From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read

A flare of outrage blossomed, that his friends would actually bet on him. But he should expect no less from two rich, idle men.

“Take your hundred pounds and damn the both of you,” Alex muttered.

Ellingsworth raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, then lowered them. He peered closely at Alex. “There are no scratches on your face.”

“What of it?” Alex demanded.

“She must have enjoyed the kiss.”

“Was that another bet?”

Ellingsworth didn’t bother looking affronted. “For a man who kissed a beautiful woman, and she took pleasure in it, you’re terrifically choleric.”

“She did enjoy it.” He’d felt the way she’d opened for him, the tight press of her body against his, her frantic breath. He’d seen her passion-glazed eyes and swollen lips.

He struggled to push those images away. “But it matters not, because I can’t have her.”

His friend straightened. “Whyever not? You’re a duke—the Prime Minister hangs on your word. Dozens of noblemen will leap like jackrabbits to obey your command. Anything you want is yours.”

“That’s why I can’t have Mrs. Blair.” Alex tested the water coming off the horse again and was satisfied to find it cool. He wanted to dump the rest of the bucket over his own head—or maybe throw it at Ellingsworth.

Instead, he grabbed some drying cloths from a peg and wiped down the animal. “A genteel widow with nothing to her name. No possessions. No family. She’s at the mercy of the world.” His jaw tightened. “All the power belongs to me. I could ruin her with my attention.”

“What if,” Ellingsworth posited, “your attention was more honorable. Take her as your mistress.”

Alex straightened. His hands clenched into fists. “What?”

Ellingsworth appeared to warm to the idea. “You can remain lovers. Have new kisses of unequaled magnificence—and more. And you’d keep her generously supported. A house of her own, jewels, servants, a carriage. Women love carriages,” he added confidingly. “More than jewels.”

It took every measure of Alex’s control to keep from punching his friend. “How the hell can you suggest that?”

Ellingsworth held out his hands as if even discussing the topic was ridiculous. “Lady Emmeline is an earl’s daughter. Who is Mrs. Blair’s father?”

Alex struggled to recall, but his mind came up with nothing but haze. “Can’t remember. Some landed gentleman who must have been the son of a baronet. I’m not certain.”

“Exactly my point,” his friend said, aiming his finger at Alex. “She was working in a gaming hell, for the love of Christ. It’s not as though she has outstanding prospects. Becoming your mistress would be an advancement for her.”

Alex tossed down the cloth he held and strode over to Ellingsworth. He gripped his friend’s neckcloth in a vise and gave him a shake.

“Don’t ever insult Mrs. Blair again,” Alex said through gritted teeth.

Ellingsworth’s eyes were round with shock. “It’s not an insult,” he managed to gasp. “It’s realism.”

“She’d never sell herself that way.”

His friend struggled to pry Alex’s fingers from the silk around his neck. “Have a care. My valet will pillory me if I return to him with a destroyed neckcloth.”

Alex released Ellingsworth with a shove. The younger man stumbled back before regaining his balance.

“Women have few ways of making their way in this awful world,” Ellingsworth said, trying to smooth out the mass of wrinkles at his throat. “We don’t let them use their brains, so the only resource they have is their bodies. It’s a bloody shame, but it’s the way of things.”

“There are other ways to help her besides paying for her bed,” Alex muttered.

“Like what?” Ellingsworth pressed. “The only other option you have is marriage, and that’s an utter impossibility.”

The word itself—marriage—struck Alex like cannon fire hitting a fortification. He steadied himself.

It was absurd. Impossible, as Ellingsworth said.

But was it . . . ?

Ellingsworth stared at him. “You can’t possibly be thinking of taking Mrs. Blair as your wife.”

Almost at once, Alex wanted to deny it. Yet the thought kept returning to him again and again like a bee revisiting a flower. What if he did marry Cassandra? She would have his protection, his true protection. She would be elevated in the eyes of Society and never want for anything again. No more work as a lady’s companion, no more smoke-filled gaming hells. They would fall asleep together at night and rise together in the morning. And they would never have to be apart. They could be seen in public without scandal.

She could give him children. Perhaps even love. Alex and Cassandra would live out their lives, side by side.

He felt something strange and shining unfolding within him. Happiness. Genuine joy.

Hell, he thought. I’ve gone wild.

Ellingsworth gaped at him. “If you want to permanently tie your name to someone, her breeding has to be impeccable. Society expects nothing less.” He shook his head. “Precisely the reason why I won’t be taking a wife. I’m a third son. Nobody cares who I marry, no family name relies on me.”

“But you can dole out advice to me like a costermonger selling me a pear,” Alex answered drily. “You can’t even keep a mistress for more than a few months without losing interest in her.”

His friend dismissed the idea with a sniff. “That signifies nothing. You, my dearest Greyland, are a different kettle of sheep.”

“Don’t you mean kettle of fish? Or sheep of a different fold?”

Ellingsworth shooed the thought aside. “What matters is that you’re in a very different position from me. From the rest of the country. You’re a pillar of England, et cetera. You have obligations.”

Alex’s anger renewed itself in an acidic wave. “Why shouldn’t I marry someone I have feelings for, regardless of who her father is? She has feelings for me.” He drew himself up, heedless of the towels in his hand. “I’m a bloody duke. I can do whatever the hell I please.”

Color drained from Ellingsworth’s face. “So you’re actually thinking of marrying the widow from Cheltenham.” He sputtered. “She brings nothing to the table. No alliances, no money. Nothing.”

“She brings herself,” Alex angrily corrected.

Everything within him blazed to life. The thought was absurd, preposterous. And yet marrying Cassandra felt right. They cared about each other. They had mutual desire and passion. And she was from a good family, even if they weren’t listed in the Domesday Book. He’d have a greater chance of happiness with Cassandra than Lady Emmeline. And he would make it his life’s work to ensure Cassandra was very, very happy.

There was a prospect of love. He had to seize that possibility while he could, for it might never come his way again.

To hell with what his father had decreed. The late duke couldn’t rule Alex from beyond the grave. This was Alex’s life.

“All my years,” he ground out, “I’ve played by the rules. Done exactly what was expected of me. Acted the dutiful heir, listening to everything my father told me. What did I get for my troubles? Jilted by Lady Emmeline. But this time . . . this time, I’m going to go after what I desire.”

“I . . . I . . .” Ellingsworth blinked. He fell silent. Then, “If this is what you truly want—”

“It is.” He’d never felt more certain of anything.