An Unwanted Bride for the Duke (Dukes of Unholy Temptation #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“It is quite dangerous, what you are doing, my lady.” Maria stood beside the bedchamber door clutching a dark wool cloak and a pair of riding gloves. The single candle burning upon the dressing table cast shadows across her face.

Seraphine took the cloak and fastened it quickly around her shoulders. “I am aware of that,” she whispered.

“Dangerous and perhaps a little mad,” Maria said.

“That as well,” Seraphine added.

Maria did not laugh. The absence of joviality only made Seraphine more aware of the pounding of her own heart. The house was quiet. Long silent corridors stretched beyond her bedchamber. Every servant had retired.

Midnight. Sneaking out of her home…former home.

The thought sent a fresh wave of irritation through her. Donmere House had belonged to her father. She had been born there. Learned to walk there. Learned to endure her father there.

Now William McConnaghy had arrived smiling and pleasant, only to inform her that she had thirty days to secure a husband or prepare herself for convent life at Westborough Abbey.

One month. Thirty days. Twenty-nine now.

The numbers haunted her, marching relentlessly through her thoughts as Maria handed her the gloves.

“You know that if you are discovered, there will be questions,” the maid whispered, watching her with open concern.

Seraphine tugged on the gloves and gave a faint shrug. “There are already questions.”

Maria folded her arms. “Yes, but these questions may involve why Lady Seraphine is creeping outside in the middle of the night.”

“I am taking my horse,” Seraphine pointed out as she pulled the second glove firmly into place. “You know that I need to do this,” she said quietly as she flexed her fingers inside her gloves. “Or I'll be living the life of a nun before the summer is out.”

Even now the words sounded absurd. A nun.

At twenty years old. Because a cheerful, balding earl had decided efficiency was preferable to compassion.

The more she thought about her cousin and his pronouncement, the more infuriated she became.

The man had threatened to banish her to an abbey while eating lemon cake.

Who did that?

Maria's expression softened. “I know.” She stepped forward and adjusted the cloak around Seraphine's shoulders. “You deserve better than Westborough Abbey.”

Unexpected emotion tightened Seraphine's throat. Most of the household staff had watched her grow up. Many had endured her father's temper alongside her. They understood exactly what the new Lord Donmere’s ultimatum meant. They knew she was running out of time.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Maria nodded and opened the servants' passage door. “Quickly.”

Together they slipped into the narrow corridor.

The old passageways threaded through Donmere House like hidden veins, allowing servants to move unseen between rooms. Tonight, they served a different purpose entirely.

Every creak of a floorboard seemed thunderous in the silence.

Every shadow appeared suspicious. Seraphine found herself listening for sounds that never came, a door opening, a footstep, or even the Earl’s voice.

Ridiculous.

The man was almost certainly asleep, yet she could not entirely dismiss the image of him emerging from the darkness in a nightcap and demanding explanations.

Not that he frightened her. Well, not exactly.

He was hardly imposing. Forty-one years old, short, pudgy, and balding.

Yet somehow, he had managed to overturn her entire future in a single afternoon. That required a certain sort of power.

They reached the rear entrance without incident. Maria eased open the door, and cool night air rushed inside.

“God be with you,” Maria whispered.

Then Seraphine slipped outside. Freedom felt remarkably similar to terror. The stables loomed ahead through the darkness. She crossed the yard as quietly as possible, grateful that the stablemaster had proven sympathetic to her situation. Her favorite mare stood saddled and waiting.

“Good girl,” Seraphine murmured, stroking the horse's neck.

The mare nudged her shoulder affectionately. At least someone remained pleased to see her. Within moments she was mounted. The estate gates stood open ahead of her, and beyond them the road disappeared into darkness. For one brief instant she hesitated.

This is reckless. Wildly reckless.

If discovered, she would be ruined. If her father were alive, she would never have dared attempt such a thing. Then again, if her father were alive, she would not be facing exile to a convent. That thought hardened her resolve.

She tightened the reins, and the mare surged forward. The night swallowed them whole. Cool wind tugged strands of dark hair loose from beneath her hood as she leaned lower over the saddle. Her brown eyes remained fixed upon the road ahead.

She knew exactly where she was going. There was only one person who might be able to help. One person with enough influence to solve a problem of this magnitude.

The Duke of Wexford.

Her best friend's brother.

The Duke was powerful, respected, and connected in ways Seraphine could scarcely comprehend.

It was nearing midnight when Damien Harrington, Duke of Wexford, sat alone in his study at Wexford Manor, reviewing estate ledgers by the light of a single lamp. Most men would have delegated such work to a steward and retired hours ago. Damien trusted very few people with his finances.

Then a sharp knock echoed, breaking the silence.

Damien frowned and leaned back in his chair. “At this hour?”

Visitors were neither expected nor welcome. He set down his pen with deliberate care and listened.

