The Duke Who Came To Town (The Honorable Scoundrels Book 3) Read online

  The Duke Who Came To Town

  The Honorable Scoundrels

  Sophie Barnes

  Contents

  Also by Sophie Barnes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books In This Series

  Copyright © 2017 by Sophie Barnes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design and Interior Formatting by The Killion Group, Inc.

  www.thekilliongroupinc.com

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Sophie Barnes

  Novels

  A Most Unlikely Duke

  His Scandalous Kiss

  The Earl’s Complete Surrender

  Lady Sarah’s Sinful Desires

  The Danger in Tempting an Earl

  The Scandal in Kissing an Heir

  The Trouble with Being a Duke

  The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda

  There’s Something About Lady Mary

  Lady Alexandra’s Excellent Adventure

  How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back

  Novellas

  The Earl Who Loved Her

  The Governess Who Captured His Heart

  Mistletoe Magic (from Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection)

  1

  Josephine waited until the coach carrying her youngest sister, Eve, out to the Great West Road had turned a corner, disappearing from sight. She then wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and started making her way back toward the townhouse they’d shared with their other sister, Louise, until yesterday. The place would be empty now with both sisters away. Eve had been invited to visit with a friend for the holidays, while Louise had gone to Whitehaven in the northern part of the country to become a governess to three young children.

  Some extra income would certainly be welcome. Josephine wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to cover their expenses on her own. The townhouse, alone, took most of her wages, while food and clothing swallowed the rest. It was a struggle, but to accept defeat and relocate to humbler lodgings was out of the question. Already, they’d had to give up the status their Mayfair home and country estate had once afforded them. As the great-granddaughters of an earl, they’d enjoyed a comfortable position in society—until their father had squandered it all in a downward spiral of drink and depression.

  Pushing the unpleasant memories as far back as they would go, Josephine determined to focus on the future. The townhouse wasn’t the only thing at stake. There were also Eve’s prospects and their reputations. While Josephine and Louise had resigned themselves to working for a living, they both hoped Eve might still be able to enjoy the Season they’d been denied, that she might marry well, and that her life might be a little easier and happier than what they faced. There would be no large dowry, only the meager sum Josephine had managed to put aside during the last year since their father’s death: a few wages here, a bit of pawned jewelry there.

  Turning onto Vine Street, Josephine bowed her head against the gust of wind sweeping toward her. She’d used the last firewood that morning and would have to see about buying more –yet another cost eating away at her income. But this was England, and they were only in December. It would be several months before she’d be able to forego heating. Unless she wished to get sick and not only risk losing her job but also having to pay the exorbitant fee of seeing a doctor. To do so was not an option, so when she spotted a woman with firewood strapped to her back, Josephine crossed the street and made her approach. “How much for three pieces?” It was all she could carry.

  “Thirty pence, love.”

  Swallowing the bitterness of surrendering the sum, Josephine exchanged the coins for the wood and resumed walking, pushing through the wind as it whipped her skirts around her legs.

  She was almost at her door before she noticed the carriage parked at the side of the road. The two black horses hitched to the front of it silently watched her progress. Giving them a wary glance, Josephine balanced the firewood in one arm so she could retrieve her key from her pelisse pocket.

  Her face burned with cold and she took a step forward, prepared to seek refuge indoors, when the carriage door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped down onto the pavement. His hair was black beneath his beaver hat, his features matching the harsh winter climate. Eyes as dark as night caught hers, and his jaw immediately set with distinct determination.

  “Miss Potter?” He shoved the carriage door shut and strode toward her. The wind caught the hem of his somber greatcoat, forcing it out behind him in jerky movements.

  Josephine raised her chin. “Who wants to know?”

  Halting his approach, he told her frankly, “The Duke of Snowdon.” He dipped his head and touched the brim of his hat. “At your service.”

  The woman standing before Devon stared at him with incomprehension. Her lilac eyes, set against an oval face, had widened to the size of saucers, her rosy lips parted with undeniable shock. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected the Potter sisters’ appearances to be, but this one was certainly prettier than he had imagined. Cautious, too, judging from her response to his presence.

  “Your guardian,” he said, deciding to put her mind at ease, “has asked me to look in on you and your sisters.”

  Knitting her brow, she pressed her lips together and moved a bit closer to the door. “The Earl of Priorsbridge?”

  “Precisely.”

  Her expression turned increasingly wary. “Forgive me for saying this, but I don’t believe you.”

  Devon tried not to be affronted by the insult, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Are you calling me a liar?”

  She seemed to consider the question but chose not to answer it in the end, saying instead, “He has never showed any interest in us before.” Her gaze slid toward the door and the welcome warmth no doubt waiting for her beyond.

  “Perhaps you’re thinking of his father.”

  “His father?” Confusion seemed to bring interest with it.

  Which surprised Devon. “Have you not heard of his recent passing?”

  She shook her head. “No. I do not read the papers very often.”

