All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4) Read online

  All About

  the

  Duke

  A Dukes’ Club Novel

  By

  Eva Devon

  Bard Productions

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  All About the Duke

  Copyright © 2016 by Máire Creegan

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  For more information: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Eva Devon

  Prologue

  It is the expectation of society that every young lady should wed and not just wed, but wed well. That, of course, was why, from a very small age, the sisters, Juliana and Allegra, played weddings with their dolls. They practiced their dancing, prancing up and down the long halls of their family home. They often played the knight and the maiden fair, taking turns going down on one knee to propose. After all, that was simply what young ladies did. They married.

  Now, it just so happened that these two sisters were also a trifle. . . Well. . . Odd. As the years passed, they did all the usual things like sing and play the piano forte but they also raced horses, read too many books, and had decided views on slavery, the question of home rule for Ireland, and the rights of man.

  Was it any wonder when it came time that Juliana, for she was a good three years older than Allegra, have her first season, all the old ladies suggested she keep her mouth firmly shut?

  Being a relatively good girl, Juliana laughed, wore her prim white gowns, and danced the nights away, confining her conversation to the weather as she was supposed to. At last, she found an exceptionally eligible fellow to marry.

  Allegra could hardly bare her jealousy as her sister had married, gone to Italy, and come back rosy cheeked and only just slightly more serious than before.

  But Allegra’s jealousy began to fade as her sister, day by day, grew less merry. For it seemed that Juliana’s husband, Viscount Tyburry, believed that a woman’s only role was to bear children and run a household. Anything more was not only unnecessary but, in fact, a detraction from the ideal Viscountess.

  Gone were the opinions that Juliana once boasted so proudly. Whenever Allegra tried to bring up the merits or bombastic nonsense of Byron’s new work, Juliana would simply stare for a long moment, frown, then shake her head. She had other matters to attend to. Serious matters.

  At sixteen years of age, Allegra began to feel a decided amount of skepticism for this marriage business. Her sister had become a very dull sort, indeed. In fact, Allegra wasn’t sure what had happened to her sparkling sister.

  Not one year later, Allegra was almost certain marriage wasn’t for her, despite all the elaborate games she and Juliana had played.

  Several months heavy with child, Juliana had grown pale and quiet. And one day, she took Allegra’s hand and whispered, “When it’s your turn, you must be more careful than I.”

  Allegra held her sister’s cool fingers, wondering what on earth she could possibly mean. “Careful about what?”

  “Your husband. You must choose better than I. Titles and money trick you, Allegra,” Juliana said, her voice low and fast with desperation. “They trick you into not seeing the man who holds them. . . And I. . .” Juliana’s eyes filled with tears. “I am terribly unhappy.”

  And then, Juliana never said another word about it. Whenever Allegra tried to ask her older sister, Juliana had stared and pretended not to understand her.

  When Juliana’s time finally came, Viscount Tyburry was at his club, no doubt awaiting news of a son.

  Meanwhile, his wife lay screaming in her bed.

  Juliana screamed and screamed until she could do no more than let out broken moans.

  Despite the objections of everyone present, Allegra shoved her way into her sister’s room.

  Pale, exhausted, and eyes filled with tears, Juliana had grabbed Allegra’s hand.

  Allegra’s throat closed, somehow knowing that her sister was now taking a journey that she would not be able to accompany her on. “Don’t,” Allegra whispered as she felt her heart breaking. “Don’t go.”

  “I—I don’t want to,” Juliana breathed. “The baby?”

  But there was a defeated note in Juliana’s voice which seemed to know that her infant son, lifeless, had never let out his first cry, and had been wrapped up in white linen and whisked away.

  Allegra climbed onto the bed and held her sister fiercely. “I love you, Juliana. I love you.”

  Juliana leaned her head back against Allegra’s shoulder and let out a soft sigh, much like a little babe herself, and slept.

  Allegra waited for her sister to wake, even though she knew Juliana never would. She wouldn’t let go, even when the doctor looked down his crooked nose at her. She held her sister who had somehow lost herself in the last two years. Gently, she stroked Juliana’s hair, kissing her forehead, wishing she could go back to when they were little girls, happy and free.

  And as she cradled her beloved sister’s body, Allegra made a vow. She would never marry. As soon as she reached her majority, she would never let a man dictate her future. She owed it to Juliana. She owed it to her sister to live the life that Juliana had sacrificed. And nothing would convince her otherwise.

  *

  Three Years Later

  Allegra stared at her bedroom door, tears slipping down her face. Once again, she and her mother and father had shouted until her parents had stormed from the room, slamming the door behind them.

