Taken By the Rakish Duke (Wicked Virgins #2)

Chapter 1

“You must not look as though you are being conveyed to your own execution,” Arabella said lightly, adjusting her bonnet ribbons. “It is merely an interview at Mulford Manor, not a trial by fire.”

Twenty-six-year-old Charlotte Brown let out a small breath, her lips curving despite herself. The carriage rolled steadily along the road toward the outskirts of London. It was not trial by fire, but her entire family’s fortunes rested on this day.

“I assure you, I am not afraid,” she replied, though her tone held a trace of honesty that betrayed her nerves. “Only… mindful of the importance of the occasion.” She hesitated, then added with sincerity, “I cannot thank you enough for arranging this, Arabella.”

Arabella waved a hand dismissively, though her expression softened.

“Nonsense, it was no trouble at all,” she said.

“My husband was more than happy to make inquiries, and I was delighted to assist you.” She tilted her head slightly.

“Indeed, we should be equally delighted to assist you financially as well.”

Charlotte’s posture straightened at once, her expression firm but not unkind. “Your generosity does you great credit, cousin” she said, “but I could not impose upon it further.”

She met Arabella’s gaze steadily. “I must find a means to provide for my family myself.”

“My dear Charlotte,” Arabella said gently, “it would not be an imposition, but a kindness freely given.” She smiled. “Families support one another, particularly when circumstances are… less than ideal.”

Charlotte shook her head, a faint stubbornness settling into her features. “And I should rather not become a burden, however kindly it might be offered,” she replied. “If I am capable of doing something, I must do it.”

Arabella studied her for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You have always been determined,” she said softly. “Though I sometimes wonder whether you allow yourself any rest from such determination.”

Charlotte glanced down at her hands, her voice quieter now. “Rest is a luxury I cannot afford,” she said. “Not when there is so much to be done.”

She turned her gaze toward the window, though she scarcely saw the passing landscape. There had never been a question, in her mind, of whether she would step forward when her family needed her. It had simply been understood.

While others might consider their own futures first, she always placed her sisters ahead of herself, without pausing to wonder what it might cost her.

There have always been moments, when I imagined a different life. One in which I had a partner that loved me and a household of our own.

Yet such thoughts were quickly set aside, as impractical as they were indulgent.

For all luxuries had been put away after her father passed to illness.

With four daughters and no sons, his fortune had been inherited by a cousin.

Now her sisters were all considered undesirable matches and Charlotte had stepped forward to make ends meet by taking on work here and there.

What matters is ensuring that my sisters, Joan, Irene, and Penelope have opportunities I myself can never have.

“You are very quiet,” Arabella said. “That usually signifies you are thinking something rather serious.”

Charlotte smiled. “Only that I must succeed,” she said. “Failure is not a possibility I care to entertain.”

Arabella nodded, though her eyes remained warm. “Then you shall succeed,” she said simply. “You have a way of bending circumstances to your will.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “If only that were entirely true,” she replied. “Though I shall endeavour to make it so today.”

After a moment, she added, “Tell me, what may I expect of the household? You mentioned the dowager duchess, but I understand she is not alone.”

“Indeed not,” Arabella said, settling more comfortably into her seat. “Mulford Manor is also residence to her grandsons.”

Charlotte’s interest sharpened at once.

“Her grandsons?” she repeated. “What sort of gentlemen are they?”

Arabella smiled faintly. “Lord Lionel is the younger of the two,” she said. “He is nine and twenty, unmarried, and possesses a rather austere disposition.” She paused. “He does not reside at the manor permanently, preferring his townhouse in London, though he visits frequently enough.”

“Austere?” Charlotte echoed, raising a brow. “That sounds… encouraging.”

“Oh, he is agreeable enough,” Arabella assured her. “Which may be a blessing or a trial, depending upon one’s inclination.”

“And the other?” Charlotte asked.

Arabella’s smile took on a more knowing quality. “The other is Victor Richards, the Duke of Mulford,” she said. “And he is quite a different creature entirely.”

Charlotte straightened slightly. “Different in what way?” she asked.

Arabella tilted her head. “He is said to be charming,” she began, “and is rarely without company, though not particularly close to any of it.” She continued, “From what my husband has gathered, he is a man who enjoys admiration but does not readily return it.”

Charlotte’s lips pressed together thoughtfully. “That sounds rather… tiresome,” she said.

Arabella laughed lightly. “Perhaps,” she agreed.

“He may also be somewhat arrogant, and he is known to flirt rather freely, though he remains within the bounds of gentlemanly conduct.” She added with mild curiosity, “At five and thirty years of age, one must wonder why he has not yet chosen a wife.”

Charlotte’s gaze drifted briefly, her thoughts turning inward once more. “Perhaps he has not found one who meets his expectations,” she said. Then, after a moment, she added more quietly, “I cannot help but wonder whether I shall meet them myself.”

Arabella reached across the carriage and touched her hand reassuringly. “You are not applying to be his duchess, Charlotte,” she said with a smile. “Only to serve as a companion to his grandmother.”

“Even so,” Charlotte replied, a hint of her usual wit returning, “one cannot entirely discount the influence of a duke within his own household.”

“That is true,” Arabella admitted. “But you shall likely be interviewed by the housekeeper, or perhaps another member of staff, and be done with it.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand lightly. “There is no need to imagine yourself under the scrutiny of the entire aristocracy.”

* * *

They were greeted promptly by the butler, Mr. Baxter, whose expression was as composed as his posture.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me.” His tone was courteous but efficient, as though he had guided countless visitors through these halls and found little reason to be impressed by any of them.

