Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Read online

  Duked

  Duke One, Duke Society Series

  Gina Robinson

  Copyright © 2018 by Gina Robinson

  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.

  Gina Robinson

  http://www.ginarobinson.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Jeff Robinson

  Duked/Gina Robinson. — 1st ed.

  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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Also by Gina Robinson

  About the Author

  DUKED

  The controlling old duke’s last wishes. The mysterious new duke’s first demands. I'm the headstrong new duchess who’s caught between them.

  From an American billionaire’s daughter, to almost a duchess, to actually a duchess…it’s been a strange 24 hours.

  Our plan was simple, if not scandalous. Me, the 29-year-old daughter of an American billionaire, marrying him, the ancient Duke of Manly on his hundredth birthday. But then, neither of us has ever been conventional. We were each going to get something we desperately desired out of the marriage. For me, it wasn't money. And it certainly wasn't sex. The plan was working so well. Until Manly dies at the altar before saying "I do." With his dying breath, Manly maneuvers me into a marriage of convenience with his hot, mysterious heir, Ren Sattler, the new duke. Suddenly I'm drawn into the mysteries surrounding the castle and Ren—mysteries that threaten my hopes of saving the estate and my marriage…not to mention my heart.

  Chapter 1

  Bliss Harper

  Manly Manor

  Roses. I'd always loved roses. From now on, my life would be filled with them. Gardens and lovely English gardens full. My fiancé, the duke, had commissioned a new rose to be developed and named for me and planted in my favorite spot in the garden. Bliss was already taken. I supposed my new rose would have to be called The Duchess of Manly or Sweet Late-Life Bride of Mine. Maybe even The Centenarian's Woman.

  It was a sweet gesture by an ancient man trying to please his much younger bride-to-be. Ours was more extreme than a May/December romance, but I had no idea what you'd call it. Maybe a world record for the biggest age difference?

  If it were up to me, I wouldn't call it a romance at all, but I didn't dare tell anyone outside of my mom and my very best friends that. Mom, of course, knew. This marriage was all her idea, just as pragmatic and ruthless as the rest of her business deals. Some might call me her pawn. Those people didn't know me. Even though it was originally Mom's idea, this was a move of my own. But to the world, I put a different face on the relationship.

  Although I had great affection for the duke, our marriage was more of an arrangement between two cynical and desperate people. He wanted an heir to inherit his title, and I wanted an escape and freedom from my mom's shadow to be my own woman. The arrangement gave us great delight in the amount of scandal and gossip it was causing on both sides of the ocean. My fellow Americans and his fellow Brits couldn't stop talking about it. Well, what is life for if not to amuse other people and be amused by them in return?

  Some people were repulsed at the idea of a woman my age with a man of his. Others called Manly a lecherous old fool. He was no fool, I can tell you that. I preferred not to think about what they called me. I turned my attention back to my beautiful, serene surroundings.

  Here, in England at the end of September, few roses persisted in the gardens. I sat on the stone bench at the edge of the ancient stone loggia overlooking the lake. Rosehips in bright reds flanked the garden paths before me. Rosehips and leaves turning to red and yellow. I loved fall. It had always been my dream to be married in autumn when the fall colors were at their peak. At least that part of the dream was coming true.

  I had no doubts. This was the right decision for me. It was a grand adventure, a modern fairytale. But everything came with a price. As prices went, this one was both steep and fair. I would be the twenty-nine-year-old bride of a spent old man, an ugly old beast in some people's opinions, soon to hit his hundredth birthday. But I had the castle and my world to gain. And however happy or unhappy, this marriage would be short.

  Mist rose from the lake in the early evening, giving it the illusion of something from an Arthurian legend, adding to the eerie beauty of the long, slanting shadows. Most people would sit on the bench and face the lake, but not me. I sat on the cold stone, looking back through the gardens to the medieval castle that was about to be mine. In less than twenty-four hours, I would be married to its owner. Even now, guests were arriving for the rehearsal and the dinner to follow.

  The castle would be full to the brim tonight, each of the newly aired rooms opened for the wedding would be occupied. The temporary staff would be busy, a good test for what I had in mind for the castle.

  Most of the guests were of little consequence to me. My mom's business associates, Manly's friends and family, my father. There would be drama between Mom and Dad. There always was. I was apparently the only moment of bliss they'd ever had together.

  The castle rose above the gardens, looking like the fortress it was—beautiful, strong, forbidding, haunted. The path from the lake to the castle was lined with flowerbeds filled with more flowers than I could identify. The Michaelmas daisies were in full bloom in shades that ranged from lavender to deep purple to vibrant pinks. They weren't really daisies, but part of the aster family. They were my fiancé's favorites. He was something of a collector.

