To Desire a Wicked Duke

  ess gazed mutely up at Rotham, searching his face. He had intense eyes. Vivid, dare-the-world eyes. Just now she felt as if she could drown in those vibrant gray depths.

  He was far too masculine and desirable, devil take him. She knew she should turn and run, yet she couldn’t move.

  And then he took the decision from her. Raising his hands, he slowly slid his fingers along either side of her jaw. When his mouth covered hers, Tess completely forgot to breathe. She could only remain rooted there, absorbing the jolting delight of Rotham’s probing kiss.

  His lips had the texture of heated silk, his exploring tongue a scalding wildness. What a wicked, marvelous sensation. Her head swam with drugged pleasure, her body trembled.

  He kissed like a possessive lover—or what she imagined a possessive lover to be. A whisper of a sigh escaped Tess. She had suspected that kissing Rotham would be remarkable, but she’d vastly underestimated how wonderful, how intensely glorious, it would be. The impact left her too flustered to think, too dazed to stand on her own. Reaching up, Tess weakly clutched at his shoulders.…

  BY NICOLE JORDAN

  The Courtship Wars

  TO PLEASURE A LADY

  TO BED A BEAUTY

  TO SEDUCE A BRIDE

  TO ROMANCE A CHARMING ROGUE

  TO TAME A DANGEROUS LORD

  TO DESIRE A WICKED DUKE

  Paradise Series

  MASTER OF TEMPTATION

  LORD OF SEDUCTION

  WICKED FANTASY

  FEVER DREAMS

  Notorious Series

  THE SEDUCTION

  THE PASSION

  DESIRE

  ECSTASY

  THE PRINCE OF PLEASURE

  Other Novels

  THE LOVER

  THE WARRIOR

  TOUCH ME WITH FIRE

  To Desire a Wicked Duke is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2011 by Anne Bushyhead

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  This book contains an excerpt from book one of the forthcoming Legendary Lovers series by Nicole Jordan. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-52313-6

  Cover illustration: Alan Ayers

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1

  For Sandra Chastain and Ann Howard White

  Dear friends and sisters at heart

  Love you bunches

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from the Legendary Lovers series

  Although I have been off the Marriage Mart a good while now, I am quickly relearning an indisputable rule of engagement with the opposite sex: When you play with fire, you are likely to be burned … and Rotham is the hottest sort of fire.

  —Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard

  The kiss was amazingly insipid.

  Disappointment surged through Tess Blanchard as Mr. Hennessy drew her more fully into his embrace. She had expected so much more when she acquiesced to his impulsive gesture.

  More excitement, more pleasure, more feeling. In short, she had secretly longed to be swept away by romantic passion.

  Instead she found herself logically analyzing the construction of his lovemaking. The precise pressure of his lips. The exact angle of his head. The unarousing feel of his arms around her.

  There was no spark, no fire between them at all, Tess realized sorrowfully. The entire business left her remarkably cold.

  Oh, Patrick Hennessy certainly seemed skilled in the art of kissing, she mused as his mouth plied hers with increased ardor. But surely a man who counted himself such an expert lover should have elicited a stronger response from her?

  Not that she had much basis for comparison. This was only the second man she had ever romantically embraced in her three-and-twenty years.

  It had happened purely on a whim. One moment they were laughing together over a line in the comic play Hennessy had written. The next, an arrested expression claimed his features as he gazed down at her. When he stepped closer and bent his head to capture her lips, Tess had no thought of stopping him. For too long she had let herself languish on the shelf in the game of love, refusing to open herself up to renewed heartbreak. But it was past time to reenter the lists.

  Admittedly, in Mr. Hennessy she was drawn by both curiosity and the lure of the forbidden. She knew better, of course. A proper lady did not indulge in scandalous experiments with libertine actors behind the stage curtains. Hennessy was known as something of a Lothario among the London theater crowd, although in addition to being a brilliant performer, he was also a successful manager of his own troupe, a budding playwright, and the talented director of Tess’s two recent benefit concerts, which had raised vast sums for her charities.

  Then again, perhaps she was not giving him a fair chance.

  Closing her eyes more tightly, Tess made a stronger effort to enter into the spirit of the kiss. In response, Hennessy’s hand stole lower down her back, over her derrière, to pull her closer. Despite her own lack of enthusiasm, she had evidently affected him, judging by the swelling hardness she felt pressing against her lower abdomen—

  “Well, well, are you practicing to play the part of lovers in your production, Miss Blanchard?”

  At the sharp-edged drawl, a startled Tess tore her mouth away from Hennessy’s—and froze in mortification upon recognizing that sardonic male voice. Obviously she had failed to hear anyone enter the ballroom where their makeshift stage was erected.