  “Then allow me to inform you that he died last month. It is his son who has asked me to make sure you’re well and in no dire straits.” Retrieving his calling card from his pocket, Devon handed it to her so she could confirm his identity. Her fingers trembled, the firewood pressed against her chest like a barrier of sorts. Devon drew a breath and expelled it in a ghostly mist. “Might I suggest we continue this conversation indoors?”

  Her hesitance could not have been more obvious if she had actually told him she did not want him in her house. But the chill air must have banished the thought, for she quickly nodded and handed him the firewood. “If you will please hold this.”

  She unlocked the door and led the way through to a tiny foyer with barely enough space for the two of them to stand. Devon shut the door behind him to block the cold.

  “In here.” Miss Potter spoke briskly as she opened the door to a modest parlor and led the way through.

  He followed her inside, noting it was only marginally warmer in there than it had been in the foyer or even outdoors, with the fire in the grate reduced to embers. Crossing the floor, he considered the orange sparks glowing amidst the ashes. He hadn’t lit a fire in years, not since his father had taught him how when he’d been a lad. A lesson in practicality, his father had called it. As heir to a dukedom, Devon would probably never need the skill, but his father had insisted upon him knowing it all the same. It was being put to good use now, he decided, as he crouched down and set the logs on the floor. He reached for the fireplace spade and broom.

  “What are you doing?” Miss Potter asked from somewhere behind him. She sounded slightly appalled.

  Devon started to clean out the ash. “What does it look like?” She probably wasn’t accustomed to dukes stopping by and ensuring comfort.

  There was a pause–a very distinct one–and then, “But you cannot possibly…I mean, I can easily do this, Your…er…ah…Grace.”

  It was curious really, but there was something charming about her perplexity. Something amusing too. Devon glanced at her over his shoulder and instantly sucked in his breath. While he’d been busying himself with the fireplace, she’d removed the bonnet she’d been wearing to reveal the fairest hair he’d ever seen. Wisps of it curled against her cheeks with untidy abandon, tempting him to stand and approach her so he could examine it in greater detail.

  Instead, he returned his attention to his task, blocking her from his view. “It’s no trouble.” His voice was slightly gruffer than before. “I am more than happy to help.”

  Especially since he’d promised Priorsbridge – Edward – he would ensure the Misses Potter were well taken care of until he was able to do so himself. Some might call it a tall order, given its inconvenience, but Devon owed Edward, and the time had come for him to pay his debt.

  “I see.”
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  She said nothing further while he continued to clean out the ash and proceeded to build the fire. He lit it using the tinderbox sitting on the mantle and stoked it with the bellows. “That ought to do it,” he eventually said, unable to hide the pleasure he found in the task. “Come warm your hands, Miss Potter.”

  Carefully, as if she feared he might bite, she moved toward the welcoming heat with a gentle tread. Devon stepped to one side, allowing more space to fall between them, but not enough to prevent him from seeing the shades of blue unfurling around her irises. Her eyes were stunning, remarkable in their transformation of color. And her hair… It wasn’t white, and it wasn’t blonde. Rather, it was something in between, something he could not adequately describe, though it held him riveted with its uniqueness.

  Stretching out her fingers, now free from the gloves she’d been wearing, she allowed a sigh of distinct pleasure. Devon followed her example, but it wasn’t the fire that held his interest. It was her – the rosy glow brightening her cheeks, the dark lashes feathering across her skin, the soft curve of her nose, and the plush fullness of her lower lip. He considered each feature discreetly, all the while pretending he needed warmth too, when the truth was, he hadn’t felt cold since catching his first glimpse of her without her bonnet.

  He shrugged aside the distraction and glanced around the room. For a house inhabited by three women, it was unusually silent. “Where are your sisters, Miss Potter? Priorsbridge wrote there ought to be three of you living here.”

  “And so there were until recently.” After flexing her fingers as if hoping the action would force the heat to penetrate further, she lowered her hands and turned slightly toward him. Her eyes were now entirely blue, a deeper shade quite similar to the one found at sea on a hot afternoon. “Louise left for Whitehaven the day before yesterday in order to accept a position as governess to the Earl and Countess of Channing’s children.”

  Devon felt his jaw tighten with displeasure. “But she is gentry, the Earl of Priorsbridge’s cousin and ward. Allowing her to work for a living is highly irregular—unacceptable in so many ways—and likely to suggest Priorsbridge has failed to do his duty by you.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You speak as though you imagine we had a choice, as though we could afford to continue living in this house without seeking employment.”

  Briefly, Devon considered their humble surroundings, the worn-out velvet upholstery covering the nearby sofa and chairs, the lack of rugs and display pieces. The tables and sideboard were bare. Not a single vase or ornamental figurine could be seen. And then the manner in which she’d spoken hit him. His eyes found hers, lost for a moment in the clarity of her gaze. “We?”

