My Duke's Deception Read online

  My Duke’s Deception

  Tammy Andresen

  Copyright © 2018 by Tammy Andresen

  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.

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  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  My Earl’s Entrapment

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  More about Tammy

  Chapter One

  Matthew tipped his glass of whisky back and finished it in a single swallow. His third in as many minutes. Any moment now the burning liquid would begin to numb the fresh wave of loss he’d felt before coming to the Kicking Horse Tavern and Inn.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands several times. His last lead had gone cold. For the last two years, he’d been searching for his sister. The one person in this godforsaken country he loved. Or maybe it was just him that had been forsaken.

  “I’ll have another.” He waved at a barmaid, who grimaced in response. He wasn’t certain if that meant she wouldn’t serve him or she just disapproved. He hoped it was the latter because he needed the forgetful bliss alcohol could provide. The worst part, he was the reason his sister Camille was gone.

  “Bloody hell,” he murmured under his breath as the memories replayed in his mind. She’d come to him for help but he’d turned her away. Why had he done that? He knew the reason of course but it still made no sense to him. He’d been mired in his own difficulties and sure they were more important than whatever Camille wanted to share with him.

  He’d never erase the immeasurable hurt in his sister’s eyes, though he’d instantly regretted his choice. They’d always helped each other. But his disappointment and anger clouded his good sense.

  His head dropped into his hands as memories of Camille continued to plague him. Where was that whisky? The three glasses he’d already consumed did little to stop his mind from turning the details over and over. That night was the last time he’d seen Camille before she’d disappeared. Not six months later, their father had passed away. He’d become the Duke of Pennington but even his title couldn’t help him find her.

  In fact, he’d found it a hindrance, particularly in places such as this, the seedy docks of London’s underbelly. So he’d posed as a commoner to try and gain any information he could. He’d traced her to the docks from a nearby tavern, The Kicking Horse, but the trail ended there. He believed her ship had sailed to France but he’d been unable to find anyone who could confirm it and her trail had gone cold.

  So he’d returned to the last place he knew she had been, The Kicking Horse.

  By all accounts, she hadn’t been here against her will; in fact, the tavern wench who’d seen her said she’d been with a man and they’d been happy, smiling at one another. It gave him some consolation. Though he missed her, the news gave him hope that she was alive, if only he could discover where.

  A new serving girl weaved her way through the crowd, her tray unsteady. She had that look like she was unsure of what was happening around her. Her eyes were wide as she stumbled, trying to avoid bumping into patrons.

  A pang of sympathy stabbed at him. She was lovely, really, with her dark hair pulled back at the nape and wide blue eyes that seemed to beg for someone to save her. As with all tavern wenches, she showed a fair amount of bosom and while her breasts weren’t overly large, they appeared exactly right for fitting into a man’s hand.

  He shook his head. Christ, he had to slow down on the whisky if he was ogling some poor girl. He blinked to clear his vision but he couldn’t help but look at her again when she stopped next to him to serve drinks to the fellows beside him.

  Her back was to him but he grudgingly noted the tininess of her waist, the perfect lines of her neck, and the silky tresses brushing down the slim column. He gave himself another shake. He’d never been a man to indulge himself in the pleasures of women. He’d kept his dalliances few and far between. Not that he didn’t have his share of female attention. But he found affairs sordid, distracting him from more meaningful pursuits. It was better to spend his time caring for the people around him, the servants and workers who depended upon him for their livelihoods. After all, he should have been caring for his sister rather than dallying with a hoyden.

  Though he hadn’t known Sarah had ill intentions, the one time he’d fallen in love, she’d only proven what a distraction affection truly was. Sarah had not only broken his heart, she’d clouded his judgment. He’d never forgive himself for allowing Sarah’s betrayal to push Camille away.

  The serving girl made to leave but one of the men at the table stopped her. “What’s yer rush?” He crassly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. “Ye just got here.”

  She pushed at his chest. “There are a great many customers and I—”

  There was no mistaking her accent. It sounded as refined as she looked. But what would a woman of grace being doing serving in a seedy place like this?

  “Don’t ye sound lovely.” The man holding her captive spoke Matthew’s thought aloud. “I’ve always wanted a woman like you under me.”

  With those words, she jerked away, knocking into the table, as the freshly poured drinks tipped wildly. Matthew stood instantly and caught the table, righting it. But the drinks did not recover as well and several spilled, crashing to the floor.

  She jumped back as the liquid soaked her, bumping into him. Without thought he wrapped his free hand around her waist. “I’ve got you,” he whispered close to her ear.

  She turned back to him then, as those wide blue eyes stared into his, her mouth forming an O. For just a second, he pulled her closer, she felt like nothing he’d ever held before, and then he tucked her behind him.