  Good Lord, what utterly dreadful timing, to have her transgression discovered by the arrogant, infuriating Duke of Rotham, elder cousin of her late betrothed. Rotham had stepped behind the stage curtains to find her locked in a clandestine embrace with the man she had hired to produce her amateur theatrical.

  Scalding heat flooded Tess’s cheeks as she pulled away from her partner in crime. Hennessy had also reacted to the duke’s unexpected appearance by releasing her instantly. Yet the actor looked not only guilty but somewhat alarmed, as if he’d been caught in a hanging offense.

  Squaring her shoulders, Tess turned to face Ian Sutherland, the tall, lithe Duke of Rotham. His handsome face was an enigmatic mask in the muted daylight seeping over the stage curtains from the ballroom windows, but his mouth held a tightness that signified displeasure, perhaps even anger.

  He had no right to judge her, she told herself defiantly.

  “You are mistaken, your grace,” Tess said, striving to keep her voice calm as she responded to his mocking tone. “There are no love
rs in Mr. Hennessy’s play. It is merely a comedy of manners about a mischievous ghost.”

  “You were testing out a new role, then?”

  “What may I do for you, Rotham?” Tess asked, ignoring his jibe. “We have only just concluded the dress rehearsal and still have a great deal to accomplish before this evening’s performance.”

  They had constructed a stage at one end of the ballroom of her godmother’s country mansion for the theatrical—the crowning entertainment of the charitable benefit Tess had organized. Tess had engaged Hennessy and his troupe to put on the one-act play and direct the houseguests in their respective acting roles.

  “I doubt your preparations entail kissing the hired help,” Rotham drawled in that annoyingly cynical tone of his.

  Tess stiffened. “It is hardly any of your business whom I kiss, your grace.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  Renewed ire rose in Tess. She would not allow him to dictate to her, as he was regularly fond of doing. Indeed, they had had similar arguments before. The Duke of Rotham was head of the family she would have married into had her betrothed not tragically perished two years ago at the Battle of Waterloo. But they had no real blood ties, and Rotham was mistaken in thinking that he had any say over her affairs. Particularly her amorous affairs.

  Shifting his attention, Rotham turned his piercing gray gaze on Mr. Hennessy, who still seemed wary and on edge. “I expected better of you, Hennessy. You were supposed to be protecting her, not assaulting her. Is this how you fulfill your duties?”

  The actor shot the duke a chagrined look of apology. “I beg your forgiveness, your grace. I fell down in my duties disgracefully.” Rather sheepishly, he turned to Tess. “A thousand pardons, Miss Blanchard. I was vastly out of line.”

  Tess started to respond, but Rotham interrupted her. “I’ll thank you to leave us, Hennessy. I shall deal with you later.”

  Her jaw dropped at Rotham’s arrogant dismissal, but before she could voice her objection aloud, Hennessy gave her a brief bow, then pivoted with alacrity and disappeared through a part in the curtains.

  She remained speechless as she listened to him bound down the stage steps and hurry away across the ballroom. It was hardly chivalrous of him to abandon her to the mercies of the duke, Tess thought resentfully. No doubt he preferred not to challenge a nobleman of Rotham’s station and far-reaching influence.

  However, when she at last gathered her wits enough to protest, Rotham held up an imperious hand, forestalling her. “You should know better than to indulge in trysts with libertines such as Hennessy.”

  Prickling with indignation, Tess returned a mutinous look. The nerve of him, scolding her for a sin she had not even committed. “I was not indulging in any tryst, your grace. It was just a simple kiss.”

  The corner of Rotham’s mouth curled. “It did not look at all simple to me. You were participating fully.”

  He sounded almost angry, although why he would be angry with her for returning the actor’s kiss, she couldn’t fathom.

  “What if I was participating? It is no crime—”

  Realizing how high-pitched and flustered her own voice sounded, Tess took a calming breath and forced a cool smile. “I truly cannot believe your gall, Rotham. How someone of your wicked character can deride another man for rakish behavior—or criticize me for something so innocent as a mere kiss—is the height of irony. Do you even recognize your hypocrisy?”

  A hint of satirical amusement tugged at his lips. “I acknowledge your point, Miss Blanchard. But I am not the only one concerned about your relationship with Hennessy. Lady Wingate is worried that you have become overly attached to him. In fact, she sent me to find you.”

  That gave Tess pause, as doubtless Rotham knew it would. Baroness Wingate was not just Tess’s godmother but chief patron for her various charities. She could not afford to offend the noblewoman whose generosity impacted so many lives for the better.

  “I have not become attached to Hennessy in the least,” Tess finally replied. “He is a valued employee, nothing more.”

