointing towards a building just past the bend.

He looked up, surprised he hadn’t noticed it before, grateful at least to see signs of civilisation. The warm, glowing lights of the establishment beckoned him. It was hardly White’s, but if it served any kind of brandy, that would do.

‘I am employed there,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘Are you sure you’re not hurt?’ she asked him again.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing serious.’ It was his opinion of himself that had taken the hit. She had been justified to admonish him. He could have killed her—killed them both. Perhaps his father was right—maybe he was a reckless fool.

He began to detach his greys.

‘There’s room for your animals in the stables for the night—I just came from there. I was feeding the horses. I’m sorry for my part in…this,’ she said, gesturing to the broken vehicle. Then, as quickly as she had appeared, she turned to leave.

‘Wait,’ he called. But she was already making a hasty retreat.

Edward settled the horses in the stables, and when he finally walked through the door of the inn a while later, he had never been so glad to see a fire crackling in a hearth, to feel the sultry warmth seep over his skin.

The place was comfortable enough but crammed with far too much mismatched furniture for the small space.

It was bustling with patrons, but there was no sign of the mystery woman he’d encountered outside and he found himself oddly disappointed.

‘Pardon me,’ he said, approaching a portly female behind the counter. ‘Might I inquire as to whether you have a room available for the night.’

‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck, sir. We’re fully booked—for food and rooms,’ she said, scarcely glancing up at him.

His irritation spiked once more and he sighed.

He reached inside his pocket and produced seventy pounds, placing the purse down heavily on the counter.

The woman looked up at the pouch, then at him, and when she took in his face, his attire, her mouth fell open.

Her spine instantly straightened and she closed her fingers over the purse, drawing it to her.

‘I can get my maid to prepare you a chamber in the attic right away, sir, if that would suffice—perhaps she can bring up a tray of food?’

He cocked an eyebrow. It never ceased to amaze him how status and wealth changed people’s perceptions and behaviour. ‘You are most obliging. Thank you.’

‘Would you care for a drink while you wait? What was the name, sir?’

He paused, his eyes narrowing on her. Giving his real name and title might attract unwanted attention.

While he had never been able to abide secrets, knowing all too well how dangerous they were, in this instance, given his whereabouts and what had occurred outside, anonymity would protect his family’s reputation.

‘Smith,’ he said. It might be a relief to experience one night without feeling the constraints of his father’s title.

As Edward waited for his chamber to be made up, he stood and warmed himself by the fire, the feeling finally seeping back into his fingers and toes, the brandy reviving him.

But when the young woman he’d almost run down reappeared in the doorway and their gazes collided across the crowded, noisy room, he stopped breathing.

Her eyes were a deep brown, with unusual shards of amber that glittered in the candlelight.

She had changed into clean garments and her hair was beginning to dry to a golden, buttery blonde.

Her cheeks, dotted with freckles, were stained pink with a rosy glow, and when her full, sensual lips curled upwards into a shy smile, his heart came back to roaring life, thudding hard in his chest, his pulse flickering at his temple.

By God, but she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He went to move towards her but halted mid-stride when she was frustratingly accosted by another guest at the inn.

His gaze followed her as she attended to the punter’s request. She had a slender frame with an apron wrapped tightly around her tiny waist, but the flare of her hips, the gentle curve of her breasts, despite being encased in a simple grey gown, stirred something within him.

He wanted to know her.

He wanted to speak with her again.

He wanted to be the focus of all her attention.

Edward knew that he shouldn’t. He was the son of a duke and she was of a much lower standing—a serving maid. This woman, this place, represented everything his father and the ton didn’t approve of. But right now, he didn’t much care what his father thought.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, she approached him.

‘Mr Smith,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased to see you made it here in one piece. Or shall I call you Phaeton—the man who lost control of his chariot?’

He stared down into her pretty face, once again surprised.

Her plump, perfect lips twitched. How did she know the Greek tale of Helios, whose son, unsure of his heritage, attempted to prove himself—with devastating consequences?

He grimaced. How close her mockery was to the truth. ‘Are you teasing me, Miss…?’

‘Puddifoot,’ she said.

‘Puddifoot?’ he repeated, his own mouth curling upwards.

‘Beatrice Puddifoot. Though my friends call me Bea.’ His heart faltered. ‘And you deserve to be teased, Mr Smith, after your earlier actions.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Quite right, I do. I am sorry for giving you a fright out there. I trust you are recovered?’

She gave a small nod of her head.

‘I am intrigued—what do you know of Greek myths, Miss Beatrice?’ It was strange, he had only recently learnt of the tale himself while he had been in Athens. It was peculiar it should come up again now.

‘Only the bedtime stories my mother used to tell me.’ She shrugged a slim shoulder. ‘Speaking of which, your chamber is ready. Shall I show you up?’

‘By all means.’

He followed her as she ascended the narrow staircase, leading him up to the first floor and across a landing in silence.

He was strangely pleased to be alone with her—away from the raucous drinkers in the inn.

The air seemed to crackle with tension—he was so aware of her, especially the gentle sway of her bottom as she headed up a further rickety private set of steps to a room in the attic.

He tried not to focus on her intoxicating proximity—how her delicate floral scent wrapped around him in the confined space.

When they reached the top, she pushed open a door.

‘I fear it’s rather plain,’ she said, setting the candle down on a small table. ‘I daresay it’s not what you’re accustomed to, but with such little time, it’s all the landlady could offer.’