Her White Wedding: Dark Duke’s Legacy Read online

  Her White Wedding

  Dark Duke’s Legacy

  Tammy Andresen

  Copyright © 2021 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.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Duke of Chance

  Also coming….

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  Hugs!

  Chapter One

  By all accounts, Dowager Duchess, Her Grace, Esme Whitehaven, should have given up on love and marriage at the tender age of eighteen. She’d attended precisely one ball when she’d caught the eye of the Duke of Whitehaven, a man thirty years older than her, hard and cruel in ways she’d never imagined.

  But that part came later. He’d taken one look at her at that ball, asked for a single dance, and then attended her calling hours the next day, where he’d promptly asked her father permission to court, which had quickly brought about a proposal.

  Esme had been terribly naïve then and despite her knowledge that he seemed distant and difficult, she’d firmly believed she might soften him over time.

  She’d been wrong.

  So had her mother. Esme should have known better than to listen to her mother’s assurances as everyone understood that Lady Markshire had known she had a beautiful and well-mannered daughter and she’d had ambitions for that daughter’s future.

  All that was to say, she’d ended up married to a hard, cold man, she’d born him another son, his fifth, and then he’d died, leaving her with almost nothing.

  Fortunately for her, his first son and heir, the new Duke of Whitehaven, was a far more generous man and he’d supported both Esme and her son Caleb this past year after her husband’s death.

  What a happy year it had been.

  Free from her husband’s tyranny and bound to do little socializing thanks to her mourning period, she’d had the happiest time of her life right here in London.

  But her current benefactor and stepson, Benedict Whitehaven, had politely—but firmly— inquired about her future plans. Specifically, those involving matrimony. Hers.

  Esme understood. His father hadn’t left him in a very good financial position and Ben found himself struggling to support the dukedom. He had been generous beyond her expectations and now he wished for another man to care for her. Ready or not, it was time for her to marry again.

  She drew in a deep breath of air, as she stopped on the street. She’d been wandering again, a habit she’d grown rather fond of since her return to London. As a widow, she was free to go where she chose, not bound by all the rules and requirements she’d faced the last time she’d travelled to the city as a debutante.

  Of late, her walks had grown longer as she considered her future, her past, and what she wished for out of life. Part of her wished for nothing more than to spend her life alone. She’d never subject herself to another husband like the Duke of Whitehaven.

  And she had Caleb to think about as well.

  How would a new husband treat him? A shiver of apprehension raced down her spine.

  Caleb’s future was as uncertain as hers. As the fifth son of a duke, he had little in the way of inheritance. He’d be dependent on the man she married.

  Another shiver ran through her, making her fingers turn to ice. Was that the cool air or the thought of sharing another marriage bed? The idea of submitting to another man brought fear and trepidation into her heart.

  She stopped again, looking about her. Where was she and when had night begun to fall?

  It was autumn and while the days were still warm, the nights came early and brought with them crisp air.

  She should return before it was dark.

  She looked about again, not recognizing the street.

  With a sigh, Esme decided the best way to return was the way she’d come, and she did an about-face, reversing direction, and starting back down the street.

  The dirt crunched under her walking boots, windows boarded up around her on the quiet street.

  Drat.

  She’d gone too far by half, and she quickened her pace, lifting her skirts as she hustled down the street, her reticule bouncing against the layers of fabric.

  Soon, Esme saw a familiar park up ahead and slowed her pace, a breath of relief rushing from her mouth. Her shoulders slumped as her chin dropped, a single strand of her pale blonde hair falling from her bonnet in front of her eyes.

  She blew it away, a huff of frustration following. At six and twenty she was still a silly girl, lost in her thoughts and making foolish mistakes.

  “Well, hullo, luv,” a male voice drawled from her right. While she couldn’t see him, thanks to her bonnet, she heard the accent and the intent to do her harm that laced his voice.

  She stiffened, continuing to walk as her chin notched up.

  Perhaps if she didn’t address him at all, he’d leave her be.

  But that was a hopeful thought and when she heard steps fall in behind hers, her shoulders began to sag again.

  She was in trouble.

  Swallowing a lump of fear, she turned on her heel. “What do you want?”

  He stopped, still several feet behind her. “Nothing luv. Just to be friendly-like.”

  Her mouth clamped shut and she gave him a long stare as she attempted to choose her tack. Should she be kind, haughty, threatening? She settled for distant. “I need no friends. Thank you.”

  “I disagree,” he said, starting to move closer. “All alone and getting dark, it is. You seem in great need of a friend to me.”

  Her breath stuttered and she twisted her gloved hands into the folds of her skirts. “I’m nearly home, but your concern is very much appreciated.”

