A Wicked Bargain for the Duke: A Hazards of Dukes Novel

My Dark Husband by Percy Wittlesford

Little did I know, when I woke up that morning, that my life was about to change.

I’d thought life couldn’t change more than it had; both my parents had died unexpectedly, and it seemed my father had made some very bad investments. I was hiding the truth, hoping some miracle in the form of an offer of marriage would occur to rescue me. I can admit I am quite pretty, and I was optimistic about my chances. While I was technically in mourning, I ensured every eligible bachelor in London had seen me walking in the park, holding a handkerchief while garbed becomingly in black. I had had many fulsome compliments, and even more appraising glances, but nothing tangible to save me.

I was on the verge of complete and utter ruin.

My Dark Husband by Percy Wittlesford

Chapter One

Ducal Duties

(to be accomplished within a year of assuming the title).

Learn the names of the upper staff.

Learn the names of the lower staff within a year and a half.

Survey the properties and assess their efficiency.

Acquire a civilian wardrobe.

No pastel colors.

Make connections in Society.

Avoid any who seem to require a set strategy for dealing with them.

Secure the dukedom with the addition of a suitable wife and subsequent heir.

Thaddeus Dutton, Duke of Hasford, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, glaring with dissatisfaction at the list he’d written.

Not that it was the list’s fault; it was his entirely. The list was proper, in correct order, and comprehensive. Disciplined.

Like him.

Boring, his cousin Ana Maria had once said in reaction to his respectable wardrobe—she would far prefer he wear fashionable pastels, for example—but he knew her opinion went beyond that at times. Particularly when he was managing her.

He felt his lips curl into a rueful smile and drew out another sheet of paper, plucking a pen from the surface of his built-entirely-for-efficiency desk. He’d ticked off all the proper items on the list; he had hopes that accomplishing #5 would invigorate both himself and his life. He put the pen to paper and began writing quickly.

A Suitable Woman Will:

Be unassuming in looks and manner.

Be pleasant to look at.

Come from a respectable family. Her relatives must be as well-bred in blood and behavior as she.

Have a general knowledge of all topics but not be too obsessed by any one of them. Her first priority should always be her husband and, eventually, their children.

Be able to immediately handle her duties as his duchess.

Running the household(s), appearing with him at Society events, and comporting herself with the utmost honor and respectability.

He took a deep breath before quickly scribbling the last item on the list.

Engage satisfactorily in sexual congress.

That was a daring line item, and one he cared deeply about, although of course there was no way to verify the candidate’s ability until after marriage.

The only surprising thing about him lately, he thought exasperatedly, was his becoming a duke in the first place, when it was discovered that his cousin Sebastian’s mother had secured the dukedom for her son through illegal means. His cousin, the former duke, was now plain Mr. de Silva, while Thaddeus had left his command in Her Majesty’s Army to take up command in Her Majesty’s Aristocracy.

Being a duke was not dissimilar to being a military officer.

There was the general ordering about of things and people; the awareness that you were the most important person in the area, unless you happened to be keeping company with royals or generals; and there was the knowledge that if you made a misstep, you could cause the loss of lives or livelihoods for thousands of people.

It was the last bit that made him snap awake at night, nearly as much as he had when navigating a tricky battle strategy.

But with a wife he would have a second-in-command, someone who would assist him with the general ordering about of things and people.

Who would be his equal in the bedroom, giving as much pleasure as she got.

He felt himself stiffen, though not just in that way, and hastily balled the paper in his fist, stuffing it into his top desk drawer, which he locked immediately. He was sitting in the library, which he used as his office. Although there were comfortable chairs and plush carpet in the room, Thaddeus only ever sat in one of the two straight-backed wooden chairs behind a solid wooden desk.

Like him.

Melmsford!

Why he raised his voice to yell when he knew his secretary was likely hovering just outside the door was beyond him.

Your Grace?

Melmsford was, if possible, even more efficient than Thaddeus. A tall, slender man with prematurely thinning hair, Melmsford’s chief attribute was his encyclopedic knowledge of anything to do with the Hasford holdings. He’d been Sebastian’s secretary, whom Thaddeus had inherited along with the rest of Sebastian’s staff.

It had been Melmsford who had helped Thaddeus navigate the first few perilous months of his taking the title, and Melmsford who even now guided him through the more delicate minutiae of his new role.

If he and Melmsford ever spoke even once about anything not pertaining to business, he might even say he was a friend. But they had not, so he could not.

