The Duke’s Absolutely Mad Marriage (The Notorious Briarwoods #3)

Chapter 1

London

1789

Heron House

“H ave a little fun. Marry me, Miss Mercy Miller,” Leander Atlas Poseidon Briarwood, the Duke of Westleigh, said merrily.

His full name, which Miss Mercy Miller had only recently learned, was quite the mouthful.

Mercy blinked, still stunned by the powerful man’s audacity, and choked out, “You are absolutely mad.”

The Duke of Westleigh’s lips curled in that enigmatic smile he had, one that she had never seen before on another individual. One that might look absolutely wild on another man’s features. But on his? He had the right combination of seduction, intelligence, and devil-may-care wit. He was so self-possessed. So confident. She was very, very near to saying yes.

But every instinct within her screamed out to not be swept up in his… Well, madness.

She cleared her throat, determined not to make any odd sounds like the choking shock from before. “That’s the second time you’ve asked me to marry you today.”

He arched a dark brow. “And that is at least the second time you’ve called me mad.”

“It is as true now as it was when we were surrounded by your family and you stated that I would do as your duchess,” she pointed out.

His dark eyes traveled over her face. His gaze was powerful, captivating, warm. It did things to her that she could not name. As a matter of fact, she had spent most of her life avoiding men because she had so much to do and could not afford to be distracted. Well, not all men, of course, because she was surrounded by politicians, soldiers, and writers. No, she meant the sort of men who wished to marry her. Frankly, she was quite convinced that marriage was a noose she could not afford to stick her neck into.

But the Duke of Westleigh was an altogether different sort of fellow. And an altogether different sort of dilemma.

She narrowed her gaze. “Your Grace, I do not appreciate being teased thus.”

Those eyes of his, those sin-colored eyes, widened and he gave a look of faux innocence. “I? Tease you, Mercy?” he protested.

“Tease,” she affirmed, stiffening at his intimacy. “Though we are about to be united as family through my brother Tobias’s marriage to your sister, you may not call me Mercy. Not yet.”

“Can I not?” he said, his voice a low, rumbling hum of temptation. “Perhaps I should beg for…Mercy.”

“Oh, dear God,” she said and rolled her eyes, though she could not ignore the warm sensation now crackling to life in her belly and slipping through her body because the duke was… Temptation in the flesh. “Do not fall into such a pit as a play on words with me.”

“But, Miss Mercy,” he returned, “what else is there in life if we do not play?”

“Play, Your Grace?”

She looked about the salon in his sprawling house along the River Thames.

It was a glorious affair. In this room alone, the ceiling was an elaborate mural of Agamemnon launching his thousand ships towards Troy. The walls were covered in vibrant, beautifully woven tapestries of Achilles and his deeds with Patroclus. And the furnishings? They were all done in rich wood with elaborate engravings embellished by gold filigree.

The entire house was like this room but with different eras of Greek history or Shakespeare. She’d been given to understand the last dukes had been obsessed with Homer, Aristotle, and William Shakespeare. They’d transformed the house from the rather dowdy late Stuart period to an ode to one genius after another.

She’d never lived or been in such a house, but she was a guest here. Her brother had come from the recently formed United States and gone to work with the duke, printing pamphlets for him on the injustices in France and here in England.

She had fled New York City, following Tobias, unable to stay there due to the attention of a rather difficult fellow, Mr. Silas Norris.

Mercy had come here to get her brother to return to New York, but it now seemed that she was being swept up by London society instead.

She should turn and go back to the United States where she at least understood things in her young country. But she didn’t wish to abandon her brother. Not yet. Even if it meant having to listen to ridiculous questions like “Will you marry me?” from a duke.

The truth was the duke didn’t really ask questions. He made statements like, “Marry me.”

It was the perfect example.

He wasn’t actually asking. He was instructing, and that rankled. Still, he was one of the most powerful men in England. She’d be an absolute fool not to consider it, but he couldn’t possibly mean it.

She was the antithesis of what any duke would want, surely.

Mercy tilted her head to the side. “I think perhaps you should go now, Your Grace. I do not entertain absurdities. And your proposal is absurd.”

“I think perhaps,” he said with a sigh, “I should convince you that I mean exactly what I say. This life, Miss Miller,” he began softly, slowly, as if it was coming from a deep well of experience, “is far too serious, and if you cannot learn to enjoy it just a bit, what is the point of all of it?”

She narrowed her gaze. “Are you suggesting that I am too serious?”

“Yes,” he said frankly.

“Then you have not known hardship,” she replied with a shrug. “I have seen war, sir, and death.”

And it was true.