  “You’re a pretty one.” He grinned, his smile sporting several black and a few missing teeth. “A woman like you should be careful.”

  He was slowly moving closer, and Esme took a few steps back to keep distance between them. “Thank you,” she said. “And good day.” Then she turned to flee.

  He must have lunged because a vise-like hand closed on her forearm, a scream renting from her lips as she attempted to pull away.

  The man was surely a cutpurse as his other hand settled on her reticule and tugged.

  She tried to loosen the strap from her arm as she continued to pull away from the man. She’d happily give him the bag if he’d simply leave her alone.

  “Please,” she cried. “You can have it. Please just—”

  But her words stopped short as her back bumped into a solid wall of… She screamed again, even as her head twisted around to see what she’d hit.

  Next to her face was another arm. Not moving, it was steady as a rock, a yelp wrenching from her lips as she noted a pistol firmly gripped in a large hand. Following the arm up to a set of broad shoulders, then a square jaw, straight nose, and piercing brown eyes. But he wasn’t looking at her even as his other arm slid about her waist.

  Should she be more or less fri
ghtened of this other man?

  But her gaze left his face to fly back to the cutpurse as the hammer of his pistol cocked back. “Kindly let the lady go,” the deep voice drawled with a casualness that belied the pistol gripped in his hand.

  Instantly, the other man loosened his grip, staggering back, his hands lifting on either side of his head. “I meant no harm!”

  A growl erupted from the man now firmly holding her. For Esme’s part, she’d gone quite still, uncertain if this new person were friend or foe.

  “You meant plenty of harm. Be gone with you.”

  The cutpurse scurried back into the growing shadows, but the man holding her showed no signs of letting her go. Her lips trembled as she turned to look back up at his face.

  Lord Declan Parker glanced down at the woman he currently held and attempted not to start in surprise.

  Bloody hell, she was a beauty.

  She stared at him with wide blues eyes, her lips parted and trembling, and her hand covering his, the one he’d wrapped about her waist.

  Her features were small, adding a fragile air to symmetrical features, her lips full and lush.

  There was something familiar about her, a memory tugged at the back of his mind. A delicately lovely girl dressed in white silk and lace. But he pushed the memory aside as her lips parted.

  “Please,” the single word fell from her lips, her voice tight with fear.

  That’s when he realized. She was afraid of him.

  He was holding her rather tightly and she’d not a clue who he was. And while he wasn’t exactly the best of men, he was far from the worst and certainly not the sort who went about hurting innocent women on the street.

  He loosened his arm but didn’t let her go. They were not in the safest of neighborhoods, this particular park being on the edge of respectable London. “You’re far too pretty for me to leave you alone. I’d sleep better knowing I escorted you to a hack that could carry you safely home at the very least.”

  She relaxed then, her shoulders slumping, her chin dropping even as he caught a slight tremble. And then, when she drew in a breath, it rattled, choppy and broken as though she were about to cry. Hell and damnation. The last thing he needed was a crying woman on his hands.

  But rather than dissolve into tears, she drew in another fortifying breath and gave a quick nod. “An escort to a hack would be very much appreciated.”

  Declan smiled. He liked her gumption in the face of such a trying situation. But why was she here alone? Was she married? She certainly was not a debutante if she was out walking alone. Sliding his hand about her tiny middle, he guided her around to face the other way and then offered his arm.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Parker. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Her fingers, tucked into his elbow, tightened. “Lord Parker?”

  “Yes.” He gave a nod. “Have we met?” Of course they had. He rarely forgot a face and certainly not one as beautiful as hers. And while he occasionally participated in society, only when his younger sister required his escort, he’d be unlikely to forget a woman as gorgeous as this.

  “I believe we did. Years ago. The Wiltshire ball?” She looked at him. “I was Lady Esmerelda Cunningham then.”

  Every muscle in Declan’s body tightened, realizing who was on his arm. The Dowager Duchess of Whitehaven.

  Not the sort of woman he wished to consort with at all.

  He’d known by her dress and manner that she was a woman of means, of course. But Lady Esme was famous. One ball and her beauty had landed the most sought-after man of the year, the Duke of Whitehaven.

  She’d readily accepted his suit, of course.

  Declan knew her type. Eager to climb the social ladder. Hell, he’d been engaged to a woman exactly like her.

  And now that she was a widow, she was sure to be working on her next great match.

  In fact, it suddenly occurred to him why the woman was here. Not two blocks from this park was a house of ill repute…one where rich and powerful ladies could seek their pleasure. The only question was why she hadn’t left the place in her carriage with the curtains tightly drawn. Was she so sure of her position in society that she’d saunter from such a place in broad daylight? How atrocious.