He should add Converse with Melmsford about something besides business to his list.

Yes, come here. Thaddeus gestured toward the front of his desk. Sit down.

Melmsford folded his long frame into the chair as he regarded Thaddeus with the proper mixture of deference and awareness.

It is time to approach item number five, Thaddeus announced. Melmsford looked confused; of course, he hadn’t seen Thaddeus’s latest list. A wife. Melmsford’s eyes widened, but he didn’t speak. I wish to attend events where there is the greatest opportunity to meet suitable candidates.

Of course, Your Grace. Melmsford rose to gather a sheaf of papers from the small desk he used. I have several invitations in hand. He sorted through them, a frown creasing his brows together. Might I suggest the Baron Raddleston’s party? It is being thrown in honor of Mr. Percy Wittlesford, a novelist. He will be doing a reading, I believe.

Novelist, hmm? Thaddeus said with a snort. He gestured to the bookshelves behind him and on each of the walls in the library. Books that had yet to be touched by him. There’s no time for reading for pleasure, there’s too much to be done.

If I might, Your Grace, Melmsford interrupted gently, Mr. Wittlesford’s latest book is the current favorite of a certain group of young ladies, young ladies who would seem to fit your requirements. He cleared his throat. I believe the books are of a certain type?

Thaddeus frowned in confusion. A certain—oh! he exclaimed, realizing Melmsford’s usual discretion was even more discreet. At least the reading would not be boring. Or disciplined, for that matter. In that case, I will attend the Raddlestons’ party.

Excellent, Your Grace.

And if he was fortunate, he would meet a lady of excellent birth, a quiet demeanor, of a pleasing appearance, who was also sexually adventurous.

And while he was at it, he might try to find a black cat in a coal cellar, a needle in a haystack, and a duke who both did his job well and wasn’t entirely dull.

VINNIE, HOW CAN you possibly get away with it? Jane’s expression was horrified, her lovely eyes wide, her perfect mouth making a perfect O.

Lavinia nodded toward Percy, who sat in the corner of the drawing room, one lock of dark brown hair falling elegantly over his brow. He was the epitome of the tortured author—a pen in his hand, smudges of ink on his strong chin, papers scattered all over the table at which he sat.

It would be perfect if the papers he was working on was a novel of torrid prose and not the household’s budget.

He’s the one who’s going to have to get away with it. Lavinia shrugged. I just write the books. I don’t have to read them aloud.

Percy looked up, his remarkably handsome face marred by the frown creasing his brow. Although, Lavinia had to admit, that wasn’t necessarily true, since Percy looked remarkably handsome no matter what. He got all of their father’s looks, whereas Lavinia had inherited her mother’s height (short), her figure (exceedingly curvaceous), and her ability to focus (her father had none, except when it came to his work).

Are you trying to undermine my confidence, Jane? Percy asked, getting to his feet.

The three siblings—or more correctly half siblings, since Percy was their father’s child by his mistress—were in the drawing room before dinner, Lavinia choosing the passage of her work that Percy would read that evening, Percy reviewing the budget, and Jane observing, her expression anxious.

Jane’s face fell at Percy’s question, and Lavinia immediately rushed to her sister, sitting down beside her on the sofa and wrapping her arms around her. She glared at Percy, who rolled his eyes in reply.

I’m sorry, dear. Jane was the most sensitive of the siblings, even including five-year-old Christina, who would sulk for hours if she were denied anything, even something she did not actually want. The last enormous sulk had been because she was denied a serving of oatmeal, which she didn’t even like. She’d received toast sprinkled with cinnamon sugar—one of her favorites—but since her siblings were having oatmeal, she took umbrage.

Jane, Lavinia, and Christina were their family’s legitimate offspring; Percy and Caroline were the illegitimate offspring, with Percy their father’s mistake, and Caroline their late aunt’s child, born out of wedlock to Adelia, their father’s sister, and a minor European prince, Lavinia always forgot which one. Her father had taken both Percy and Caroline in when they were mere children.

The entire family, along with their parents and a few of their parents’ older distant relatives, lived in an enormous mansion in Mayfair, any potential for being shunned by virtue of their family’s various scandals offset by their father’s incredible wealth, and connections—his financial acumen meant he was a financial adviser to Queen Victoria, who overlooked their family scandal. Their father frequently forgot his various children’s names, but he could recall to a penny what the queen had spent on bric-a-brac in a particular month. And that was usually quite a large sum.