  A shrug shifted her shoulders. “I work as an accountant, Your Grace.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He’d never heard of a female accountant before, and was so surprised to be faced with one now, he tactlessly followed his question with, “But you’re a woman!”

  “Yes.”

  The clip of her tone suggested she wasn’t the least bit pleased with what he said. Still… “That is even worse than being a governess, Miss Potter. The scandal you might cause. Why, it is—”

  “I don’t see how my position would cause an ounce of scandal for anyone.”

  Blinking, he stared down at her upturned face. “You are doing a man’s job, which might not have been too bad if you had been born into the working class. But you were not. Your status, most particularly as it relates to Priorsbridge, demands a certain…” He waved his hand, unsure of how to finish his sentence, especially since she was glaring at him now with distinct hostility. “The point is, your actions reflect upon him.”

  “What would you have had me do instead, Your Grace? Starve? Lose my home? Allow my sisters to do so?” She jabbed a finger at his chest, the blunt point of contact scolding him as effectively as her words. “I did what was necessary in order to survive after Priorsbridge proved to have no intention of helping us in any way.”

  “I will agree the former earl was lax in his duties toward you, but his son means to right that wrong. He intends to do what his father did not. It is why he asked me to come here personally and check on you.”

  She gave a snort. “It must be nice to have a duke at your beck and call.”

  Gritting his teeth, Devon leaned toward her. “He helped me when my father passed and I was out of the country. He saw to the funeral arrangements and ensured my mother and sister were well taken care of. Since he is otherwise occupied at the moment with the details surrounding his new inheritance, he asked if I could return the favor and handle this particular matter on his behalf.” Drawing a breath, he forced calmness into his voice before saying, “So you will hand in your notice at wherever it is you work, and then you will write to your sister and ask her to do the same. Immediately.”

  For a long moment, Josephine could do nothing but stare at the duke. The aloof manner in which he’d just spoken made it abundantly clear he was accustomed to getting his way. And in case his voice did not accomplish this goal, he wore a stern expression indicative of his strength and power, an expression intended to intimidate and defeat a weaker individual. Josephine knew there were men and women who would swiftly surrender to his demands when faced with the hint of his impending wrath, but she wasn’t one of them. Not when she’d faced much worse.

  So she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, addressing him with more honesty than a man of his rank had likely ever been subjected to before and said, “Your arrogance is astounding.” His jaw went slack, fuelling her resolve. “The fact you would presume to have the right to tell me what to do is preposterous. How dare you come into my home and play the entitled lord? How dare you behave as though I am subservient to you, as though I must bow to your will?”

  She fairly shook with anger, the cold she’d felt consuming her body a moment ago, completely forgotten. “You…” She pointed a finger at him, and he actually took a step back. “You pompous ass!”

  Her breaths were shallow, her chest heaving beneath the weight of each inhalation while she struggled to calm herself to some degree. She’d never been the sort of person to raise her voice to anyone or to throw insults around. That she did so now with a duke was testament to how deeply his overbearing manner had offended her.

  “Are you quite finished?” Irritation had banished all signs of the shock he’d portrayed in response to her outburst. Instead, he now encompassed more fierceness than ever. She chose to hold her tongue this time, allowing him to have his say. “Considering I’ve been tasked with ensuring your welfare and quarrelling is unlikely to be productive, I will pretend you did not insult me in such direct terms.”

  “Would you rather I did it in indirect terms?” The words were out before she could stop them. Inwardly, she cringed at her childish inability to resist the jab, while managing to maintain an outward appearance of stubborn defiance. Thank God.

  His teeth ground together, nostrils flaring while his hard stare drove boldly into her. “If you think coming here is enjoyable to me, think again, Miss Potter, for I can assure you I would rather be elsewhere. However, I have made a promise to Priorsbridge, and being a man of my word, I intend to do precisely what he has asked, however undeserving I think you are of anyone’s good graces at the moment.”

  He drew a deep breath as if gathering his strength. Affording her with the most patronizing stare she’d ever borne witness to in her life, he said, “So you and your sisters will receive a monthly stipend of seventy-five pounds, and in exchange, you will do everything in your power to ensure your actions do not reflect negatively on Priorsbridge.”

  “In other words, you are bribing me.”

  Muttering something beneath his breath–a curse, no doubt–he closed his eyes for a second, squeezing them tight before opening them again with frustration. “What woman in her right mind would rather toil away her days than accept a relative’s generosity?”

  She knew it seemed ridiculous, especially to a man like Snowdon who’d never been shunned by his peers or faced the threat of destitution. But for her, the idea of taking money from a man she’d never even met was no different than stealing. “I do not wish to be a charity cause, nor do I want to take advantage. What I desire is to prove myself capable of self-sufficiency.” She would prove to the world and, more importantly, to herself she did not require anyone’s help. Two men had failed her already—her father and her uncle—and she would be damned if she was going to allow herself to rely on a third.