  Viscount Ponsonby was the perfect political match. He had connections that would advance her brother and her father. The viscount’s family was also highly respected in society. Yet, she knew the man cared for little but his hounds and the endless rounds that the ton reveled in.

  Her parents had announced to her last week that she would accept the viscount’s proposal. She’d replied, no thank you.

  They had repeated this conversation again and again over the last days with increasing vitriol and threats.

  It was true, she couldn’t be forced into marriage, not technically, but she wouldn’t be able to live with her parents in London if she refused. They had made it clear that she was either to follow the path of dutiful daughters or she was to be sent to their family estate far in the North where she’d rot and die, alone, with no company to brighten the dark days.

  She’d known keeping her vow would be hard but she’d never imagined it would come to this.

  Allegra folded her hands in her lap and, for one brief moment, she fancied Ju
liana’s hand was holding her own. Then a voice whispered, Run, Allegra. You must run.

  That simple voice was clear and strong. She lifted her chin, tears still slipping down her cheeks. It would be no easy thing. To turn her back on her family. But if she married Viscount Ponsonby she’d be turning her back on the vow she’d made on her sister’s death bed. She’d be turning her back on Juliana.

  And so, run was exactly what she would do.

  Chapter 1

  Lady Allegra Penthurst clutched her itchy wool cap then pulled it down over her ears. A full month of shorn hair still left her feeling completely exposed, but if she intended on passing as the stable boy she claimed to be, red hair that fell to one’s bum would hardly do.

  She’d known her life was about to take a remarkable turn the moment she’d left her London townhome and taken to the roughly-grooved roads, burying herself deep in the Devon countryside where the sea and land met in the sort of furious beauty that stole one’s breath away.

  But she hadn’t counted on how wonderfully mundane life as a stable boy would be.

  Mundane, that was, until he showed up.

  She bit down on her lower lip and wished she could sink into the slightly muddy stable yard ground.

  What was he doing here?

  A traitorous shiver traveled down her spine. A deliciously frightened shiver at the possibility that she might be discovered and by such a man. It had been no small risk, abandoning her life and her home, but she could still feel Juliana’s hand in hers. That promise? It was in everything she did now. From the way she rose in the morning and embraced the day, to the way she tumbled aching into bed after a long day at work.

  She was going to be herself and live her life to the very fullest, as her sister hadn’t been able to.

  Given that, she shouldn’t be so paralyzed by the Duke’s presence. After all, she’d sworn off marriage. Not men. There was just one thing. She was a boy. At least until she decided if France was her next step in her abandonment of a life of courtesies and tea cups.

  My goodness, there was something all too astounding about the fabulously powerful Duke of Roth who had the whole stable yard clambering. She should be clambering, too, but her feet seemed to be stuck.

  Whatever it was about him, it thrilled and terrified her at once. Perhaps it was his charcoal black hair which fell in sharp waves about his harsh cheekbones. Or perhaps it was the sheer width of his broad shoulders, stretching the expensively tailored blue coat and white linen shirt, open at the neck, exposing perfect, burnished skin. Then again, it was absolutely possible it was the way he towered over everyone, his six foot four inches giving him a command that made her tremble in her five foot two inch frame.

  Whatever it was, whenever the Duke was near, it was all she could do to stop the flutterings in her belly.

  The Duke of Roth was the kind of man girls were warned about. And didn’t that make him all the more tempting? No. She had a semblance of a plan and English aristocrats were not a part of it. Freedom from titled men and all that they came with was the only thing for her.

  Allegra groaned under her breath. Good lord, he was beautiful. He was also a bloody inconvenience. Perhaps she should sneak back to the servant’s quarters and claim a weak stomach.

  She’d never met the Duke of Roth in London, but she had no desire to draw his attention.

  At present, he was far too close for comfort. She was supposed to be hauling hay into the barn. Instead, she was half hiding behind said tall pile of hay. If she scurried, something she was completely unaccustomed to, for timid mouse she was not, she might be able to get by him unnoticed.

  It would be tricky. The Duke of Roth stood not even four feet away beside the wood fence surrounding the paddock, one black booted foot propped on the bottom beam. He stared out at the mare, Mab, as she took her delicate but sure paces. The young mare had been brought in to breed with the duke’s prized stud, rather ironically named Devil. To Allegra’s shock, his grace had come down to the paddock to oversee the events himself.

  Dukes weren’t supposed to be present for such things. They were supposed to be off doing dukely things, like running the government or overseeing their lands. In a grand study not a muddy yard.

  In fact, old Gregory, her lady’s maid’s uncle, had assured her that the duke was seldom at his estate at all. It was why she’d felt so confident hiding from her family at Rothton, the duke’s family seat. She wasn’t really certain what favor Gregory owed her maid, Rose, but whatever it was, it had guaranteed his compliance. . . And to Allegra’s shock, Rose, who had also been Juliana’s maid, had been remarkably determined to help.

