The Duke’s Scandalous Kiss Read online

  The Duke’s Scandalous Kiss

  Aileen Fish

  Text copyright by the Author.

  This work was made possible by special permission through the de Wolfe Pack Connected World publishing program and WolfeBane Publishing, a dba of Dragonblade Publishing. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack connected series by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc. remains the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc., or the affiliates or licensors.

  All characters created by the author of this novel remain the copyrighted property of the author.

  De Wolfe Pack: The Series

  By Aileen Fish

  The Duke She Left Behind

  The Duke’s Scandalous Kiss

  By Alexa Aston

  Rise of de Wolfe

  By Amanda Mariel

  Love’s Legacy

  One Wanton Wager

  Forever in Your Arms

  By Anna Markland

  Hungry Like de Wolfe

  By Ashe Barker

  Wolfeheart

  By Autumn Sand

  Reflections of Love

  Reflections of Time

  By Barbara Devlin

  Lone Wolfe: Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 1

  The Big Bad De Wolfe: Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 2

  Tall, Dark & De Wolfe: Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 3

  By Cathy MacRae

  The Saint

  The Penitent

  The Cursed

  By Celeste Barclay

  A Spy at the Highland Court

  By Christy English

  Dragon Fire

  By Danelle Harmon

  Heart of the Sea Wolfe

  By Emmanuelle de Maupassant

  Master of the Moor

  By Emily E K Murdoch

  Whirlwind with a Wolfe

  By Hildie McQueen

  The Duke’s Fiery Bride

  By Jennifer Siddoway

  De Wolfe in Disguise

  By Kathryn Le Veque

  River’s End

  By Lana Williams

  Trusting the Wolfe

  Ruby’s Gamble

  By Laura Landon

  A Voice on the Wind

  By Leigh Lee

  Of Dreams and Desire

  By Mairi Norris

  Brabanter’s Rose

  By Marlee Meyers

  The Fall of the Black Wolf

  By Mary Lancaster

  Vienna Wolfe

  The Wicked Wolfe

  By Meara Platt

  Nobody’s Angel

  Kiss an Angel

  Bhrodi’s Angel

  By Mia Pride

  The Lone Wolf’s Lass

  The Last Wolfe Lass

  By Michele Lang

  An Honest Woman

  By Rosamund Winchester

  The Defender and the Dove

  By Ruth Kaufman

  My Enemy, My Love

  My Rebel, My Love

  My Rival, My Love

  By Sarah Hegger

  Bad Wolfe on the Rise

  By Scarlett Cole

  Together Again

  By Sherry Ewing

  To Love a Scottish Laird

  To Love an English Knight

  By Tammy Andresen

  To Want a Rogue

  By Victoria Vane

  Breton Wolfe Book 1

  Ivar the Red Book 2

  The Bastard of Brittany Book 3

  By Violetta Rand

  Never Cry de Wolfe

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  De Wolfe Pack: The Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  April 1816

  Lake District, England

  With a powerful shiver, Lady Lorna de Wolfe pulled her knitted wool shawl tighter and rose to scoot her chair closer to the fire, while remaining close enough to the table overflowing with hat-making goodies where she and her friends were passing the afternoon. “Will we ever see the sun?” she asked no one in particular.

  Their hostess, Mrs. Dixon, also sat at the hearth and sipped from her delicate china teacup. “Don’t concern yourself overmuch. I have planned many activities you can do in the snow, as well as household entertainments. I’m counting on you ladies to delight us at our little musicale this evening.”

  Lorna held back her groan. She couldn’t carry a tune if she had three servants to bear the load. Her fingers were too clumsy to play the pianoforte with any finesse. Her only hope was to join the other ladies in a chorale and mouth the words silently. Her aunt, Julia, happily sang a touch louder in such situations to help Lorna save face. But with only six young women to perform together, their subterfuge might not go unnoticed.

  “Arabella, hand me the pink ribbon,” CeCe Dixon said to her sister, holding out her hand. “No, that’s rose. Pink, I said. Pink.” As the eldest of three sisters and one brother, CeCe seemed to laud her extra two years as though it meant she knew so much more than her siblings, none of whom were fools.

  Arabella reached for the hank of narrow silk ribbon with a huff. “I planned to use that myself. It matches the poppies, you see?” She held up the white muslin bonnet she was decorating with lace, flowers and ribbon.

  Their middle sister, Minnie, was the peacekeeper. “Consider the ivory, Bella. You could dye that lace you have to match the poppies, and the ivory would be the perfect contrast.”

  Lorna watched the interchange, for a moment wondering why she and her Aunt Julia, who was a year younger than Lorna, had never fought over anything as children. They were as close as sisters yet more concerned with the other girl having what she wanted, content to take what was left just as long as the other was happy. She glanced at Julia across the pile of bonnets and trim, needles and thread.

  Julia smiled, clearly having the same thoughts. As if to confirm that, she held up a spool of pale-yellow thread. “Would you prefer this shade to white?”

  Grinning back, Lorna said, “Why yes, thank you.” She took the spool, bit off a length and threaded a needle, then set it aside while she tested several layouts of the trims she’d chosen.

