The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

His physical self knew nothing of chivalry. It generally disregarded rules and scorned discipline. It wanted, therefore it would have. His carnal nature craved soothing in the most fundamental of ways.

This arrangement would never work. It was unfair to him, but mostly to Harriet.

He decided that his aunt was the devil disguised in fine gray hair and fragile bones. Why else would she place temptation in his path?

When, in truth, had he ever been so tempted?

He wasn’t the rakehell his older brother had been.

He wasn’t much of a duke, either, for that matter.

He was rather lonely and at a loss as to what he was supposed to do with himself.

He already wanted another reason to see his aunt’s companion.

Should he remind her that the sarcophagus was unsafe? Would anyone hear her cry for help if she fell inside the blessed contraption and couldn’t get out? Why hadn’t the servants noticed how damp that side of the house was at night? And why did he find it so easy to talk to her?

He glanced up from his feet to the door.

He really ought to ring to have the hearth in her room cleared of debris and lit. And while he was at it, he should warn her about the loose carpet at the top of the stairs that he had noticed only earlier that day. It wouldn’t hurt to remind her he would not be far during the night, if the thought of mummies coming to life in her dressing closet kept her awake.

He got up. He had a responsibility to make everyone under his roof reasonably comfortable.

She couldn’t have gone to bed yet. Perhaps she would be too unsettled by her surroundings to fall asleep.

He knocked at her door. It was neither a furtive knock nor one so insistent that Primrose would hear and demand to know what was going on.

Harriet opened the door in understandable hesitation. She was still dressed, not a button undone. He had no idea how she had managed it, but a small fire illuminated the room. Did she harbor a knack for pyromancy?

She had a book clasped in her hand. Her bright gold-bronze hair fell in a thick rope down her back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I only wanted to make sure you’d be warm.”

She blinked. “His grace jokes. It is like an oven in here.”

“You won’t sleep in that tomb thing, will you?”

“No.” She gave him a strange look. “I thought I might use it to store my parasols and odd bits when they come tomorrow. Or perhaps I’ll pretend it isn’t there at all.”

“That might be rather hard to do, considering its size.” His eyes traveled over her. She appeared to be anything but a damsel in distress. “I know I can tease at times, but I have to ask again… are you sure you made the right choice?”

“No,” she admitted, her eyes glinting. “I’ve never lived anywhere this quiet before.”

“It won’t be quiet tomorrow, I promise you.” He was running out of excuses for being here. Her soft mouth curved in a knowing smile. He wasn’t going to kiss her, no matter how sensual he imagined she would look lying across the bed behind her, or even how pleasant it would be to sit together in the firelight. He wasn’t going to think of how much he had enjoyed dancing with her last night and how her presence had already brightened this house. And he certainly was not going to pace in his room the rest of the night, listening for any small sound she might make.

She cleared her throat. “Is that all you wanted?”

His gaze fell to the book she held against her. He exhaled, regaining mastery of his errant thoughts. “Has my aunt got you working for her already?”

She seemed reluctant to answer. Perhaps she had guessed he was only bargaining for time. He had not employed the most devious strategy in coming to her room.

“This is my book,” she said, her fingers curling around the spine. “It’s about a monster made up of dead body parts. He goes on a killing rage because the doctor who created him refuses to make him a wife.”

“Another woman drawn to the dark and macabre,” he mused. “Primrose would probably enjoy such a story. You should read it to her. No. You shouldn’t. It might give her ideas.”

She pushed her hand against the door. “Your aunt appears to be a dear lady devoted to her family. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for making fun of her all the time.”

He sighed, duly caught out. “That’s exactly what she keeps telling me. Just remember-she isn’t at all as sweet as she appears.”

Harriet smiled. “I know who I have to keep my eye on, thank you.”

Chapter Eleven

No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success.

MARY SHELLEY

Frankenstein

Lady Powlis did indeed put Harriet to work early the next morning, in the breakfast room, before the duke had a proper chance to sit down in private and enjoy his meal. It was quiet in the house, she thought. The girls at the academy would be bickering over who had gotten the last scone as they hurried to class. Harriet spent half her day intervening and demanding they apologize to one another.

The peace of this noble household was a true sign that she had moved up in the world. There were no offended feelings to soothe. No tears to mop up. Lady Powlis sat dictating an itinerary of all the functions that had been planned for the next fortnight.

It was so simple, so quiet-until Lady Powlis murmured, “And make a note to have the duke’s tailor come tomorrow afternoon for his fitting.”

Griffin looked up suspiciously from his paper. “Fitting for what?”

Lady Powlis shook her head in fond exasperation. “The wedding, Griff.” He frowned. “What wedding?” Harriet put down her pen.

“The wedding,” Lady Powlis said, in the quavery voice that Harriet would soon realize disguised a will of iron, “that we have been planning for almost a year. The wedding that all of Society is dying to attend. The wedding that will release me of my obligation to Glenmorgan’s future.”

He snorted. “There has to be an engagement first, doesn’t there?”

“The morning papers suggest you have taken that step,” his aunt said, with a meaningful glance at the table.

“Good for the morning papers,” he said.

Harriet rose hastily. “I’ll leave you both alone to sort this out. If you need-”

“Sit down at your desk, Harriet,” Lady Powlis snapped.

Harriet swallowed. “But I-”

“Sit down, girl. You’ll be of no use to anyone if the duke and I cannot speak frankly to each other when you are in the room.”

Griffin’s eyes danced wickedly. “She’s right. You had better stay in case I need a witness to testify that she forced me to marry against my will.”

“Don’t be such an idiot,” his aunt said. “You are going to turn Harriet against me, and I will never forgive you.”

“Why don’t you join my side, Miss Gardner?” he said, grinning shamelessly.

She shook her head. “I have no idea what the pair of you are arguing about, and I’m sure it isn’t any of my business.” Which didn’t mean she wasn’t intently curious about the matter. Nor did it stop her from asking, after a