  Wanting married life—however short it might be—to be blissful, I'd developed a sudden passion for the daisies, too. In flower language, Michaelmas daisies symbolized a departure or a farewell. If I hadn't known Manly had loved the daisies all his life, I would have thought that was why he did now. The symbolism was so appropriate.

  Tomorrow was the duke's one hundredth birthday and our wedding day, so, yes, he would be a centenarian by the time we wed. At Manly's age, you had to double up your celebrations, and that included doubling up your cake.

  I was his best birthday present ever, he told me, his eyes twinkling in that roguish way of his. And yet behind them was a shadow of regret. For all his bravado and chest beating, he was sentimental and romantic. And proud. I deserved him in his prime, not in his decline. I wished I had met him in his youth. We would have gotten along wonderfully. Maybe even really fallen in love.

  "Trying to escape the festivities until it's inevitable, too?" came a deep, sensual male voice I'd certainly remember if I'd ever heard it before.

  I startled, embarrassed to be caught off guard and daydreaming. I'd been so deep in
my thoughts I hadn't heard him approach behind me up the side stairs into the loggia. I turned and looked over my shoulder into the eyes of the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He lurked in the shadows of the colonnades, but even the shadows couldn't hide his beauty.

  My breath caught. My body and face betrayed me. There was an instant where I gaped at him, practically drooling. Wondering if I'd dreamed him up in this magical place. If he was part fey. He held something, some kind of foliage in his left hand. It was a second too long before I masked my reaction to him. I only had half a hope he hadn't seen it. This was no way for a bride-to-be to look at another man on the eve of her wedding. My reaction to him startled me almost as much as his sudden appearance.

  He emerged from the shadows of the colonnades with easy, sensuous moves, as if he belonged in this place. With the backdrop of the water and mist, he looked as if he'd materialized from the lake, one of the many ghosts the castle was famous for. The gallant knight who'd drowned in the lake and now haunted it, maybe? Appearing as a man of my time to take my breath away?

  His short, dark hair was highlighted as he stepped into the long rays of evening sunlight, contrasting with his pale English skin. His eyes were vivid blue, like the Irish, but his accent was odd, almost American yet also as patrician and English as his perfectly chiseled features. He wore a black dress shirt, black slacks, even black shoes, the height of fashion and elegance. His clothes were expensive and cut close enough that I didn't have to imagine too hard just how beautifully magnificent he was beneath them.

  There was something familiar about him. A family resemblance so strong I could almost believe he was the young Manly. The young Manly come to say goodbye before he departed this earth, giving me a glimpse of what might have been.

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. The thin dress I wore wasn't substantial enough now that the sun was setting. I was being ridiculous. It wasn't a good sign to imagine my fiancé's death on the eve of our wedding.

  I looked again at the newcomer. He was tall and physical. Powerful. This man was flesh and blood.

  "Sorry." He took a seat on the bench familiarly close to me, so close our arms nearly brushed and I felt his heat. "I've frightened you."

  "No. Not your fault." Up close, he smelled as ridiculously delicious as he looked. "I'm like that. I get lost in my thoughts too easily. A bomb could go off and I wouldn't hear it."

  "You should be careful around here." His eyes twinkled. "No bombs. Lots of rogues and unsavory guests roaming around this evening, though. Here for the wedding. Ancient rogues, most of them, but rogues nonetheless. The duke was a wild one in his youth."

  "Was he?" I said. "He seems tame enough now."

  "Hard to be much else when you're almost a hundred years old."

  I smiled, trying to hide the way my heart was hammering. I nodded toward the foliage in his hand. "Botany enthusiast? Gardening fanatic?"

  "Sent on an errand for my stepfather." He looked at the plants in his hand. "He's the gardener, not me."

  "He sent you because…?" I asked. "Is he afraid of those rogues of yours and the infamous ghost, the knight of the lake, coming out?"

  "My stepfather isn't here. He wasn't invited. Nor was my mother. Even so, he's not afraid of anything, except the old duke finding out he's pinched some cuttings and seeds and relieving him of them." He held the foliage up. "This is contraband. Part of the duke's prized collections. The duke doesn't share his plant starts, cuttings, or seeds with anyone. Least of all my family. But he won't suspect me. Or check my cases on the way out."

  I was curious as to why his family wasn't to be trusted, but he didn't elaborate. "You're a plant thief." I almost laughed.

  "I'm many things. Plant thief is the least of them." A half-smile played on his lips.

  Dark, mysterious, and witty, I thought. The perfect combination.

  I took a closer look at the plants he held. I didn't have much plant knowledge, but these were familiar to me. "Foxglove? That's a weed where I come from. Isn't it a weed here, too?"

  "Not this variety, apparently."

  "You're brave to hold them without gloves. Foxgloves are poisonous. They make heart medication out of them."

  "Brave?" He laughed and snapped one of the empty stems to make his point. "You haven't seen much danger, I take it. I think my heart can handle whatever might leach into my skin."