  “I don’t understand why we’re making bonnets,” Arabella said, her voice close to the whine her mother harped over constantly. “It’s not as though we’ll be able to show them off to any of the gentlemen here this week since the weather will keep us trapped inside. Besides, they’re spring colors. We can’t wear pastels when there is snow on the ground.”

  “It’s mid-April,” Minnie said. “Well past time to put away our dark fashions regardless of the weather.”

  “I hear it’s even colder in London,” Julia commented. “My nephew Jacob wrote and mentioned this odd weather we’re having.”

  “I had hoped Jacob would be joining us this week.” Arabella pushed away her bonnet and stretched her arms.

  “He had business to attend to,” Lorna said. Jacob, her cousin, would be glad to hear he’d missed out on some unwanted attention. None of the De Wolfes was in the market for marriage, although their incomes made them attractive prospects. Their appearances, even more so. While Lorna would never speak of it aloud, because she felt herself rather plain, the men and women they mingled with praised th
e De Wolfes constantly.

  “Doesn’t Jacob have the finest pair of eyes? What color would you call them? They’re too brown to be hazel.” CeCe met each young woman’s gaze around the table, looking for a response.

  Minnie blushed as she spoke. “More amber, I’d say.”

  “You’re both wrong,” insisted Arabella. “They are hazel fading to jade when the sunlight hits them just right.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Lorna smiled. She’d grown up with Cousin Jacob and his brothers Tristan and Declan and yet she couldn’t describe any man’s eyes in that sort of detail. If she had to guess, she’d say hazel.

  Julia’s features took on a blasé appearance as if she were once again humoring the sisters. “I’ve always thought them hazel, myself, but he’s usually laughing at me with narrowed eyelids, so I couldn’t say for certain.”

  “Tristan is here, though, which is just as promising as having Jacob among us,” Minnie pointed out. “He’s just as pleasant to look at. Won’t you please say a good word about me to him, Julia? Lady Lorna? Marrying him would be a dream come true.”

  Minnie’s full cheeks glowed with happiness, or some such emotion, and her eyes were bright. Lorna couldn’t say for certain what caused the expression, having never experienced it herself. She’d never felt that way toward a man. She considered her cousins’ schoolmates to be her friends and had met a few men in London during past Seasons, but not once had she been swept breathlessly away at the thought of a man paying her special attention. She’d never longed for a kiss—although she would enjoy experiencing one with a handsome man to see if it was as life-changing as her friends insisted.

  Julia had talked about her late husband in those enthralled terms before they married. In the year after their wedding, she’d blush and turn away when Lorna asked about kissing, or any of the other romantic delights young ladies hinted at but never expressed. Then Ned, her husband, had taken ill and three months later he died. There were no more blushes, no giggles at having been caught staring dreamily out a window. In the two years since, Julia’s smile had returned, a softer, more poignant version, but the laughter in her eyes was gone.

  The pain Lorna had seen there frightened the desire for love out of her. She couldn’t bear to suffer a loss like that, so she’d never fall in love. Her heart was safer that way.

  William Foster, 8th Duke of Everleigh, imagined a line extending from the end of his cue stick past the cue ball and on to the spot on the cushion where he calculated the ball must strike to knock the red ball into the side pocket.

  Their young host, Barney Dixon, chose that moment to hack up a loud, phlegmy cough. “Forgive me, old man,” he said to Everleigh when he saw the duke’s expression, as if they were equals.

  Ignoring him, Everleigh once again planned his shot, struck, and enjoyed the crack of the wooden balls colliding just before the red ball fell into the desired pocket. He gave a slight nod in no one’s direction to acknowledge his success, then set toward planning the next shot.

  “Must you beat us at every game we play?” Tristan De Wolfe, Earl of Margrave, asked evenly. “Doesn’t it grow dull after the first dozen or so wins?”

  “Winning only grows tiresome if there’s no money riding on the win. Like now. I’ve only won the last four, though, so the elation is only slightly muddy. I still have another half-dozen wins to achieve before I beg to play something else.” Everleigh chuckled at his humor. He did hate to lose, and he truly enjoyed winning a bet—perhaps a little too much, he’d admit only to himself. But what he liked most about billiards was challenging himself to find the most elaborate succession of ricochets off the cushions and other balls before sinking into the correct pocket. He didn’t actually need an opponent to play against, but he humored them in believing he did.

  Aside from mastering a skill, however, he enjoyed winning for the money—not that he needed more blunt. His reputation as a card player was well-known in London, so any man who’d continue to wager against Everleigh at a club, or in the smoky card room filled with men escaping the dancing upstairs, deserved to go home with empty pockets.

  He missed the next shot in order to set up a future play, then stood back while Tristan took his turn.

  “I must admit to my surprise, Your Grace, when Mother told me you’d accepted her invitation,” Barney said, before gulping whatever he had in his mug.

