A Virgin for the Sinful Duke (Dukes of Surrender #3)

Chapter 1

“You cannot possibly mean Pompeii.” Lord Wilfrey’s brows lifted as the waltz carried them past a cluster of matrons fanning themselves near the pillars.

His hand at Lily’s waist was steady and correct, his steps precise, and his posture was a rigid perfection that suggested he had learned to dance from a manual rather than from a partner.

“I mean Pompeii entirely.” Lily tilted her chin up to hold his gaze. “My aunt and I spent three days there. The frescoes alone were worth the journey, but the amphitheater at dusk, when the light comes through the archways and turns everything to gold…”

She caught herself. She was doing it again. Talking too much, too fast, with too much enthusiasm for a ballroom where ladies were meant to float and murmur, not gesture with their free hand as if conducting a lecture.

But Lord Wilfrey did not seem put off. His expression remained attentive, even curious, and he guided her through the next turn with the unhurried confidence of a man who never rushed anything.

“I have read extensively about the excavations,” he said. “Particularly the botanical specimens preserved in the ash. There is a paper by Sir William Hamilton that describes the root systems in remarkable detail.”

Root systems.

Lily fought a smile. Any other man in this ballroom would have steered the conversation toward the scandalous frescoes or, worse, toward the weather. Lord Wilfrey wanted to discuss root systems, and she found that oddly refreshing.

“Have you been there yourself?” she asked.

“Not yet. I have a planned expedition to the Mediterranean next spring. Naples, then south along the coast.” He paused, and something shifted behind his careful composure. “I find that the places one reads about rarely compares to seeing them in person.”

“On that, we are in complete agreement.”

The violins swelled into the final phrase of the waltz, and Lily allowed herself a small, private satisfaction.

This was the longest she had danced with any gentleman this Season without being asked about her sister’s marriage, her brother-in-law’s fortune, or whether she intended to follow Sophia’s example and secure a Duke of her own.

Wilfrey had asked about none of those things. He had asked about Pompeii.

The music stopped.

Not the graceful resolution of a final chord, but a jagged halt, as if someone had seized the conductor’s arm mid-stroke. The last note hung in the air, unfinished, and then silence dropped over the ballroom like a curtain.

Lily’s hand tightened on Lord Wilfrey’s shoulder. Around them, couples slowed and separated, their faces turning toward one another in confusion. A murmur rose from the edges of the room, low at first, then building. Lily caught fragments. A name. Her name.

“…Lady Lily…”

“…can you imagine…”

“…right here at the Fenwick ball…”

The whispers moved through the crowd like wind through tall grass, and everywhere they reached, heads turned.

Toward her.

Lord Wilfrey’s arm shifted beneath her hand. He stepped to the side, guiding her off the dance floor with the same measured calm he brought to everything, but his jaw had tightened, and his gaze swept the room in quick assessment.

“Something has happened,” he said.

Lily opened her mouth to respond, but the words died on her tongue.

She could see it now. Dozens of guests clutching sheets of paper, their eyes darting between the printed words and Lily’s face with an avidity that made her skin crawl.

A woman near the refreshment table held one up to her companion and pointed.

Two gentlemen by the terrace doors exchanged a look that was equal parts shock and delighted scandal.

A hand closed around her elbow.

“Sophia?” Lily asked gently as she turned to see who had grabbed ahold of her.

Her sister’s face was pale; her lips pressed into a thin line that Lily recognized.

It was the expression Sophia wore when she was frightened but refused to show it.

Edward, Sophia’s husband, the Duke of Heatherwell, stood behind her.

With one hand resting on the small of Sophia’s back, his dark eyes fixed on the crowd with an intensity that bordered on menace.

Their parents materialized a moment later. Lady Brimsey clutched Lord Brimsey’s arm, her cheeks flushed, her gaze darting. Lord Brimsey’s expression was measured, but the muscle in his jaw worked steadily, betraying the calm he fought to project.

“Lily.” Sophia’s grip on her elbow tightened. “We need to speak with you. Now.”

