Married Off by the Duke, page 1
MARRIED OFF BY THE DUKE
CARRIE LOMAX
Copyright © 2023 by Carrie Lomax
All rights reserved.
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This book may not be used to train any Large Language Model database or otherwise used in any artificial intelligence program without the express written permission of the author. No platform has the right to sublicense others to reproduce and/or otherwise use this work in any manner for purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies to generate text without the author’s specific and express permission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and most locations are invented by the author; any resemblance to actual people, places and events are typically coincidental, except actual place names such as cities and countries.
Cover art by Dar at Wicked Smart Designs.
ASIN: B0CHXM6J24
Print ISBN: 9798870788838
CONTENTS
London, Spring of 1882
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Carrie Lomax
LONDON, SPRING OF 1882
CHAPTER 1
You shall endeavor to find a husband at the earliest opportunity, read the letter from her guardian.
“I will do no such thing,” Emma muttered, and tossed the crumpled ball into the fire. A pity that her thoughts could not reduce its author to ash along with it. Lord Maximus Aloysius Tremaine, the sixth Duke of Ardennes, deserved to burn for eternity.
Or longer.
Unfortunately, Emma had no power to send her cursed guardian anywhere. He, however, had the authority to order her anywhere he wished, and the duke was not afraid to wield it.
Where he wanted her right now was in London for her first Season. He couldn’t have been more insulting about it if he’d tried.
I have neglected your situation long enough. Between your piddling dowry and your advanced age, you will be lucky to attract any suitor at all. Leaving it for another year won’t do.
As if she were some sort of fancy lady instead of the illegitimate daughter of an earl’s second son.
Emma was accustomed to being unwanted. At least the previous Duke of Ardennes had been a kindly man. His son, the current duke, was a different story. Max had treated her with arrogance and disdain from the moment they first met. Until now, he’d been content to let her molder away in the countryside, out of sight and out of mind.
Summoning her away from school in the middle of the spring term would impact her students. As if her teaching didn’t matter.
To the Duke of Ardennes, it didn’t. Nothing mattered except his whims. Inexplicably, he’d decided now was the time to divest himself of responsibility for her welfare. No doubt he would hand-select London’s most loathsome toad for her husband. On purpose.
Why?
She wasn’t a troublesome ward. They rarely interacted.
Clearly, the duke despised her more than she’d ever imagined.
“Likewise,” Emma muttered, watching the paper crumble into ash. “I certainly won’t be shackling myself to the first man who asks, simply to appease His Gracelessness.”
While she didn’t want a Season, she did want to be free from her pompous, arrogant guardian forever, ideally before she was legally emancipated at the age of twenty-five. On this point, they were in profound agreement.
Unless…
What if she could frustrate him into granting her control over her inheritance early?
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. A diabolical plan unfolded in her mind. Max’s desperation to be rid of her presented Emma with an opportunity.
She felt certain she was up to the challenge of annoying Max into granting her freedom on a much quicker timeline than the four years she would otherwise have to wait. Matrimony was out of the question. Emma was done with being a perpetual burden to others. She had no intention of locking herself into a loveless marriage for the duke’s convenience.
“Miss Willis, your carriage is here,” the headmaster informed her.
“I am ready.”
Ready to wage war.
CHAPTER 2
Max eyed Miss Willis’ plain gown and unflattering bonnet with skepticism. He’d sent her funds for adequate clothing before the school year started, but she hadn’t spent a farthing of it, apparently.
Marrying off Willful Miss Willis might be harder than he’d anticipated, and he hadn’t expected marrying off his vexing ward to be easy. He’d already put it off until the Season was well underway.
“An appointment with a dressmaker is the first order of business.”
“Is that how you welcome visitors these days?” she asked acerbically.
“Men like pretty women, not dowdy vipers.” Emma’s features were delicate; whenever she wasn’t scowling, she wasn’t unappealing. Still, her appearance could be improved with a decent dress and a bit of deft hairstyling…
“Thank you for that scathing assessment. I don’t have much need for evening gowns at Mrs. Quarrie’s School for the Improvement of Young Ladies. Did you need me for anything other than as a target for your insults, Your Graceless…erm, Your Grace? Or may I be excused? I am quite fatigued.”
Max sighed. Miss Willis’ head barely came to his shoulder. Kissing her would involve craning one’s neck at an uncomfortable angle—
Inwardly, he groaned. Not this, again.
Max couldn’t stop his physical reaction to his ward. He’d never been able to tamp it down, a fact that had befuddled him for the entirety of their acquaintance.
Her lilting voice tumbled around in his mind for several seconds before her words clicked into place.
“Did you just call me Your Graceless?”