Inside, the manor proved no less grand, with high ceilings, polished floors, and tasteful furnishings that spoke of both wealth and restraint.

Charlotte took it in with quiet appreciation, though she was careful not to appear overly curious.

They were led into a parlour that was both elegant and inviting, and Mr. Baxter gestured for them to sit before departing without another word.

Charlotte had scarcely settled when the door opened again. “Miss Brown, if you will follow me,” Mr. Baxter said.

Charlotte rose at once, smoothing her skirts.

Arabella caught her hand briefly. “Good luck,” she said warmly.

Charlotte squeezed it in return. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves.

She followed the butler from the room, her expectations of a brief meeting with a housekeeper firmly in mind.

Instead, she was led down a corridor and brought to a set of heavy doors.

Mr. Baxter opened one and gestured her inside. “The Duke will see you now.”

The Duke?

Charlotte stepped into the study and halted just slightly at the sight before her.

The man seated behind the desk was undeniably handsome, though the term felt insufficient for such a commanding presence.

He was tall even while seated, his broad shoulders filling his coat with ease, his dark hair neatly styled, and his green eyes, though currently fixed on the paper before him, striking even at a distance.

She dropped into a proper curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said politely.

He did not rise. Instead, he made a brief, almost dismissive gesture toward the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

Charlotte blinked once, then complied, taking her seat with quiet dignity. He continued writing, utterly ignoring her presence, the scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. She folded her hands in her lap, her posture impeccable, though inwardly she bristled at the deliberate disregard.

At last, he finished, setting the pen aside before lifting his gaze to her. He smiled then, and Charlotte’s breath caught, not from admiration, but from the unsettling nature of it. The smile was not warm or welcoming; it was measured, sharp, and… dashing.

“Miss Brown,” he said. “Let us begin.”

Charlotte inclined her head. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“My grandmother’s memory,” he began, “is not what it once was.” His tone was even, controlled. “She is neither foolish nor deliberately troublesome, but her faculties have… declined.”

Charlotte listened attentively, though a quiet thought stirred within her.

How many others have sat where I am now, and dismissed the dowager as difficult or inconvenient rather than in need of care.

“She is no longer permitted to go on promenades,” he continued. “The last time she did so, she addressed the Duke of Albury as though he were her late husband.” His expression did not change, though something in his voice tightened. “Such incidents are to be avoided to preserve her dignity.”

“I understand,” Charlotte said gently. “It must be very difficult for her, and for you.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, and the faintest frown touched his brow. “I do not require your sympathy,” he said coolly. “Only your competence.”

Charlotte met his gaze without flinching. “Then you shall have it,” she replied evenly. “Though I find empathy often aids competence rather than hinders it.”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression, interest, perhaps, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “You will do your duty,” he said simply. “Nothing more is required.”

“And nothing less will be given,” Charlotte returned.

A brief silence followed, charged with something that made her heart pound.

“And what are your qualifications?” he asked.

“Well, Your Grace, I have not officially been companion to anyone before; however, I find that I am qualified to do so,” she said.

“You do?” he asked. A smirk spread across his face. “Indeed, I should like to hear how someone who has no experience, considers themselves, experienced.”

Charlotte felt her cheeks blush. There was something in the way he said, experience that made her feel vulnerable.

“I have three sisters and a very dramatic mother whom I take care of and have done so for many years. They require attention, companionship, and routine. I have implemented all those things and believe I could do so for your grandmother,” she said.

“I see,” he said as his gaze moved over her. Charlotte felt scrutinized by his eyes.

“And what of society, I assume you are well acquainted with the formalities,” he asked.

“Indeed, I am, Your Grace. I am the daughter of a Baron and was raised with all the dignities and rules required for such a station. You can rely on me to treat your grandmother in the most delicate way when it comes to those matters, here at home and out and about in society,” she said.

Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. Was this enough to persuade him of her qualifications?

At last, he leaned back slightly. “There is one more matter,” he said. “There is a room in this manor by the staircase with a carving of a lion on it; you are not to enter under any circumstances. If you are to reside here, that must be obeyed.”

“Very well. I shall not enter it.”

“Good,” he said. He rose then, his full height even more imposing. “I shall introduce you to my grandmother, for she is the true qualification you must present. If she enjoys your company, then you have passed the interview, and if she does not, well...”

Charlotte stood at once, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

As they left the study, he began to lead her through the manor, his pace unhurried. “The east wing is rarely used,” he said. “You will have no reason to go there.”

“I find it curious that you assume I am inclined to wander,” Charlotte replied lightly.

“I assume nothing,” he said. “I prevent possibilities.”

Charlotte allowed herself a small smile. “How very efficient of you.”

He glanced at her briefly, as though reassessing. “You are not easily intimidated,” he observed.

Actually, I am. I am intimidated now, but something tells me you admire strength.

“Should I be intimidated?” she asked.

“That depends,” he said. “On how highly you value this position.”

“I value it greatly,” she replied.

A corner of his mouth lifted, though it was not quite a smile. “Understood.”

They reached a sitting room at last, and he paused before opening the door. “Prepare yourself,” he said.

“For what?” Charlotte asked.

“For unpredictability,” he replied, then stepped inside.

An older woman sat by the window, her silver hair neatly arranged, her expression brightening at once upon seeing them.

“Victor,” she said warmly, then her gaze shifted to Charlotte, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh,” the dowager said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I never thought I should live to see the day.”

Charlotte blinked, exchanging a brief glance with the duke.

“I beg your pardon, grandmother?” he said carefully.

“The day you bring your betrothed to meet me,” the dowager continued, her voice trembling with emotion. “She is lovely, my dear boy.”