Lily glanced back at Lord Wilfrey. A gentleman she did not recognize had pressed one of the papers into his hand and was scanning Lily from head to hem with an expression that made her feel as if she had been stripped bare in the middle of the dance floor.

Wilfrey unfolded the paper. His eyes moved across the words.

The change was immediate. The softness that had come over his features during their waltz vanished. His mouth flattened. He folded the paper with precise, deliberate movements and tucked it under his arm.

“If you will excuse me, Lady Lily.” He said coldly. “I believe I am expected elsewhere.”

He bowed, turned on his heel, and walked away without looking back.

Lily stared after him. Something cold settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Lily.” Sophia tugged her arm. “Come with me. Please.”

They moved through the crowd, and the throng parted for them, though not out of courtesy.

The guests stepped aside the way one might clear a path for a carriage accident, eager to watch the wreckage pass.

Lily kept her chin level and her shoulders straight and pretended she could not feel every pair of eyes in the room boring into her back.

Sophia led them through a side corridor and into a small parlor that smelled of beeswax and old flowers. Edward closed the door behind them and positioned himself beside it, arms crossed, a sentry against whatever was coming.

Lady Brimsey sank into the nearest chair. Lord Brimsey remained standing, his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Sophia reached into the folds of her skirt and produced one of the papers. She held it out to Lily.

“Someone has impersonated Lady Fairhart.”

Lily took the paper. The print was bold, the ink slightly smudged, and the layout mimicked the familiar gossip sheet she had seen on her sister’s writing desk a hundred times.

But the paper stock was cheaper, the font slightly off, and the masthead, though it bore Lady Fairhart’s name in flourishing script, lacked the small rosette that Sophia’s publisher always stamped beneath the title.

Her eyes found the relevant passage.

It is this author’s delight to confirm what the sharp-eyed among us have long suspected. Lady L. R., youngest daughter of the Earl of B., has been observed in clandestine meetings with none other than the Duke of T., the most notorious of London’s rakes.

One can only wonder what business a young lady of good breeding might conduct under cover of darkness with a gentleman whose reputation precedes him into every bedchamber in Mayfair.

Lady Fairhart declares them a match. The ton would do well to prepare its congratulations.

Lily read it twice. The words refused to arrange themselves into anything that made sense.

“The Duke of Thornwaite.” She looked up. “Edward’s friend? The one who flirts with anything in a skirt and thinks it constitutes a personality?”

Edward’s mouth twitched despite the gravity of the situation.

“Hugo Beaumont, yes.” Sophia’s voice was careful. “Someone has published this under my pen name, and they have connected you to him.”

“But I have barely spoken to the man.” Lily held up the paper as if the force of her bewilderment might rearrange the print. “We have exchanged perhaps a dozen words in two years, and half of those were him asking me to pass the salt at your dinner table.”

Lady Brimsey rose from her chair. “Lily, darling, you must tell us if there is something you have not shared previously. If you have been meeting with the Duke in any capacity, we need to know now, before this announcement spreads further.”

The question landed like a slap.

“You think I have been sneaking out at night to meet a man I barely know?” Lily’s voice sharpened before she could rein it in.

“You think I would lie to you? To all of you? After everything this family has been through, after everything Sophia and Edward did to pull us out of debt and disgrace, you think I would risk it all for a man whose greatest accomplishment is bedding half the widows in London?”

“Lily.” Lord Brimsey’s tone was gentle but firm. “Your mother is frightened. She is not accusing you.”

Lady Brimsey’s eyes glistened. Lily’s chest ached with the immediate, fierce guilt of having raised her voice at the woman who had never been anything but loving, even in the worst of their years.

“I am sorry, Mama.” She softened her grip on the paper. “But I have done nothing wrong. I swear it.”

Sophia stepped forward and took the paper from Lily’s hands.

“We know you haven’t. This is not about what you did.

This is about what someone wants people to believe.

” She turned the sheet over, examining the back.

“The paper is wrong. The font is wrong. Whoever printed this did not use Mr. Colborne’s press.

We need to speak with him and find out who did. ”

“Someone is using your name.” Lily looked at her sister. “Someone is hiding behind Lady Fairhart to destroy my reputation, and I want to know who.”