  He straightened, moving away from her as much as he could. A woman like her would never want him for marriage. He was a second son, and a poor one at that. Or he had been. He allowed most of society to believe he still was.

  And he certainly didn’t want her either, despite her stunning looks. In fairness, he didn’t wish to marry at all. While he made enough money to support himself, having children meant he’d need to provide for their future. He’d never do to a child what his father had done to him. And, if for some reason, he were to make an exception, it would not be for a social climber like Lady Esme.

  “Your Grace,” he murmured turning onto a larger promenade where they were sure to find a carriage for hire.

  “My lord,” she replied with a nod of her head. Then she stopped, her hand applying light pressure so that he might do the same. “Thank you. Very much. I don’t know what I might have done if you hadn’t stopped to help me.”

  Any resentment he might have been feeling eased away with those words. Whatever he thought of women like her, they didn’t deserve to be attacked by criminals.

  “Might I ask, what were you doing there?” Why had he asked at all? He already knew the answer.

  Color flooded her cheeks. A lovely shade of pink that looked like sunrise over the ocean. “I…I was walking and lost in thought.” Her chin notched down.

  His brows lifted. She expected him to believe that?

  “It’s not a very good reason, I know, especially considering how you had to put yourself at risk for me.”

  He’d not been at risk. Hardly at all. He frequented the neighborhood, being near where he stored his wool, and he knew it well. “It was no trouble. But please take greater care the next time you decide to…er…walk and think.”

  She gave him a shy smile, her gaze casting down. “I certainly will, my lord.”

  So pleasing. No wonder she’d caught the eye of a duke.

  A hack came toward them and he raised his arm, intent upon ending this little tête-à-tête. Much as he enjoyed careening from irritation to admiration, it seemed best he go back to his evening. He’d return home, jot down his inventory, place orders, and then head to his club for dinner before ending his evening with cards.

  It was a comfortable pattern if somewhat devoid of excitement, but he’d had enough of that in his thirty years.

  The hack pulled to a stop, and he made to hand her into the carriage when she stopped again. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a case, ornate in its carvings, and then handed him a piece of thick luxurious cardstock. “Please say you’ll join me for dinner tomorrow so that I might properly thank you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, his chest expanding as he looked down at the card. How would she thank him?

  Dinner? Wine? A tumble in her elaborately carved four-post bed?

  He was no woman’s toy.

  And Declan knew how they operated, these women who made matches with powerful men. They stayed loyal to their husbands long enough to provide an heir and then they took a lover or two or more. Who cared who they hurt?

  But then again, he might enjoy the change of pace and a bed partner as lovely as the woman before him. Something to consider. “I’d be delighted.” Then he took the card, and snapped open the door, handing her in before he firmly shut it again.

  Giving the driver the address on the card, he paid the man and then watched as the Dowager Duchess of Whitehaven disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Two

  Esme stood by the window in the sitting room, resisting the urge to pace.

  Lord Parker would surely arrive any moment for dinner, he was already a quarter hour late.

  But then again, men of his position and possessing his looks did as they pleased. r />
  Dear merciful saints, the man had been handsome. Tall and broad, he’d flashed his smile and nearly blinded her with his pearly white teeth.

  She shook her head. She’d not act on any attraction she might feel toward him. She wasn’t looking for a handsome devil to fill her bed. Truth be told, she wasn’t looking at all, but when she did remarry, it would be to a nice, calm, quiet man who would treat her and her son kindly. It was all she’d ask from a husband.

  The family had a barrister, Jacob Veritas, honest and forthright; he was the sort of fellow who never lost his temper, never even raised his voice. That was the type she wanted.

  Of course, Jacob was already wed, but she’d find someone like him. He was a template for the man she’d choose. Enough income to keep them clothed and fed, a kind heart to keep them loved and cherished.

  She’d had a man the rest of the world revered, and she’d hated every moment. She’d never make that mistake again. Her fingers rested on the sill as she stared down at the rain-splattered street, London quiet and dark on a damp day.

  She wouldn’t mind a quiet life. This past year had been so lovely, Esme could see herself living like this forever. Well, perhaps not exactly like this. Of late, she’d grown a bit tired of her nights alone. But quiet company would suffice.

  Her lips pressed together. She’d experienced a lifetime’s worth of excitement already, let others have it. She didn’t wish for any more.

  “Mama,” Caleb called from the doorway.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” She opened her arms to him. “Come give me a hug.”

  “Won’t I wrinkle you?” He stopped, likely heeding the warning of his nanny, just before he’d come in.

  She laughed, pulling him close. “I’ll take my chances.”