Their mother more than made up for her husband’s lassitude with her ambition for her family’s status.

I wanted to be here to support you, Jane replied, her words muffled. She raised her head and looked at Lavinia, then over her head at Percy. Both of you. And I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t reveal the secret, and I thought I would be less likely to if I wasn’t surprised this evening. She returned her gaze to Lavinia. You’re not going to choose anything too scandalous, are you? she added in a hesitant tone.

Sometimes Lavinia wondered if Jane had been switched with another child at birth. Unlike her siblings, half siblings, and cousins, she was quiet, well-mannered, and very gentle. If it weren’t for the strong resemblance to their parents, Lavinia would be concerned there was a reckless girl—her true sister—somewhere out there horrifying a staid family.

Of course not, Lavinia assured her. The passage she’d chosen was the characters’ first meeting in a rose garden, entirely exemplary behavior, although there were mentions of thorns and poking and blooming, mentions that certain listeners would comprehend entirely, while others—like Jane—would entirely miss.

Lavinia had borrowed a variant of her half brother’s name to publish under because lady novelists did not sell as well as male novelists. Percy Waters had become Percy Wittlesford, and she had happily collected the royalty checks from her publisher.

But then her latest book, Storming the Castle, had taken the fancy of many Society ladies, and there was great interest, her publisher said, in the author. Lavinia and Percy had discussed how to proceed, and the two had settled it between them that Percy would pretend to be the author.

Once the interested ladies discovered Percy Wittlesford was actually Percy Waters, the handsome illegitimate son of one of London’s sharpest minds—well, it wasn’t long before Percy was being asked to give public readings.

Even though he would much rather be home working on numbers. He took after their father in that way, but his illegitimacy meant he could only work behind the scenes. That might change, now that Society believed him to be a successful author. Even the queen’s propriety could bend if there was fame involved, which was why Lavinia had encouraged him to make public appearances and why he had agreed to do so. The only other person who knew that Lavinia had actually written all of Percy’s four published works was Jane.

Baron Raddleston, at whose party Percy would be reading, was one of Society’s most influential tastemakers. He and his wife prided themselves on launching the careers of a variety of artists, from Italian opera singers to Russian harpists to homegrown British authors such as Percy.

Lavinia would do anything for her siblings, even including oatmeal-sulking Christina. If her talent for writing meant that Percy could finally do what he truly wished to, she’d happily pretend forever, just making certain Percy was familiar with most of the plots of the books. It was a relief, honestly, not to have to write the books and be the public face of the author.

Plus there was Jane to be considered—all quiet Jane wished for was to marry the equally quiet Mr. Henry McTavish. He and his family were their neighbors, though the two families were complete opposites. The McTavishes, it had been explained many times, were entirely correct and would never allow their only son to marry any type of scandal, even though the scandalous behavior was from an earl’s family, and adviser to the queen, no less. But there had been an incident many years past, and it didn’t seem to matter to the McTavishes that the Capels were well-thought-of by many.

Recently, however, the McTavishes seemed to be weakening in their resolve against Henry and Jane since the two were so devoted to one another.

Which would be wonderful, except Jane and Lavinia’s parents—or more specifically, their mother—had insisted Jane and her beauty be introduced to Society in hopes of landing a husband who was in the upper echelons of Society, not a mere neighbor’s son who was respectable. Lavinia knew Jane would suffer anxiety at meeting that many people on her own, and she might end up accidentally engaged to the wrong person if Lavinia weren’t there.

It was Jane and Lavinia’s plan for Jane to be so quiet in Society that nobody would notice her. It wasn’t working—Jane’s dowry overcame her quietness—but thus far her only suitors were desperate men, and their mother would not accept a desperate man.

So, if the Season ended and Jane had not found a suitably important man to marry, their mother might be persuaded to change her mind and let Jane marry Henry, after all.

If Lavinia had made a list of all her tasks for the next few months—which she had not, since Christina had used all their paper on drawing pictures of apparently distressed goats—the list would read thusly:

Lavinia’s List of Responsibilities

Keep Jane unmarried until Mama is persuaded to consider Mr. McTavish.

Keep Jane unmarried until Mr. McTavish’s parents are persuaded to consider Jane.

Try to keep the family out of any current scandalous behavior.

Secure Percy’s reputation as an excellent novelist who is also sharp with numbers. Have him announce his retirement from writing to devote himself to his father’s business.

Convince Papa to allow Percy to join the business.

Figure out which minor European prince is Caroline’s father.