Pink stained Emma’s creamy cheeks. There was a small mark near the left side of her mouth. He couldn’t stop staring at it. Max often found himself distracted by the lush shape and color of her lips.
When Miss Willis was around, he couldn’t bloody think.
“What if I did?” she asked bluntly.
Max rubbed his temples.
“It’s actually, ‘Your Gracelessness,’” she informed him.
“Pot, meet kettle.” Max had the absurd impulse to laugh.
“I am no duchess. I am therefore not expected to display any grace, Your Gracelessness.”
“Grace is inherent to the female sex. The exception proves the rule, I suppose.” Seeing the protest form on her rosebud lips, he cut her off by saying, “I reckon you’re wondering why I called you home.”
“Ardennes House isn’t my home.”
Max’s headache abruptly worsened. “Away from the school, then.”
“You were rather blunt in stating your reasons. Shall I repeat them?”
“Not necessary, I remember them perfectly—”
“‘Miss Willis, the occasion of your recent birthday reminds me how your marital prospects decline with each passing day. Already, you are sufficiently aged that finding a suitor will be no easy feat, particularly given your deficient personal charms—’”
“Did you memorize my entire letter?” he demanded, aghast. He felt certain that wasn’t what he’d actually written. The deficient personal charms bit did sound disturbingly familiar, though.
Max hadn’t considered what it might feel like to receive such a letter. He was a duke, and unaccustomed to considering anyone else’s feelings about anything at all.
“Every. Word.” Miss Willis took two steps forward. Her extended index finger prodded him in the sternum. Max flinched. “Before I burned it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“At least you’ve done me the courtesy of destroying the evidence of my poor manners.” He stood stiffly, flexing his hands so as not to make fists.
Emma smirked.
He wanted to…to…do something to make it stop. His immediate impulse was to kiss her, but that would earn him a slap, so he imagined throttling her instead.
“I burn all your letters, Your Grace.”
He sighed. “Funnily enough, I save all of yours.”
She frowned. A matching expression stole over his face. Why would he admit such a thing? To her, of all people?
“This guardianship business must end.”
“I concur. Grant me my inheritance and let me go my own way,” Emma said brightly.
Max snorted. “No. However, since neither of us finds joy in each other’s company, let us find a way to quit this arrangement.”
“The fastest way to do that would be to give me what’s mine and let me go.”
“You’re a woman.”
“You noticed!”
Max’s jaw tightened. Yes, he had noticed she was a woman from their very first encounter. Technically, Emma was no beauty. No individual aspect stood out as an exceptional trait. Taken together, though, the whole of her composition tempted him more than any other woman he’d ever met.
Her small frame was well-proportioned, though he
r torso was regrettably concealed by a high neckline. Max did enjoy a nice bosom, and he’d been curious about hers for six long, frustrating years.
Her hair might be an unremarkable shade of brown, but it was sleek and thick, like a mink’s fur. His hand lifted involuntarily as if to stroke it. Horrified, Max clasped his hands behind his back to prevent them from wandering.
“I have no doubt you, like any woman, would fritter away your inheritance within weeks, thus forcing me to rescue you from your own folly. No ward of mine ends up in the workhouse, no matter how irresponsible she is. I won’t have your behavior reflecting poorly upon me.”
An outraged gasp. For once, Miss Willis’ quick tongue appeared to be momentarily tied. Max pressed the advantage.
“You shall therefore endeavor to find a husband at the earliest available opportunity. Understood?”
“Or what?”
“What do you mean, what?” Max thought he’d been perfectly clear on this point.
“What if I don’t wish to marry? What will you do to me if I defy you?”
He laughed. Emma’s cheeks flushed red.
“You have no hold over me besides money,” she said. “Give me what’s mine and let me go. I’ll never darken your doorstep again.”
His laughter ebbed. A strange feeling twisted in his stomach. He should do it. There was no one stopping him from handing her a small pile of banknotes and being rid of her for good.
But if he did, he’d never see her pale blue eyes light up with mischief again.
A lump lodged painfully behind his sternum.
“Money, Miss Willis, is the only thing standing between you and destitution. I think you’ll find that living without it is highly uncomfortable.”
“You wouldn’t know.”
“No. Nor do I intend to find out. I have no appetite for bed lice, thin gruel and holes in the soles of my boots, which is what you would find in a workhouse. I enjoy being comfortable. Believe it or not, I want the same comforts for you. My father promised to provide for you and protect you until your twenty-fifth birthday or marriage, whichever came first. I do not wish to endure four more years of guardianship any more than you do.”
She stiffened as if he’d struck her.
“Since I am so odious to Your Gracelessness, I shall remove myself from your exalted presence forthwith.”
Emma stormed away in a swirl of skirts. Max blew out a breath. That had gone even worse than expected, and his expectations had not been high.