  Since the duke’s return, contrary to Gregory’s claims, the duke was in his stables almost every morning to take his hellfire beast of a stallion out. At those hours, Allegra made a point of being as far away as she possibly could.

  So far, she’d succeeded in the stables, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the ground, shuffling past whenever he turned up striding about and giving off the general air of one who was going to tear someone to bits at any moment.

  She inched to her right, ready to fall to her hands and knees, in search of some bit or imaginary bob so she might keep her head down.

  As she moved, the duke turned slightly.

  He spotted her. Hard eyes as black as obsidian caught her in their gaze. “You. Boy.”

  Allegra froze, her own gaze trapped by his. After a painful moment, she managed to drop her stare and gave her cap a little pull out of respect “Your Grace?”

  “Are your boots fascinating lad?” he demanded, that deep voice of his cracking through the cold morning air.

  “No, Your Grace,” she mumbled.

  “Then chin up. I’ll have no forelock tuggers here.”

  She nodded, barely daring to do as he requested. She was also stunned he respected a mere stable boy so. Slowly, she lifted her gaze up from the thick grass to his boots, then to the tight buff breeches that hugged his thighs. Her pulse sped.

  “Come on then, eyes up.”

  She cleared her throat and focused on his face.

  He narrowed his eyes, studying her. An imperious eyebrow rose. “You’re rather delicate for this work.”

  “No,” she protested. She winced, her voice high even to her own ears. She coughed and gave her chest a pound. “No, Your Grace. I am quite capable.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Indeed?”

  She squared her shoulders, the bindings about her breasts cutting into her skin. “None better with a horse.”

  The Duke of Roth stared. He stared and stared until she felt as if he were looking into the very darkest corners of her soul, probing for secrets. A look of displeasure pressed his lush lips together for a brief moment before he gave her a cold smile.

  “If you say so,” he said. “Go fetch Devil.”

  Doubtlessly, he thought she’d quake in her boots but it was all she could do to hide a relieved grin. Devil loved her, unlike all the other stable boys. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  She turned and forced herself to walk with the swagger that Gregory had drilled into her over hours and hours of practice. It had never occurred to her that pretending to be a boy would be so difficult for a nineteen-year-old lady. She savored the slight bounce in her step as she strode into the stable. The alley between the individual stables was empty save for Dumas, the resident mouser.

  His marmalade tail twitched as she neared, hoping for a quick scratch. She shook her head at the cat. “No time, puss. Extra scratches later, I promise.”

  The cat let out a meow of protest as she passed him, heading straight for Devil’s stall.

  If she could just get through this interview, somehow she’d find a way to avoid the duke. . . Maybe. . . Maybe as much as she hated to admit it, it was already time to move on and start the life she’d been determined to have since her sister’s death. But she did love Rothton’s massive estate, its paddocks, and its incredible stables.

  The pound o
f hooves against wood echoed down the building, matched by the deep blowing of breath. Devil was bored.

  She shook her hands, freeing herself of her earlier concerns. Devil would sense any distress and it would only aggravate his already tempestuous nature.

  As she stepped before the stable door, Devil let out a sharp whinny then reared on his hind quarters.

  “Hello, beautiful boy,” she cooed.

  He snorted and plunged his fore hooves to the ground. After a few wickers and head nods, he took a step towards her. Smiling, she held out her hand, something none of the other stable boys dared do. With most, Devil was likely to bite the offered hand, even if it held an apple.

  The stallion didn’t like any of the male sex, or so it seemed, save his master.

  She wasn’t vain. She doubted it was her superior personality that made her so amenable to the wicked horse. Though she was excellent with horseflesh, it was almost certainly her gender.

  Devil took another step forward then shoved his muzzle in her palm, wiggling his lips in contented glee over her skin.

  She laughed. “Your presence is requested, my boy.”

  Devil whickered again and lifted his head, flaring his nostrils as if to show her how beautiful he could be. “No, it’s not me requesting. It’s His Grace.”

  As if the stallion understood the title, he danced about his stable, growing excited. The duke was the only one that could ride Devil and Devil loved to run. The stallion’s sudden anticipation was palpable.

  She laughed. This respite, working with the animals she loved so dearly, had been just the thing she needed before she’d throw herself into her next adventure. “Aren’t you the sweetest boy?”

  “Sweet hardly seems the appropriate word.”

  Allegra bit back a yelp of astonishment. As those words sank in, she closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed the duke hadn’t heard too much and certainly hadn’t heard her own female tones.

  Giving a good throat clearing, she turned to face the duke, ready to make light of her comments. Any word she was about to utter, died on her lips.