  “Do you make a habit of kissing all your employees?” Rotham taunted. Before she could reply, he shook his head in reproach. “Lady Wingate will be severely disappointed in you. She arranged a lavish house party solely for your sake, so you could dun her guests for your assorted charities. And this is how you repay her?”

  Unable to refute the charge, Tess regarded Rotham in frustration. Her godmother had long disapproved of her endeavors to promote her charitable organizations and had only recently relented and invited some four dozen wealthy guests to a weeklong house party, thereby providing Tess with a captive audience. She’d spent the past week attempting to persuade each one of them to contribute to her causes.

  “Do you mean to tattle to her?” she asked Rotham.

  His answer, rife with mocking humor, disturbed her. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you intend to continue your liaison with Hennessy.”

  “I tell you, I am not having a liaison with him! You have completely misconstrued the matter.”

  “Who initiated the kiss?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “If Hennessy took advantage of you, I will have to call him out.”

  “You cannot be serious!” Tess stared at him, appalled to think he might not be jesting. The last Duke of Rotham, Laurence Sutherland, had ended his licentious career when he was killed in a duel over a married woman by her jealous husband. His son Ian had followed a similar reckless path all through his youth, generating wild tales of gambling and womanizing. Ian Sutherland’s scandalous endeavors had earned him the nickname “the Devil Duke” when he came into the title eight years ago. But surely he would not actually shoot Hennessy for the mere act of kissing her.

  “You know very well that dueling is illegal,” Tess objected, “in addition to being dangerous and possibly even lethal.”

  Rotham’s mouth tightened again, as if he too had recalled his sire’s ignominious end. “Indeed.”

  When he said nothing further, Tess suddenly recalled the confusing remark he’d made before ordering the actor from the ballroom. “What did you mean when you said Mr. Hennessy should have been ‘protecting’ me?”

  Rotham waved a careless hand in dismissal. “It is of no import.”

  “I should like to know.” Tess fixed him with a stubborn gaze, determined not to back down.

  He must have sensed her resolve, for he gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. “When you began spending so much time at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden in preparation for your last charity event, I charged Hennessy with keeping an eye on you. The theater district is a dangerous area, especially for an unescorted young lady.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in puzzlement. “So you asked him to look after me?”

  “Yes. I paid him a significant sum, in fact.”

  So that explained why Hennessy always insisted on escorting her to and from her carriage, Tess realized, and why he had hovered around her whenever she attended rehearsals. She had thought it was because the actor was growing enamored of her company. Irrationally, she couldn’t help feeling a prick to her self-esteem.

  “My companion usually accompanies me to the theater,” she pointed out to Rotham.

  “Your companion is an aging spinster with all the substance of a butterfly. She would be no help whatsoever if you were confronted by trouble.”

  That much was true, Tess conceded. Mrs. Dorothy Croft was tiny and gentle and soft-spoken, in addition to being a bit scatterbrained. The impoverished friend of Tess’s late mother, Dorothy had needed somewhere to live after being widowed, so Tess had opened her home in Chiswick to her. The relationship had also benefited Tess. With a genteel, elderly lady to lend her single state respectability, she had much more freedom to conduct her charitable endeavors.

  “I have a sturdy coachman and footmen to provide me protection should I require it,” Tess argued.

 
; Rotham’s vivid gray gaze never faltered. “Even so, I thought it wise to ensure your safety. And you would not readily have accepted any edicts from me.”

  That was also certainly true. They had long been at odds—which is what made Rotham’s current interest in her safety so startling. That he might be seriously concerned for her welfare had never crossed her mind.

  “Well, you needn’t worry about me, your grace. I am capable of providing for my own protection.”

  “Then you should refrain from kissing the likes of Hennessy. And he had best keep away from you. If he dares to touch you again, he will answer to me.”

  At the edge of possessiveness in the duke’s tone, Tess’s eyebrows narrowed in disbelief. He could not possibly be jealous. No doubt he was merely angry at Hennessy for disobeying a direct order, and at her for daring to contradict him.

  “Your transgressions are a thousand times worse, Rotham.”

  “But I am not an unmarried young lady, as you are.”

  “I am not so young any more,” Tess rejoined.

  Instead of replying, Rotham hesitated, as if suddenly aware how sharp his tone had become. Shaking his head, he seemed visibly to repress his emotions, as if distancing himself from their argument.

  His succeeding laugh was soft and laced with real amusement. “You are hardly ancient, Miss Blanchard. You only just turned twenty-three today.”

  Tess eyed him with suspicion. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

  “As head of the family, it is my business to know.”

  “You are not head of my family.”

  “For all practical purposes, I am.”

  There it was again, that ironic drawl that convinced her he was deliberately attempting to provoke her.

  It was infuriating, how Rotham always seemed to get under her skin, Tess reflected. Particularly when she was normally serene and even-tempered.