  The men at the table stood. “You idiot,” the man who’d just held her roared. “Yer paying fer those drinks.”

  The others grumbled in agreement and Matthew let go of the table, standing straighter. “You should have kept your hands to yourself.”

  “Stay out of it.” The man stepped closer, waving his finger in Matthew’s face. “It’s not your concern.”

  “I disagree.” Matthew began just as the man swung his fist directly at Matthew’s face. He sidestepped the blow, rather impressively, he thought to himself, considering the amount of whisky he’d consumed, and gave the man a quick fist to the gut.

  The ruffian doubled over even as one of his compatriots came at Matthew. Readying himself for the fight, he didn’t have a chance. A very large man grabbed him and the would-be assailant by the collars of their shirts. “That’s enough.” His voice boomed, silencing the noise around them. “All of you out.” Then he looked over Matthew’s shoulder. “And you’re fired. Leave with ‘em.”

  He heard a soft gasp that turned into a choking noise from just behind him. She’d lost her job because of these men. Him too. Even worse, they’d all be tossed out on the street together. Matthew would have to continue this fight outside or leave her to their vagary.

  He’d two pistols holstered under his coat, but he’d prefer not to have to use them. He’d preferred to avoid an altercation and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself and his real identity. So giving the incredibly large innkeeper his best smile, he withdrew several pounds from his waist coat. “We’ll happily leave. Here is money for the damages and another round of drinks for these fine gentlemen. They’re not to blame for this incident.”

  The innkeeper fisted the coin and nodded to another wench to serve the drinks. Matthew reached back and grabbed the woman’s hand, pulling her out of the inn and onto the dark street. Fortunately, his carriage was just outside, his driver being of the highest quality and before she could say a word, he pushed her into his carriage. Then he climbed in and snapped the door shut.

  “Sir,” her strangled protest caught him by surprise. “What do you mean to do with me?”

  He blinked several times. “I meant to remove you safely from those hooligans.”

  “Fair enough.” She huffed a breath. “But what then?”

  Lady Ella McIntire sat across from this total stranger in his dark carriage and took a calming breath. What did he want from her? What would happen to her tonight? His speed and strength when he’d defended her against those men had been both comforting and alarming. And if she made it through this, what was to come of her the next night and the night after that and after that?

  She had no one in this world. Her father had passed seven months ago. Not that he’d been an attentive father, far from it. But after his death her life had gotten increasingly difficult. Debtors had seized her home and she’d used what little money she had to travel from her former estate in Lincolnshire to London in the hopes of finding work. Finally having run out of pin money, she managed to secure the barmaid job, though she wasn’t entirely certain how. But serving drinks in a tavern had been all that stood between her and a workhouse. She didn’t know what she’d do to stop that from happening now that she’d lost
the position.

  “What then? Those men won’t attack you. They won’t…” He let his words trail off. “You were in distress.”

  He was right of course. She had no desire to be that man’s or any man’s harlot. But honestly, she’d run out of options. And while the choices presented to her now frightened her near to death, she had to eat, preferably with a roof over her head. “That job was all that I had left.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his eyes, using the heel of his hands. The carriage was dark but she could still tell all of this troubled him as he rubbed his eyes again. “You’re not a commoner. How can that be?”

  She swallowed. Might as well tell him as much as she dared. There was little point in hiding the truth. “My father died several months ago and left me with substantial debt. I was only able to keep enough from the debtors to support myself up until now. I had only just gotten that job as a means to keep myself fed.”

  “Surely there is something else you could do?”

  She shrugged. “I could be a governess or a tutor but they require a recommendation and I have none.”

  He scratched his square jaw. “I see.”

  She still had no idea why she was in his carriage. Her fear was only held back by the exhaustion that made her shoulders droop. Tonight everything appeared absolutely hopeless. “What do you mean to do with me?” she asked again.

  He dropped his hands from his eyes but he said nothing as he stared at her. Finally he spoke. “I don’t intend to do anything.”

  Relief made her sink against the seat, but it was momentary. While she could hear truth in his voice, she had no food, no place to go as she had no coin, no one to help her. She cleared her throat then said, “You are not in need of any services are you?”

  “Services?” his strangled voice filled the carriage.

  Oh dear, had he thought she meant something illicit? “A maid, or a cook? Do you have children? I could tutor them. I am well-versed in several languages including Latin and French.”

  “French?” he repeated with a note of excitement.

  “Mais oui, monsieur,” she replied with her best French accent. Perhaps something good might come from this situation.

  “Can you converse in French?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She leaned forward in her seat, excitement filling her for the first time in a month. “Do you know someone in need of tutoring?”

