The Duke’s Unlikely Temptation (The Dashworth Brothers #4)

Chapter One

It was early, very early. Dawn was creeping over the horizon and most of London was still asleep, or at least those who enjoyed all an evening in London had to offer were.

Those who had to work for a living were no doubt up and going about their duties, but none of them were currently walking through Hyde Park.

Birds chattered to one another in the trees lining the wide path that followed the Serpentine, while swans glided effortlessly through the water, leaving clear wakes in their paths.

Tobias Dashworth, Duke of Glanmore, strode along, allowing the warmth of the early morning sun to soothe his aching muscles.

The day may only just have been starting for most, but he had already done hours of work, poring over the pile of paperwork on his desk that never seemed to get any smaller no matter how much of it he read or how many letters and reports he wrote in response.

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tightest spot, but no amount of pressure against his skin ever truly relieved the throb.

People thought that dukes could do as they pleased, whenever they liked, but they were wrong.

There were many things Tobias could not do.

He could not do anything that might produce even a hint of a scandal.

No, it was more than that; he could never behave with anything other than absolute dignity.

The strictures on his life were such that even his appearance was under constant scrutiny: his clothes must be fashionable, cut to perfection and worn impeccably at all times.

He dropped his hand, startling a fox, who bounded out of sight.

To complain about his life and its restrictions was to make a mockery of the wealth surrounding him.

If any of his family knew the directions of his thoughts, they would soundly scold him.

Or rather, they would think poorly of him and discuss it behind his back.

No one dared to say anything against him to his face.

Whether that was because of his title or his personality, he wasn’t sure.

He hoped the former, but suspected the latter.

He paused at the edge of the water. It was a beautiful, inviting blue.

As a child he had swum in the lake at Glanmore Park almost daily during the summer.

He had few happy memories from childhood but those were amongst them.

Sebastian, his brother closest to him in age, had often been with him, challenging him to races or fights or anything to keep them endlessly amused.

Tobias hadn’t been in the water since Sebastian had died, probably not since his brother had taken himself off to America; he couldn’t pinpoint the exact date.

He missed it. The way the water held his body, the quietude that existed beneath the surface and the power of slicing through the water at speed.

When he was swimming, he wasn’t the boy with all the heavy weight of expectation on him, nor was he the duke whose whole family depended on him making the right decisions. It was just him and the silence.

He ached with the desire to abandon propriety and get in, to let the water run over his skin and take away his troubles. His fingers twitched against his thighs as if they were going to move without conscious decision and divest him of his clothing. But he couldn’t, could he?

Getting into the Serpentine was one of the vast number of things a duke did not do.

Not without being whispered about in dark corners of a ballroom and giggles following his every move.

He already loathed the attention his title brought him in social settings.

People tried to ingratiate themselves with him, either because they desired his financial aid in some way, or they wanted to become a duchess or for one of their relatives to become a duchess.

Whatever the reason, they talked to him, endlessly. He hated that.

Not only did he avoid drawing attention to himself wherever possible, he also never wanted to be the cause of embarrassment for Sebastian’s daughter – his ward Charlotte – or any of his other nieces or nephews who were springing into existence with alarming frequency.

He glanced over his shoulder. A squirrel froze at his movement, before scurrying up a nearby tree.

There was not another soul in sight. He could be in and out of the water within minutes.

No one would be any the wiser. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled off his hat, boots and stockings then rolled his pantaloons to his knees.

He meant only to dip his toes into the water, but as it washed over his feet, his neck relaxed and, for the first time in months, years possibly, the ache faded away.

Another few steps and the lake reached his ankles.

He looked back at the path. There was still no one around; this could be his last chance to take a moment for himself for weeks.

He strode further in towards the middle, until the water was lapping at his knees.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the emerging sun.

This was bliss. Perhaps he should head out to Glanmore Park for a few days this summer and spend some time away from his family, just being by himself and enjoying the peace.

He could swim every day, forget his worries and the pressure of his daily life.

Even as he thought it, he knew it would not happen.

He had too many responsibilities, too many people relying on him to take any time for himself.

‘Sir,’ someone called from the riverbank. It was a woman’s voice with an accent that did not sound local. ‘Did you lose something?’

Talking was hard for Tobias. The words were always there but sometimes they wouldn’t come out.

This time in the morning was his. Normally, he did not lose control of his mind and wade in water, but he was always alone.

It was the one time of the day when nobody wanted anything from him.

This voice was unwelcome and intrusive. Perhaps if he kept his back to the person, they would not know who he was, would assume that he was some member of the Ton who was still in his cups from enjoying himself too much the night before and go away.

No one would ever know that the Duke of Glanmore had abandoned all sense and propriety, and walked into the Serpentine, pantaloons rolled up to his knees.

‘Sir,’ the voice said again. ‘Are you quite well?’

He held up a hand, twisting his palm so that it was facing the woman, indicating that he could hear her and that he was fine.

Silence greeted his gesture and he hoped that meant she had walked away, leaving him to his blessed moment of peace and quiet.

The voice did not come again at any rate.

On the far side of the lake, opposite him, two ducks got into a furious quarrel, reminding him of his two youngest brothers, Edward and Christopher.

He watched as the ducks flapped their wings at one another, amused by his own analogy.

So embroiled was he with their continued fracas, that, when a hand landed on his arm, he yelled in shock and, stumbling backwards, lost his footing on the slippery riverbed.

For long seconds, he tried to remain upright, his arms windmilling wildly in the air, before he plunged unceremoniously under the surface of the lake.

Icy water enveloped him, covering his skin in a thousand tiny pinpricks.

