The Wicked Wallflower: #3 The Duchess Society Series, page 1
Contents
Sign up!
Also by Tracy Sumner
Foreword
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
PART TWO
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
PART THREE
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Tracy Sumner
About Tracy Sumner
The Wicked Wallflower by Tracy Sumner
Published by WOLF Publishing UG
Copyright © 2022 Tracy Sumner
Text by Tracy Sumner
Edited by Chris Hall
Cover Art by Victoria Cooper
Paperback ISBN: 978-3-98536-054-3
Hard Cover ISBN: 978-3-98536-055-0
Ebook ISBN: 978-3-98536-053-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
WOLF Publishing - This is us:
Two sisters, two personalities.. But only one big love!
Diving into a world of dreams..
…Romance, heartfelt emotions, lovable and witty characters, some humor, and some mystery! Because we want it all! Historical Romance at its best!
Visit our website to learn all about us, our authors and books!
Sign up to our mailing list to receive first hand information on new releases, freebies and promotions as well as exclusive giveaways and sneak-peeks!
www.wolf-publishing.com
Also by Tracy Sumner
The Duchess Society Series
The DUCHESS SOCIETY is a steamy new Regency-era series. Come along for a scandalous ride with the incorrigible ladies of the Duchess Society as they tame the wicked rogues of London! Second chance, marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, passion, scandal, ROMANCE.
If you enjoy depraved dukes, erstwhile earls and sexy scoundrels, untamed bluestockings and rebellious society misses, the DUCHESS SOCIETY is the series for you!
#1 The Brazen Bluestocking
#2 The Scandalous Vixen
#3 The Wicked Wallflower
Prequel to the series: The Ice Duchess
Foreword
Every young lady has at some time or other known the same agitation. All have been, or at least all have believed themselves to be, in danger from the pursuit of someone they wished to avoid.
Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
Prologue
Leighton House, Hertfordshire, 1824
Lady Philippa Darlington placed the gift on the bed as if the contents would detonate upon opening.
Crawling atop the mattress, she crossed her legs and stared at the small wrapped parcel with angst, indecision, and anticipation. X.M. was scrawled on the back in elegant script, taunting her. As if she’d not known immediately who it was from.
Careful, Little Darlington, as you navigate these treacherous waters.
Xander Macauley’s words rolled over her like a wave, as they seemed to at least once a day. Sometimes at night, alone in her bed, it was the biggest secret out of all the secrets a duke’s sister was forced to keep.
Along with the memory of their stolen moment in the gaming room came the feelings.
Heat thrummed through her limbs. Through her head like champagne. Her pulse skipped, heart bumping against her ribs. She felt drunk. On a man.
Why, why, why did it have to be him?
Her brother, Roan Darlington, the Duke of Leighton, would never allow it. Xander Macauley would never ask. He thought her a bothersome fly buzzing about his face. Less than a fly, an ant he smashed beneath his boot. He had his choice of every chit in London. Why would he want her? An unsophisticated sister of his best friend?
She refused, simply refused, to be bothersome. A burden. A nuisance. When she married, if she married, the pitiable sod would be absolutely besotted, out of his head, gone for her. Tripping along like her brother tripped along behind Helena. The Duke of Markham with his duchess, Georgie. Tobias Streeter with Hildy, perhaps the worst case of lovesick behavior she’d ever seen.
Gads, there were men, hundreds, for her to choose from. Duke to baronet, solicitor to vicar. Her heart didn’t have to set its sights on the most unreachable in status and demeanor. A confirmed, nay, sworn bachelor. A man born in the rookery of all places. A blackguard. A scoundrel. A rake. Hildy Streeter had done it, of course. Married a rogue who’d climbed from the slums then gone on to love him with all her heart.
Nevertheless, even after observing these beautiful relationships, Pippa wouldn’t follow their example merely because of a fickle attraction.
She had a sister, two of them now, and the eldest, Helena, the powerful Duchess of Leighton, said she didn’t have to marry if she didn’t want to. But she’d also said Pippa had to try to make it through another season, at least, for her brother’s sake.
Pippa was going to be the grandest wallflower who’d ever lived. She’d fade into every room she entered like mist. Prop up columns and disappear behind ferns. They wouldn’t even know she was there. Her only spot of despair was missing out on the waltzes, but miss out, she would. Signing her dance card would be the most challenging feat in England.
Pippa caught her tongue between her teeth and touched the package, then traced her index finger over the twine wrapped twice around it. It was simply presented, like the man himself.