  Heat radiated off him. I wasn't sure my heart could handle sitting so near him for much longer. I should have moved away, but I was drawn to him. I blamed the attraction not on my weakness, but on the chill that was settling in the air as the dew began to fall.

  "What is a beautiful American like you doing all alone this far out in the gardens on the eve of a wedding?" His voice had the smooth caress of a lover's. His gaze raked over me possessively, as if I were already his. But there was an edge of danger to him, and a threat in his voice.

  The combination sent shivers down my back and curled my toes. I clenched the edges of the bench, heart racing, senses heightened. Fear prickling. He hadn't said "your wedding." He'd very deliberately said "a wedding." He struck me as a man who knew how to choose his words.

  Manly had warned me not to trust any of his relatives, no matter how charming they seemed. Gold diggers and schemers, all of them. This new stranger had warned me to be on my guard. I should have listened. To both of them.

  Did this seductive man beside me really not know who I was? Wasn't I obviously the bride? Or was he toying with me? Trying to trap me with his obvious flirtation? Trying to prove I was marrying Manly for something other than love or security? The family resemblance was so strong that he had to be one of Manly's evil distant relations. They'd all tried to stop the wedding in one way or another in cleverly diabolical ways. Playing with me, flirting with me, making me look unfaithful to Manly would just be another pearl in their string.

  Maybe it was the eerily beautiful setting. Maybe it was all the ghost stories surrounding the castle and the lake. Or the way he'd warned me and casually snapped that stem. Maybe it was even my own weakness. This man was a danger to me, one way or the other.

  I stood suddenly, trying not to look like the scared rabbit I was in very much danger of becoming. "Dawdling. And collecting my thoughts." I met his eye. "It's time I got back."

  In a quick move, he was on his feet and stepped onto the path between the castle and me. "I'll walk you back." It wasn't a request.

  "I don't want to interrupt your enjoyment of the garden. I can manage."

  "It's time for me to get back, too."

  I might have been able to dart around him and make a run for it. But that seemed like a foolish overreaction. Not only was I in heels, but I was pretty sure he could outrun me. I didn't seriously think he meant to physically harm me. Seduce me, maybe. He waited for my response.

  I had never seen such a handsome man, nor been more attracted to anyone so quickly. Everything in me screamed that he was dangerous to me and my plans for the future. That I should avoid him at all costs. Even so, I nodded and glanced at my watch. I hadn't realized I'd stayed in the garden so long. "I'm running late."

  He smiled at me conspiratorially. "I know a shortcut." He took my elbow. "This way."

  He led me down the paved stone path. We walked in an uneasy silence, each of us sizing the other one up. And maybe admiring the other as well. For my part, I was fighting this inconvenient chemistry between us. In a swift movement that caught me by surprise, he grabbed my hand, taking an abrupt shortcut through a maze of fragrant, trimmed hedges the English were famous for.

  The path in the maze was lush grass, freshly watered. Sometimes loose gravel. My heels sank into the soft turf. I had to walk on the balls of my feet to keep from aerating the lawn out of season. His grip was firm as he pulled me along with him, turning this way and that in the waning light. I was amazed, and terrified, by his firm grip and the way our hands fit together so well. By the way I didn't want to let go. He didn't make a single wrong turn in the maze. />
  He stopped abruptly. "I know the way out. But we can save time if we dodge through this row of bushes." He pointed. "There's a direct path to the castle just there, through this hedgerow." His gaze ran over me, undressing me with a skilled eye. He smiled for a half beat, devouring me with his gaze. "It will save us time. But you're not dressed for a dash through the bushes." He said it like a challenge.

  I eyed the bushes and lifted my chin, realizing he hadn't let go of my hand. And I still didn't want him to. It was getting late. I had lingered longer at the lake than I should have. I wasn't entirely sure I trusted him, or that he'd actually taken the shortest route up to now. But my only option was to trust him or get lost in the maze. If I didn't get back soon, everyone would wonder where I was, and I still had to change for the rehearsal and dinner. Manly was expecting me to look vibrant on his arm tonight.

  "They don't look so dangerous to me," I said. "I can manage."

  He shrugged. "This way." He pulled me into a small gap in the bushes.

  Beneath the hedge, the soil was damp and newly tilled. My heels sank into the soft earth as he led me into the darkness between the bushes, holding the worst of the branches out of the way for me to pass through. I immediately regretted my decision. Going through the maze had been bad enough, but this really was no way to treat an expensive pair of designer shoes.

  On the other side of the bushes, I could see the lights of the castle peeking through ahead. I started to step out.

  He held me back with one arm, still holding the foxglove. "You have arborvitae in your hair. Here. Let me." He stuck the vegetation in his pants pocket and leaned down, looking into my eyes.