  “Go easy on that, young man. The afternoon is young. What would your dear mama say if you arrived in the dining room boshed this evening?” Everleigh smiled to show he meant the warning good-naturedly. Young Dixon was a good sort, if a bit naïve. How could he be anything but, with such an overbearing mother and three flighty sisters? “Tristan mentioned that he was planning to come, and since I also had an invitation, I agreed to join him. Do you expect more guests to arrive?”

  “Mother has a long list of invitations she sent, but with the weather, most of the invitees wrote notes of their change in plans.”

  In Everleigh and Tristan’s minds the weather made the thought of a week with the Dixons only slightly more unpleasant, but their trip was necessary. They’d heard Victor Barrington would also be attending. If they were snowed in with him, they’d have the chance to discretely learn the truth about a matter involving Tristan’s younger brother, Declan. Victor wouldn’t spill what he knew if Tristan was present. The likelihood Victor would talk at all was slim, but Everleigh was concerned Victor would recognize Tristan and Jacob, so he intended to do most of his questioning before Victor knew either of the brothers was in the house.

  But for any of this to happen, Victor needed to be present. With the state of the roads, chances were too strong he wouldn’t come, and their visit would be for naught. Everleigh wouldn’t allow worry to slip into his plans just yet, though. If he didn’t speak to Barrington here, he’d find the man in Invernochty. Either way, he’d find the resolution Declan sought.

  Later that afternoon, after growing bored with winning, Everleigh explored the upper floors of the large house in search of a good hiding place. Somewhere he could disappear to when he didn’t want to participate in an entertainment offered by Mrs. Dixon. Such as now, when the young people were performing a game of charades in the drawing room. Everleigh loathed play-acting, preferring to leave it to the professionals on stage. To be honest, he was quite fond of watching the lovely and curvaceous Mademoiselle Angelique du Bois perform both on and off stage, but their friendship had changed when she fell in love with a fellow actor. Everleigh didn’t believe in love, but he wasn’t one to ridicule those who did, and he wished her well.

  A burst of laughter from the drawing room below made him question if he’d wandered far enough to avoid discovery. He feared becoming lost if he went farther down the hallway with its polished woodwork and golden sconces, and into one of the wings most likely reserved for the family’s bedchambers. He’d passed a set of double doors that likely opened onto the ballroom, not the ideal place to go unnoticed as it probably lacked a comfortable chair in which to read the book he’d borrowed from the small library, yet he had few other options, it seemed. Opening one of the doors, he stood in the opening and glanced about the room, considering its suitability for his needs. He was correct about the lack of furniture—there wasn’t even a column or large fern to hide behind should someone enter the room. When he entered, the polished wood floor echoed with his soft footsteps, so he stopped walking but continued his perusal. Then he saw an alcove high above the dance floor—the minstrel’s gallery.

  Perfect.

  He absently tapped the book in his hand, returned to the hallway, and searched for the door to the gallery stairs. Finding it, he trod softly up, although he didn’t believe anyone was around to hear him. But just in case a servant had too-sharp hearing, he kept his steps light and listened for any squeaking boards.

  The room was dark; only the light from the windows in the ballroom filtered through the arched opening where the musicians would play. He hadn’t considered the possible
lack of light when he found the book. He should have brought a candle.

  Turning, he looked for a chair to drag close to the opening. He found only one, nestled in a dark corner with a pretty young lady curled up with a cushion beneath her head, asleep. She looked familiar, so he walked into the shadows around her to see who she was.

  He’d been correct—the lady was the widowed Julia Tilney, a good friend of his and a cousin to the De Wolfes. She slept soundly, her long dark eyelashes fanned out on her pale cheeks. Her pink lips twitched as if to smile. Was merely she pretending to sleep? That little tease of a smile was too tempting to resist. He bent and pressed his lips to hers. The scent of lavender filled the air around her, its perfume contrasted with a sharp herb he couldn’t name.

  What was meant to be a brief buss lengthened as he was unable to pull away when her mouth softened beneath his, offering more. Did Julia know who she was kissing, or did she have a lover staying at the Dixon’s home? She’d never shown a marked attraction to him, so he assumed the latter.

  She smiled and purred, stretching her arms over head and he stood. Her eyelids fluttered open, then widened as her jaw dropped and she gasped. “Who are you?” She clutched the upholstered arms and pushed herself back into the slight padding the chair offered.

  “Everleigh, as you can plainly see.”

  “I see you well enough and I do not know you. Why did you kiss me?” She looked like a cornered rabbit who would run as soon as she saw her chance.

  He stepped back, hoping she didn’t leave but not wanting her to be uncomfortable. “Your lips were so tempting, I couldn’t resist.” He offered her his best flirtatious smile, but it appeared to have no effect on her.

  Her shoulders lowered slightly as she relaxed, but she held tight to the chair. Her eyebrows drew together as she glared up at him. “Do you make it a habit to accost sleeping women?”

  “Forgive me, Julia. I didn’t think you’d object to an innocent little peck between friends.”

  Huffing out a breath, she crossed her arms and thinned her lips, quite clearly piqued and not in a good way. “That explains it. I am not Julia. And that was more than a peck. You missed my cheek entirely.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.