Echoes from carriages circling the front drive fluttered through her open window, along with a healthy dose of the crisp evening air. Fall was upon them in gorgeous measure. She heard the children first, shouts of bedlam after hours of forced containment. All arriving for her birthday celebration.
She loved when Leighton House’s hallways rang with mischief and merriment. They’d not been so lonely, she and Roan, since he’d allowed these interesting people into their lives. Since he’d opened his heart and let Helena into its protected confines.
Pippa fiddled with the package for another minute, then sighed and tugged on the bow, the twine unraveling in her hand. The paper, similar to what would be wrapped around meat delivered from the butcher, fell open to reveal a bejeweled knife. Not in a fancy box or packed with additional trimmings. Just the knife. Tiny enough to fit in a fob pocket. Or her boot.
With a laugh she wouldn’t have been able to contain had the man who’d given the gift been sitting in the chamber with her, she picked it up and brought it close to her face.
An inscription was etched in silver.
To help navigate the waters.
That was what he’d told her the night he found her with her nose jammed in the velvet collar of his coat, struggling to catch his scent.
When he’d recognized her attraction.
Pippa flopped to her back, the present clutched in her fist. The metal heated against her skin like an ember plucked from the fire. With a vulgar growl the Duchess Society had said she must not utter in public, she punched the mattress in frustration. Xander Macauley remembered their stolen moment as well as she.
She’d not imagined his breathless wonder, the bounder.
It would be the best gift she received, the most personal. Damn and blast. Somehow, he’d seen her for one brief moment. The real girl.
Closing her eyes, she wondered how she would ever forget that fact.
PART ONE
REVELATION
Chapter One
Where a hero decides he must act to save the heroine
A soon-to-be-fashionable gambling establishment
Limehouse Docks, London, 1826
“The lass is at it again. The hulking bloke you assigned to follow her sent round a note.”
Xander Macauley let loose a curse that rang through the deserted main floor of his hell, his gaze roaming the candlelight and dense shadow to settle on his factotum’s deceptively angelic face. Xander had appointed the canny young Scot to oversee the hazard tables, luring him away from a thriving business teaching aristocrats how to cheat at dice and cards. Sharps and Flats, Dashiell Campbell had called the crooked enterprise. News of it had swept the ton like the stinking mist rolling off the Thames, with men traveling hundreds of miles to sit in the frigid back room of a rookery boarding house for instruction. Xander had taken a lesson or two himself and been amazed by his ingenious deceit. He didn’t even want the lad to cheat; he wanted Dash to keep others from milking him.
“What did you tell him?”
Dash warmed a pair of dice between his palms and shifted from one scuffed boot to the other. “I dinna send the messenger away. Waiting for an answer, he is.”
Macauley wiggled a cheroot from his pocket and jammed it between his lips, with no intention of lighting it as it was a habit he was breaking. He wished he could say he’d employed Dash only for profit. In truth, he’d not been able to imagine anything but a bleak future for a young man making formidable enemies by schooling others in the art of swindling. Overconfidence and base connections were a detrimental mix. It took power to keep the knife from your throat—and Xander was willing to share his. He’d come from less than nothing and would never forget his desperate struggle to climb out of the slums.
Even if he ruled from within them.
“Where is she?” he finally asked because there was no use avoiding the problem. Or the woman, apparently.
Dash clicked his tongue against his teeth, a tell that suggested he had unpleasant information to impart. “Right fine cauldron she’s dipped her toe in this time. Cor, I’m nae judge on what’s suitable for a duke’s sister, but I reckon this ain’t it.”
Riled, Macauley shoved to his feet from his spot by the roulette wheel he’d been repairing, drawing a breath scented with the linseed oil used to polish the maple trim of the vingt-et-un tables. He didn’t have time for this. Next week, The Devil’s Lair would open with a private event for select members of society. He had menus to review, croupiers to train, a final checklist of construction items to approve. Macauley expected word-of-mouth following the gathering to bring nobs beating on his door, the only crimson door on the block, for acceptance he wasn’t going to easily give. When he’d said he was opening an exclusive club, he meant exclusive.
The Devil’s Lair would make White’s look like a bordello.
His stomach danced with anticipation when it’d been years since he’d been excited about anything. Particularly a business venture. Money came easily now, as did women. Challenges were few and uninteresting when he stumbled upon them. Even smuggling had become tedious, mostly due to the repeated requests from his closest friend and partner, Tobias Streeter, to give it up.
“Too little return on the risk” was the common refrain. Falling flat on his face in love, and the marriage and children that had subsequently followed, had made Tobias, former rogue king of the Limehouse docks, a dull boy indeed.