No women I entertain would dare appear at my home uninvited, as I had established that rule years ago.

Which left only a handful of possibilities worth considering. His friend Benedict, or possibly his sister Thalia.

Damien rose from his chair and moved towards the door.

“Mr. James, see who it is,” Damien instructed, folding his hands behind his back.

“At once, Your Grace,” Mr. James replied with a respectful bow before departing.

Eventually Mr. James returned, his expression unusually careful. “Your Grace,” the butler said, pausing in the doorway with evident restraint.

“Well?” Damien asked.

“It is Lady Seraphine Fairchild,” Mr. James informed him.

Damien blinked once, then twice. “Lady Seraphine?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. James confirmed with a slight inclination of his head.

Of all the names Damien expected to hear, hers had not been amongst them. Not even remotely.

“What the devil is she doing here?” Damien muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. Mr. James wisely did not answer.

Damien straightened his coat. He instructed, “Take her to the parlor.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Mr. James replied.

Several moments later Damien entered the parlor Lady Seraphine stood beside the fireplace wrapped in a dark cloak, her posture flawless despite the unusual circumstances.

The moment she saw him, she dipped into a curtsy.

Prim, proper, and composed, she looked as though arriving alone at a duke's house near midnight were perfectly ordinary.

Damien fixed her with a dark look. “Are you trying to get me into scandal or into an early grave?” he asked coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She straightened immediately and met his gaze without flinching. Neither apologetic nor intimidated, she appeared remarkably calm.

Interesting.

He narrowed his gaze and continued to study her. He noticed her brown eyes and freckles across her cheeks.

“I apologize for the hour,” she said, clasping her hands neatly before her.

“You should apologize for the entire situation,” Damien replied, arching an eyebrow as he approached the fireplace.

A faint flush appeared on her cheeks, though she otherwise remained composed.

“I had little choice,” she answered, lifting her chin slightly.

Damien folded his arms more tightly across his chest. “That remains to be seen,” he said dryly, watching her carefully.

“What are you doing here Lady Seraphine?” he asked.

To his surprise, she immediately launched into a summary of events from two years earlier.

“I was the one who uncovered my father's schemes and exposed his plans. I protected your sister, Thalia when matters had become dangerous,” she said.

She reminded him how she had quietly helped save his family from disaster. Damien listened patiently, though he already knew every detail she recounted.

When she finally finished, he raised an eyebrow and regarded her steadily. “I am aware of all this,” he said, gesturing lightly with one hand.

She hesitated for a brief moment before continuing. “Then you know I helped,” she said, searching his face for a reaction.

“I do,” Damien replied with a short nod.

“And yet you appear unimpressed,” she observed, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Because I fail to understand what any of this has to do with me tonight,” he answered, his tone remaining cool. Her shoulders straightened immediately.

Determination flashed across her face. She looked absurdly young and impossibly stubborn all at once.

“I require a favor,” she announced, clasping her hands more tightly together.

Of course she does.

Damien nearly laughed aloud at the predictability of it. “A favor,” he repeated, studying her expression.

“An eye for an eye,” Seraphine said firmly, refusing to look away. His amusement deepened at once. The audacity of her request was remarkable even by his standards.

“You arrive at my house after midnight, alone, and demand repayment?” he asked, taking a slow step closer.

“I politely requested repayment,” she corrected, lifting her chin.

“Sweetheart, there is nothing polite about this situation,” Damien replied with a faint smirk.

He crossed the room slowly, unable to resist testing her composure.

Something about her fascinated him more than it should have.

Most ladies would have been nervous standing alone with him at this hour.

But Lady Seraphine stood upright with flawless posture and impeccable manners.

Her self-control seemed almost unnatural.

It made him want to test that, which was a tempting thought indeed.

He stopped directly before her, leaving little space between them.

Close enough to notice the freckles scattered across her cheeks.

Close enough to see her pulse flutter delicately at her throat.

His fingers rose without permission and he tilted her chin upward.

A sharp breath escaped her lips at the contact. The sound stirred something within him.

Good God.

Damien fought to keep his expression neutral despite the sudden rush of temptation.

A reckless part of him imagined simply throwing her over his shoulder and returning her home himself.

The image was absurd and strangely amusing.

Another, far more wanton thought followed immediately after.

He could pull her into his arms and watch that flawless composure crumble.

The desire arrived with alarming force, but Damien crushed it immediately. He would never be that careless with a lady's reputation. Never risk her future for his own amusement.

Seraphine lowered her gaze, apparently finding the carpet fascinating. She muttered something he could not quite hear. His thumb brushed lightly against her jaw before he spoke.

“Look at me when you ask for my help, sweetheart,” Damien said softly, tightening his hold just enough to keep her attention.

Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. Brown met green, and for one suspended moment neither of them moved. The room seemed strangely quiet around them.

Then she drew a steady breath and gathered her courage. “I need you to marry me, Your Grace.”