She’d been driven out of New York when the English invaded, and she’d had to fly to find her brother who was fighting for the Continental Army. She had seen the ravages of war, disease, men turning against each other, and she had no time for a ridiculously handsome man who had never heard the word no. Even if he was dressed in beautiful clothes, was taller than she could ever hope, and had shoulders as broad as Atlas.

He was beautiful, there was no question, but he was not the sort of man for her, truly, and she would not be played upon.

The duke inclined his head. “I will not force you to it now, Miss Miller,” he said.

“Force,” she echoed, straightening her shoulders. “You could never do such a thing.”

“Very true,” he pointed out. “It is not legal anywhere to do such a thing,” he allowed. “But I think you would make a perfect wife for me.”

“Why in God’s name would you believe such a thing?” she asked, truly confused by him. Though she felt fairly certain most people were confused by the whole Briarwood family. They all seemed so merry, as if they danced with a touch of madness. “We have barely met each other.”

He took a step closer. His presence and his power were undeniable. Again, there was something about him that was unlike any other man she’d known. It wasn’t simply the fact that he was wealthy or that he had many great houses or that he was one of the most important men in the House of Lords.

No, it was the spirit she sensed in him. There was something wild, something uncaught, untamed, and there was a light in his gaze which danced and taunted and teased as if perhaps he had actually stared into the abyss, seen the madness there, and barely retreated.

Was that possible?

“Listen, Miss Miller,” he urged. Then he took a step forward and quite boldly took her hand into his strong grasp.

She nearly yanked her hand back. It was such an astonishing thing to do. Was this what people did in London? Perhaps that was what they did. Perhaps he thought he could take whatever he wanted. And, dear Lord, as his hand wrapped about hers and the warmth of his skin warmed her own, she rather wished that he would.

He tilted his head down and to the side, and his jet-black hair teased at his temples. “Marry me, Miss Miller, and we shall have a grand time together.”

She could scarcely breathe at his nearness. His scent of mint and some herb she did not know wafted towards her, stealing her wits.

“How do you know I won’t make your life absolutely dreadful?” she returned, tilting her own head back. She was still stunned by the fact that she was now mere inches from such a massive man. A powerful man.

“I think we should chance it.”

She swallowed as his boots skimmed the hem of her simple skirts. “Why, in God’s name, would you take a chance on such a thing?”

“Because that is the only way to have a great reward,” he said. “To take a great risk. And I think you are a great risk, Mercy. Far better, though, than any of the sureties that I know.”

She let out a laugh. “You mean all the ladies of the ton, is that it?”

He nodded. “None of them are for me, Miss Miller. You? You, on the other hand, you know how to handle the unexpected. As you said, you’ve seen war, death, and disease. You are not looking to be pranced about at balls. You do not care for fripperies. Or the shallow nature of life. Though it has not been long, I have witnessed how deep you are since you arrived. You do not care about the petty things of this life.”

“No, I do not,” she replied. “But that’s not something which makes me wish to marry you, you know. You’ve just equated yourself to war, death, and disease.”

He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “I suppose I just did,” he said. “But the truth is I’m not… Well, I’m not a typical fellow, and I need a wife who’s not typical too. So I think you should consider it. I think you should say yes,” he said.

“I don’t want anything to do with this silliness,” she said, licking her lips.

“Silliness, Mercy,” he rumbled, “is the only reason we should be alive. For if we grow too serious, we might as well dig a hole in the earth, put our feet in, and lie down, don’t you think?”

Her jaw dropped. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered.

His gaze trailed over her face. “All we have is right now, Miss Miller. This moment. I’m not guaranteed anything. I could walk out into the hall and drop dead.”

She blinked. Why would he say such a thing? And yet, she found his passion and sincerity appealing. Even if she still could not believe he had asked her to be his wife.

He leaned towards her. “I enjoy every moment that I have. I’m realistic about every moment that I have. And you…” He lifted his hand to her jaw and traced his fingers along it. “You are exactly what I want in this moment.”

To her own shock, it took all her will not to sway towards him. “And in the next moment, Your Grace?” she whispered.

“I’m not going to think about the next moment,” he said.

“What about years from now?” she insisted. “Marriage is a very serious affair.”

He let out another low rumble of a laugh. “If you think that’s so, you know nothing about marriage. I’d like to show you…just how delicious life can be. How fun. How happy.”

And with that, he stole her lips in a kiss.

For a moment, she could not think. Dear heaven. He was… Well, heaven.

His lips whispered over hers in a seductive caress. Giving. Giving her pleasure. His hands moved to her back, and he slowly dragged her against his hard form.

And his kiss? Oh, his kiss! It crackled through her. The way his lips caused hers to part, to yield to pleasure, to revel in sensations as his tongue teased into her mouth.

He knew how to get exactly what he wanted. How her body longed to yield! But then… Then her mind began to whir.

And she lifted her foot and brought it down atop his boot.