Macauley was never going to be a dull boy. He’d made a promise long ago, and he wasn’t reneging for love or money.
“Where?” he repeated, though he didn’t want to know.
“Some masquerade rout at a bloke’s named Talbot.”
“Talbot,” Macauley whispered, appalled despite himself. Lord Talbot was a degenerate of the worst sort, a wealthy baron on the ladder’s lowest rung, who had no hope of climbing higher. And because of a roomy bank account, rare for the aristocracy, he had no need to.
Pippa Darlington had outdone herself this time.
Getting a dismal idea of how this evening would end, Macauley yanked a rag from his back pocket and wiped a streak of grease from his palm. The wheel had begun making this maddening squeak on the final turn, and the Lair, as Macauley had come to think of it, would be nothing less than perfect.
“Summon the Duke of Leighton. Immediately. I won’t tell him how I know where his darling sister is, only that Lady Philippa has again gotten herself into a jam.”
“Your partner, ain’t he?”
“In the distillery. The shipping venture. And a steam locomotion gambit that’s going to secure enough blunt to smooth every wrinkle from His Grace’s brow for the rest of time. It will fund every estate resting on his ducal shoulders and buy him a fancy new one should he be of a mood. He’s happy with me at the moment. No matter having a sibling who is the most troublesome in London. I can’t do much for him there.”
“The duke is in Bath. Remember? His duchess is expecting another wee bairn, and the waters are supposedly good for expectant mothers.”
Macauley tossed the rag to the floor. How many godforsaken children was Leighton planning to have?
“Truthfully, you’ve got a gang of high-steppers in your life. Not one but two dukes. I dinna see the need meself.”
Macauley scowled, unwilling to explain that there were three men he trusted with his life, and yes, two of them were sadly a rung below prince. “The Duke of Markham, then. His wife, Georgiana, is Lady Philippa’s etiquette tutor. God help her. Markham’s townhouse is on Curzon. If you leave now, you can be there in ten minutes. Expect the duchess to be disappointed about her charge’s misstep. Disappointed, but not surprised.” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, his stomach giving a slight, anticipatory tilt. He wasn’t going after her. He wasn’t.
Dash tossed the dice from hand to hand, his expression as flat as his words. “Duchess Society. I heard about ‘em. Matchmakers. Meddlesome lasses. Calling them tutors is putting a shine on a grimy piece.”
With a snort, Macauley turned to skirt the baize-covered tables that were going to make him and this spirited young man he’d invited into his world blindingly wealthy. He was already blindingly wealthy. But the change in status would be a revelation for Dash, one Macauley couldn’t help but wish to witness.
“Of a sort. The Duchess Society polishes off the rough edges for those who’ve gotten themselves in dire straits. When marriage with a dowry sizable enough to choke a horse attached to it is the only way out. They make sure the men are respectable, and the women are educated about the legalities. Frightening dealings when a chit has the upper hand. Get my meaning, mate? Stay on the good side of your finances, and you won’t have to adjust your ways for anyone. I’ve never had to.”
Dash raced to catch up with Macauley’s long-legged stride. He was a strapping lad, but Macauley was nearly the tallest man in London and could outpace anyone. “No one’s about, guv. That’s why I’m coming to ye. Dukes Leighton and Markham, Tobias Streeter. All gone. I tried them when I got the message, seeing as ye were with your lady friend.” Dash’s gaze rose to the upper reaches of the hell, his brow arching in wicked masculine delight.
Macauley halted so suddenly that Dash’s shoulder knocked his and threw them off balance. “You mean they left Lady Philippa alone? When she’s managed to entangle herself in one predicament after another this entire season?” Dumping ratafia on a handsy earl’s head, which had caused the Duchess Society to recommend she skip last season, was nothing compared to what she’d done during this one.
“Aye, they did. After all, you’ve cleaned up the messes, so how is her family to ken what a disaster she is? No one has any fair idea of her mischief.” Dash scratched his nose with the pointed edge of the die and shrugged in puzzlement. “Where I come from—Glasgow way, Paisley, if I’m putting a dart on the map—most lasses her age are already married with a babe or two clinging to their teat. A grown woman canna be left alone with a hundred servants at her beck and call and keep from tomfoolery?”
A prickle of alarm skittered along Macauley’s spine. From somewhere down the corridor he heard Fast Fingers Eddie, who called himself Pierre, the chef who would make the Lair a destination for gambling and food, shouting orders to his staff. Why he was unhappy when Macauley had built him a kitchen that would rival Carlton House’s was anyone’s guess. Part and parcel of pretending he was French, Macauley supposed.