Jane! Lavinia!

Their mother stood at the doorway, glaring disapprovingly at them as she simultaneously gave Percy a warm smile.

It was a remarkable talent.

Yes, Mother? Lavinia replied.

You should be dressing for the evening. Lady Scudamore glanced at the clock in the corner. You only have three hours! She advanced into the room as Lavinia resisted rolling her eyes too obviously.

They don’t need that much time to look lovely, Percy said, so obviously exerting his charm. Lavinia nearly snorted.

Percy was not, of course, Lady Scudamore’s child, but she treated him better than she did her own children. Or at least better than she did her younger daughter. Lavinia thought it was due to Percy’s appearance and that he was male.

It was entirely unfair.

"You don’t need that much time, Percy dear, but I’ve heard the Duke of Hasford will be attending the Raddlestons’ party this evening. Lady Scudamore pursed her lips as she regarded Jane, whose anxious expression had returned. And there is only one reason he would be going out. He has been extraordinarily reclusive. He must be searching for a bride. She stepped forward to slide her finger down Jane’s cheek. And you are lovely enough to be a duchess."

Lavinia glanced between Jane and her mother, noting the panicked look in her sister’s eyes as well as her mother’s determined gaze.

Oh dear.

What gown should I wear, Mother? Lavinia asked.

Not that she wanted her mother’s opinion, but she did want her mother to stop focusing so intently on Jane. Her sister was too delicate to handle the pressure, and there wouldn’t be much that Percy could do in this particular situation—the reason their mother wanted her daughters to marry well was because elevating their status would ameliorate the scandal of having Percy and Caroline living with them in the first place. There was only so much a large amount of money and the queen’s favor could do, after all.

You should choose whatever you want, her mother replied, clearly dismissing the topic as unworthy of her attention. Jane, you should wear the white satin and I will lend you my diamond earrings. She gave a happy sigh. A duchess! It would be all I’ve ever dreamt of!

Lavinia took Jane’s hand, tugging her toward the door. Jane stumbled as though frozen in place.

The white satin then, Lavinia echoed. We’ll just go start, shall we?

THE DUKE OF Hasford, the butler announced.

Thaddeus paused at the entrance to the ballroom, glancing around at all the people who were currently staring at him.

If there was one thing he hated most about being a duke, it was that everyone gawked whenever he appeared in public. That would likely ease if he appeared in public more often, but that would mean appearing in public more often, and he had little tolerance for frivolity.

A small voice in his head said perhaps he would be less rigid if he had more tolerance for frivolity, but he quashed that quickly. He couldn’t manufacture a tolerance he didn’t have.

Another impetus for getting married—he could settle at home with his wife, tending to his business affairs and working on begetting an heir.

Literally mixing business with pleasure.

He stepped into the room, schooling his features to look blandly polite as opposed to annoyed. He was here for a purpose, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to scare off any potential duchesses with his stern face, which his soldiers had assured him was terrifying.

Good evening, Your Grace. A woman fluttered up to him, the feathers in her hair nodding gently as she moved her head. I am Baroness Raddleston, and this is my husband, the baron. A gentleman appeared at her shoulder, both of them wearing exceedingly pleased expressions. Likely because they landed a duke at their party, not because they were particularly delighted to see him.

Although to be fair this was the first time they had met, so why would it be otherwise?

Perhaps the baron would prove to be a marvelous friend, and the two of them would discover they had common interests such as—well, damn. He didn’t have any interests. Or hadn’t allowed himself to have any because there was too much work to do.

He made a mental note to add develop interests to his list. And frivolity.

The Raddlestons’ ballroom was elegantly decorated. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling every six feet or so, and the lit candles cast golden shadows throughout the room, lending it a certain mystery. The servants, garbed in unobtrusive attire and holding silver platters, wound their way through the guests, dispersing what appeared to be tiny bites of food and the occasional glass of champagne.

There was a string quartet playing quietly in the background, obviously just something to pass the time until the evening’s main event—the reading of the lurid material.

Mr. Wittlesford will be reading in about an hour, the baron said, as though privy to Thaddeus’s inner thoughts. He hoped not, actually, since in addition to wondering when the reading would be, Thaddeus was also wondering how early he could leave and still be polite to his hosts.

Meanwhile, the baron continued, we have refreshments and beverages and plenty of other guests. I don’t suppose you have met—

Baron! a lady said loudly. She was about ten feet away, with a few people in between them, but her voice was piercing enough to make Thaddeus wince. Or more specifically, to make him wish he could wince, but he couldn’t, because it would be rude to do so.