Edward shifted by the door. “We will find out. But first, we need to leave.”

“He is right.” Lord Brimsey squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We should return home tonight. If the Duke has any honor, he will address this situation himself.”

“This is not about the Duke.” Lily’s frustration pushed the words out faster than she intended. “This is about someone forging my sister’s pen name. Whatever rumors they have attached to it are secondary.”

Sophia’s expression softened. A small, tired smile crossed her lips. “Thank you for that, sister. Truly. But the priority tonight is you. If this reaches beyond this ballroom, and I suspect it already has, your reputation could suffer in ways that will be difficult to counteract.”

Lord Brimsey nodded. “The Duke is a friend to Edward, yes, but his reputation is that of a rakehell. Any association with him, even a fabricated one, could do real damage.”

A knock at the parlor door interrupted them. Edward opened it to reveal Lord Harold Fenwick, their host, his round face arranged into an expression of practiced sympathy that did not quite reach his eyes.

“Your Grace. Lord and Lady Brimsey.” He clasped his hands before him.

“I do hope you will forgive the intrusion. I simply wished to inquire whether your family requires anything before the evening continues.” He paused, and the sympathy curdled into something more pointed.

“I fear that your presence has generated rather a great deal of… conversation among my guests, and I would hate for the evening to become uncomfortable for anyone.”

Lily recognized the maneuver. She had watched men like Fenwick her entire life. The polite dismissal dressed in the language of concern. The door was being held open with a smile and an apology.

“Are you asking us to leave, my lord?”

“Lily.” Sophia caught her wrist.

“I am merely suggesting,” Fenwick said, his smile tightening, “that a discreet departure might serve everyone’s interests.”

“Our interests, or yours?”

“Lily.” Lord Brimsey stepped forward, his diplomat’s instincts overtaking his anger. “My lord, we appreciate your hospitality this evening. You are right that a departure would be best for all parties. We thank you for your consideration.”

Fenwick bowed, clearly relieved, and withdrew.

Lily’s hands trembled at her sides from the sheer, scorching injustice of being escorted from a ballroom for something she had not done.

They collected their wraps in silence and made their way to the front steps, where the Brimsey carriage waited. Lord Fenwick had called for it specifically. Edward’s had not yet been brought round.

The night air was cool against Lily’s flushed cheeks, and she breathed it in, willing the anger to settle into something she could use rather than something that used her.

“Someone forged Lady Fairhart’s name.” Lily turned to Sophia. “That is the crime here. Not whatever nonsense they printed about me and the Duke of Thornwaite.”

Sophia pressed her hand. “I know. And I will speak with Mr. Colborne first thing tomorrow. But tonight, let us go home and think clearly.”

Lord Brimsey helped Lady Brimsey into the carriage. Lily watched them settle into their seats, her mother already dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, her father murmuring reassurances.

Lily gripped the carriage door.

“Sophia, take Mama and Papa home. I will follow shortly.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Lily, what are you…”

“I am going to Thornwaite House.”

“Alone? At this hour?”

“I will go with her.” Edward stepped forward. “Hugo is my closest friend. If anyone is going to knock on his door at midnight, it should be someone he will actually open it for.”

Sophia looked between them. “Edward…”

“I will wait in the carriage. Lily can handle the Duke herself. But she should not be crossing London unescorted.”

Sophia pressed Lily’s hand once, then climbed into the Brimsey carriage beside her parents. The door closed. The driver clicked his tongue, and the horses lurched forward.

Lily and Edward walked to the end of the street, where a line of hackneys waited for fares. They climbed into the first one, and Lily settled against the worn leather seat.

“Thornwaite House,” she told the driver. “Quickly, please.”

The hackney pulled into the street, and the ballroom, the whispers, the pitying looks, and the smudged paper with its poisonous little words all fell away behind her.

Ahead of her lay the townhouse of a man she barely knew, a man whose name had just been shackled to hers by a stranger’s malice.

She would get answers tonight if she had to drag them out of the Duke of Thornwaite herself.