He tried to right himself, but whatever had caused him to slip was still beneath his feet and he floundered, water filling his mouth.

A hand closed around his sleeve, but whether his assailant was trying to help him or drown him, it was hard to say; their grip had no impact on him in any way.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he managed to get his feet underneath him and push himself upright.

Water gushed from his clothes, and ran in rivulets down his face from hair that clung to his forehead.

He rubbed his eyes, which stung from being open when he’d landed in the river.

When everything came back into focus, he found a short woman in front of him, dark-blonde hair peeking out from under a white bonnet, her lips parted, as if she had been in the middle of saying something and had come to a stop halfway through a word.

Impossibly blue eyes blinked up at him, deceptively innocent-looking for a would-be attacker.

Most of the time, the words in his head failed him, but not at this moment. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Rescuing you,’ came the absurd response, in that accent he still couldn’t quite pinpoint.

‘How is this saving me?’ He lifted his arm, giving it a little shake to show how he was able to move it without her assistance, even though her hand still clung ineffectively to it. ‘All you have done is try and frighten me to death and then cause me to fall into the river.’

‘Ah yes.’ She glanced at his chest where his wet shirt clung to his body like a second skin. ‘But I thought you were in trouble when I entered the water, so my bravery has to count for something.’

‘On what scale?’

‘I beg your pardon.’ Her left eyelashes were spiky where the water had splashed her, presumably from when he had been struggling under the river’s surface; the realisation did little to soothe his irritation.

‘How are we measuring your bravery and, more importantly, to what end?’

She straightened, pulling herself up to her full height, which was not very tall at all. ‘It is of some consequence to me.’

‘Right, well…’

‘Quite.’ She tilted her head up to look him straight in the eye.

Not many people did that. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he was a duke or because he did not speak much and people found that disconcerting.

It was refreshing and he might have enjoyed it more but for the water swirling around his thighs.

There was no way he would get away with the fact that he had been doing something out of the ordinary this morning, and he would have to hurry if he wanted to get back to Glanmore House without anyone catching sight of him in such disarray.

But first he wanted to know what the deuce this woman thought she was doing, creeping up on strange men in the middle of Hyde Park.

He could be a bounder about to take liberties with her; she had no thought for her own safety.

Glancing over the embankment, he saw that a maid stood staring at both of them with horror on her face. At least one of them understood the direness of the situation. One word from him about this foolish woman’s scrape to anyone and she would be ruined.

‘You were not moving,’ she said. ‘I thought you were in trouble.’

‘I held up my hand.’

‘Oh, well, then. If you held up your hand…’ She rolled her eyes heavenwards and he jerked backwards. No one treated him with such open contempt. Not even his brothers.

‘I do not appreciate your sarcasm.’

She scoffed and dropped her hold on his sleeve. ‘I see that you are fine and I shall retreat. I do apologise for the imposition my company has had on your fine person.’

Then, as if she hadn’t tried to drown him, confound him and insult him with her sarcasm, she added fuel to the fire by turning away from him and making her way back to the bank without so much as a by-your-leave.

For a second, he could only stare at her retreating form, but then something brushed his ankle and he decided he’d had enough of being in the Serpentine.

Wading after her, he heard her muttering beneath her breath.

He wasn’t close enough to hear every word, but the words men and foolish beyond redemption were crystal clear.

They were a bit rich coming from her, but he was a gentleman and so he would not point out that she was in the wrong.

Climbing out of the river was harder than getting in as his clothes now weighed a great deal more.

He glared at the back of the woman, who was putting on her own boots and ignoring his very existence.

Her maid caught his look and quailed. He turned away, not pleased with himself for frightening a woman who had done nothing wrong, but to whom he could not apologise because those damn words were stuck in his throat again.

He tugged down the end of his pantaloons, the material horribly uncomfortable now that it was wet, and he was just debating whether to put his stockings back on or whether to pull on his boots without them, when the woman spoke again.

‘Oh dear, you are very wet.’

He ignored that comment because she was stating the absolute obvious and also on account of the words still being stuck in his throat.

He hated it when that happened, which was most of the time.

People thought he was standoffish, which was true, but there had been moments when he would have preferred to talk and it just wasn’t possible. Now was one of those times.

‘That is rather a fierce glare you have. I suspect you are used to it intimidating people.’

He felt his jaw drop open. Nobody, nobody spoke to him like this.

He was a duke, God damn it. He didn’t always enjoy the responsibility his role gave him, or the restrictions, but at least it afforded him respect.

This tiny spitfire of a woman was so angry with him, she was vibrating.

As far as she was concerned, he was not fit to lick her boots, which was grossly unfair given he was the one who had been grievously wronged.

‘You do not like that being pointed out, do you?’ More muttering under her breath. This time he caught the words Englishmen and pompous.

This woman did not seem to know who he was, which begged the question, who was she?

Everyone in London was aware of the Glanmore family.

They were descended from a long line of dukes, which, as far as everyone knew, stretched back hundreds of years.

The brothers were well-known amongst the nobility, especially him as the duke.

Women generally fell over themselves to impress him, not because they liked him, they didn’t know him, but because they wanted to be a duchess or to have access to his wealth.

They did not call him pompous under their breath after trying to drown him.

‘You are American,’ he said when he finally placed the accent.

‘Well done.’ She paused in her muttering to glare at him, hands on hips, waiting for more. When it didn’t come, she said, ‘I am sorry that I startled you so badly that you fell in the river. That was poorly done of me. I hope that you understand I had no malicious intent.’

He nodded once.

‘Good. Well, I shall bid you farewell, Mr Serpentine, and let us hope that our paths do not cross again.’