Lady Scudamore, the baron replied, turning to the lady, who was pushing her way through the crowd, dragging two ladies behind her.

Lady Scudamore was a middle-aged woman with a strong jaw and a commanding figure, even though she was short.

The ladies she had trailing after her, Thaddeus could now see, were younger, both likely in their twenties. The more beautiful of the two wore a bright gown of white satin, her golden hair glinting in the candlelight. The lady had a serene expression, her pale blue eyes looking not at Thaddeus but somewhere over his shoulder.

The other woman was short, with darker hair than the first, strands of it falling onto her face. Rather than staring fixedly in one spot, as the first woman was, her eyes were darting around the room as though she were cataloguing everyone within.

And then her gaze shifted to him, and he saw her look at him openly and brazenly, raking her eyes up and down his body until she settled on his face. There was something so active and engaged in how she looked it was appealing, even though the judgmental part of him thought she was forward.

He didn’t intend to, but he couldn’t help but notice how enticing her figure was; more lush than the other woman, who was slender and perfectly formed. This woman’s bosom was impossible not to notice, the curved white mounds nearly spilling out of her pale blue gown.

He felt an immediate visceral response to her, something so nearly crude he was startled at his reaction. This lady wasn’t someone one would make polite conversation with; she was someone a person would hunger after, making it impossible to speak at all.

This woman was someone he would have to steadfastly avoid.

He liked things and people he could place in their appropriate boxes: soldier, servant, wife. His friends mocked his adherence to efficiency and routine, but it was what made him good at being first a captain and then a duke. Someone who didn’t fit, who made him question his own reactions, was too dangerous to his state of mind.

Good evening, Baron. Baroness. The older woman spoke, taking hold of the first lady’s arm and keeping her gaze fixed on Thaddeus.

Lady Scudamore, a pleasure. The baron gestured toward Thaddeus. Your Grace, may I present Lady Scudamore? And her daughters, Lady Jane and Lady Lavinia?

All three ladies curtseyed, and when they rose, the first lady—Jane, it seemed—still had that serene expression, but Lady Lavinia’s lips had curled into a mischievous smile, revealing a deep dimple in her cheek. Her presence felt like a tangible thing. Probably his immediate and visceral reaction was a blend of desire and envy—he wished he could be as vibrant as she seemed to be. To engage everyone around her with enthusiasm and electricity.

Another item to add to his list, perhaps?

Good evening, ladies, Thaddeus said, bowing. A pleasure to meet you.

The younger ladies murmured something indistinct in reply, but their voices were drowned out by their mother. Are you here for the reading? It is our own Percy who is the author. She leaned forward as though imparting a secret. Naughty boy, we had no idea he was writing such books.

Lady Lavinia made a quickly smothered noise as Lady Jane’s cheeks turned bright red.

"Percy Wittlesford is the author of Storming the Castle, the baron said. Have you read it?"

Thaddeus shook his head. No, I don’t get the opportunity to read for pleasure. And if I did, I wouldn’t read books like those.

His books are quite— And the baron paused.

Delightful, Lady Lavinia supplied, that impish look still on her face. Lady Jane’s cheeks turned even more red, if possible. Impossible to put down, Lady Lavinia added. One might say the books are ahead of their time.

I look forward to the reading, Thaddeus said, knowing how stiff and awkward he sounded. And yet unable to do anything to stop it.

Your Grace, my Jane mentioned she was very interested in your former career in the military.

Lady Jane glanced quickly at her mother, then smoothed her expression again. It was obvious she had never expressed any such interest.

Thaddeus felt himself admiring her ability to keep her emotions in control. An attribute to be greatly desired in a powerful titled lady.

Yes, Your Grace, Lady Jane said. I wonder what it is like in battle. If you could describe it.

Thaddeus took a deep breath, preparing to summon the stock answer he gave when anybody outside of the army asked him when Lady Lavinia spoke.

I imagine it is something very difficult to describe, she said, a sympathetic look in her eyes.

He gave a brief nod.

Do try, Lady Scudamore urged.

Mother. Lady Lavinia’s tone was nearly reproving. Of course. Someone who was so obviously observant would have seen his discomfort. It was unsettling to have someone see him so clearly, and so soon after meeting him.

Someone who was so determined to keep someone else from discomfort that she was willing to speak back to her mother.

Definitely someone to avoid.