One thing was certain: he had no control where Miss Willis was concerned. None. The sooner she was out of his life, the better.
For both of them.
CHAPTER 3
Carriage rides were the worst part of Emma’s thus-far unspectacular season, for the sole reason that they forced her into proximity with her loathsome guardian. Tonight, he was taking her to a soirée to meet a widowed judge.
“Try smiling,” Max commanded.
Emma bared her teeth in a wolfish snarl.
“Not like that.”
She let her face relax, then nearly toppled off the seat when her guardian mumbled, “You’re pretty when you smile,” while staring determinedly out the window of the coach. He shifted uncomfortably. “Prettier, I mean.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“An unintentional one, I assure you.”
She didn’t know what to do with a compliment falling from his lips. Since when had he thought her even marginally attractive?
Since never. It was another joke. That’s all.
Several tense minutes passed in silence. Emma kept glancing at Max, trying to make sense of what he’d said. Why did nature bless the most devilish men with the most angelic faces? She could hardly tear her gaze away from the sculpted angularity of his features, even though it pinched her heart to look at him.
A small, stupid part of her preened to think that a man like Max thought her pretty. Emma knew better. She’d seen the kind of women who fawned over him. Dazzling beauties dripping in gemstone jewelry. A duke was a rare catch indeed.
Looking closer at her guardian now, Emma frowned. His Gracelessness appeared pained and faintly green.
“Are you alright?”
“I dislike facing backward in a carriage.” He pressed a fist to his lips. “It makes me ill.”
“Oh.” Emma gasped, startled that her nemesis would admit such frailty. “Switch seats with me. I don’t mind facing the rear.”
“No.” The duke sat straighter. “It isn’t done.”
“Why not?” Emma demanded.
“Because I’m a gentleman. I ride this way. You’re a lady. You ride that way.”
“For pity’s sake.” Lord, save me from stubborn men. “Is this why you’ve refused to accompany me anywhere? Because you get motion sickness riding backward in a carriage?”
Apart from brief excursions, he’d mostly left Emma to her own devices. Sparring with him at mealtimes, oddly enough, had become the highlight of her day.
“I do not get motion sickness. I get…queasy. That’s all.”
“Fine. Molder over there like a turnip, then. Whatever you wish to call it, if you must be sick, please at least do so out the window.”
Beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Oh, dear. He really was feeling ill. Emma experienced a bewildering pang of sympathy for him.
“I insist upon trading places, Your Grace. I promise no one will ever know how your manhood has been compromised by exchanging seats with a woman for a single carriage ride.”
Still, he didn’t move, the obstinate arse.
“Oh, do get up.” Emma seized his hand and tugged. It was like yanking on a piece of meat. The one time she’d been asked to assist in the kitchen at the school, she’d been sent to fetch a ham from storage. She couldn’t figure out how to heft the thing, forcing her to return in shame and admit defeat. Imagine the indignity of losing to a dead pig.
She felt the same things now. When the duke didn’t move, Emma dropped his hand.
“Fine. Be that way. I’m going to make space for you to sit on this side, whether you like it or not.” Emma crouched to keep her balance on the swaying floor and wedged herself onto the seat beside him. Max jerked away.
Of all the awkward silences that had ever existed, this had to be the longest. Heat from his body seeped into her side. He really was an enormous man. Easily a foot taller than she, and muscular beneath the layers of fine silk, cotton, and wool that indicated a man in possession of immense wealth.
Emma had never thought about a man’s shape before it was pressed against her.
“You are…” The duke’s voice sounded strained. Probably from nausea.
“Yes?”
“Too close.”
He lurched into the opposite seat. Emma couldn’t help but feel slighted. Was being close to her truly so off-putting?
This was the outcome you intended.
“I’ll open the window.” She fumbled with the latch. “I’m quite fond of this new dress; I wouldn’t like to see it ruined if you cast up your accounts.”
“I won’t do that,” he insisted gruffly. The air wafting in carried odors of manure, soot, and dead animals. Still, it helped. The gray-green pallor gradually receded from the duke’s skin.
“I’m glad you like the dress,” he said after a long silence.
“I don’t, particularly.” Emma did, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
Wear this, do that, act like a lady at all times. Be quiet and forgettable, but memorable enough to attract a decent suitor.
What an impossible balancing act was expected of women.
If I had my own money—my rightful money—I wouldn’t have to pretend to be something I’m not.
But she didn’t, and so she did.
“You literally said you didn’t want me to ruin it because you liked it.”
“Just because I don’t want you to soil my new dress doesn’t mean I enjoy wearing said garment.”
He stared out the window for several moments. Emma had the sinking sense that she’d been the bigger arsehole during this particular skirmish.