  “Oh no, of course not.” He shook his head and then wrapped on the carriage wall to get the driver’s attention. “Return to my lodgings at once,” he shouted. The driver snapped the reigns as the carriage picked up speed.

  Ella nearly fell back in her seat but just caught herself. Oh dear. Truly, what did he intend to do with her?

  Chapter Two

  The carriage rolled up to yet another inn, though this one was far nicer than the one they’d recently vacated.

  Fear skittered along her skin. Not necessarily of the man sitting across from her, but more of the situation, the unknown that she faced.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed down her doubts and took his hand to climb out of the carriage. Actually, somewhere during the trip she’d made up her mind to take whatever position he offered. A woman without prospects couldn’t afford to say no.

  She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. Ella could only hope that he wished for something more permanent than a single night. While she’d never considered being with a man out of wedlock, the position of mistress, would at this point be a welcome relief to the hell of these last months.

  His grip was strong and firm as he helped her down and then tucked her hand into his elbow. For a moment, it felt as though she’d returned to in her old life. The one that included a father who had at least supported her. Provided food and shelter. But a look down at her apron, stained with beer and liquor confirmed that was a fantasy. An illusion that would never be reality again.

  Instead of going through the front door, they made their way down an alley to a back entrance. Further proof this was an illicit meeting, about which she should likely be ashamed.

  Her shoulders however, slumped in relief. She’d have a roof over her head tonight, more than she could say for the past several.

  At least she’d eaten. She’d snuck a few morsels of food at The Kicking Horse. Likely dreadful fare but it had tasted delicious to her after going without a real meal in days.

  Guiding her with a gently firm hand, he brought her up the stairs, and into a large well-appointed room. Plush furnishings abounded and candlelight sparkled off jeweled chandeliers. Who was he? Ella realized that she didn’t know her companion’s name. She wondered what his occupation might be to afford such lavish rooms not even her father would have paid for, and he’d liked to live decadently.

  She hadn’t realized until far too late they’d been living well above their means.

  Not that any of that mattered now. In this moment, what concerned her was her rescuer’s intentions. While her life depended on whatever he offered, it filled her with anguish to think that she’d be ruined beyond redemption.

  He gestured for her to take a seat on one of the settees in the sitting room. There was no bed, and she could only assume that he occupied multiple rooms.

  “May I ask your name?” she asked, ignoring his silent request for her to sit.

  He started in surprise and then grimaced. “Bloody whisky,” he mumbled then seemed to recover himself. “I apologize for my ill manners. I am Matthew Rangely.” He gave her a slight bow.

  She returned with a courtesy. “Charmed, Mr. Rangley,” she murmured. “And thank you for your help.”

  He gave her a nod. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

  “Eleanor McIntyre.” She looked away, studying an oil canvas on the wall. “But my father always called me Ella. It seems appropriate under the circumstances.”

  He didn’t respond but instead crossed the room to pull a cord located by the door. Then he turned back to her and gestured to one of the doors. “If you’re more comfortable, you might want to step into the bedroom while I speak with the staff?”

  She nodded, both relieved and nervous. While she didn’t relish being seen in a man’s room late in the evening, she wondered what it meant about his intentions that he did not want her seen either.

  But she did as he bid, and stepped through the door, leaving it open a crack. She wanted to know what he said to the staff, hoping it would give her some hint of his intentions.

  Within seconds, a knock came at the door, which surprised Ella. That kind of service was surely costly.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a male voice asked.

  “Please, I need a tray of food, a bath, a woman’s dress for a lady about this high and thin, nothing too fancy just a serviceable fashion.” The list went on but Ella lost track when he ordered clothes clearly meant for her. The fact that he intended to feed and clothe her, had her leaning against the door in relief. She didn’t dare think about what he might want in return.

  The door snapped closed again Matthew’s voice called, “Ella.”

  Her name rolled off his tongue sending a little shiver down her spine that wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, warmth spread through her. She stepped out quickly, not wanting to keep him waiting. At least for the moment, he acted as her benefactor. She would like to keep it that way. “Yes,” she answered.

  “Please have a seat.” He gestured to the same chair he had before. “I’ve a few things I’d like to discuss with you, but we should eat first. I, for one, am too foggy in the head after my whisky.”

  “Of course, sir.” She hurriedly sat down.

  “Call me Matthew,” he said as he lit several more candles.

  For the first time it was bright enough to make out his features. She nearly gasped aloud at how handsome he was. Tall, dark, and muscular, he moved with a grace that near left her breathless. His jaw was a bit square to be traditionally handsome but it lent him a masculinity that was softened by his full lips. His eyes seemed to look deep inside her, but were themselves dark pools of mystery. “All right,” she whispered almost in awe.