July 1817
A private party
London, England
“Happy birthday Monsale. Thirty-three today, you poor old thing,” said Harry.
“Not old, and most definitely not poor,” snorted Monsale.
Lady Naomi Steele stifled a laugh. Her brother Harry was always giving Monsale grief over the fact that he was older than the other members of the RR Coaching Company. But Monsale had the right of it when it came to wealth. Of all the rogues of the road, he was by far and away the richest.
And the only one still unwed.
The three of them were standing to one side of an overcrowded ballroom in an elegant mansion in Duke Street. And while Harry and Monsale were each nursing a large brandy, Naomi was doing her best to appear casually interested in watching a dull quadrille that was taking place. She wasn’t in the mood for champagne.
Harry’s wife Alice had cried off from tonight’s festivities. The exhausted new mother was at home getting some well-deserved sleep. A reluctant Naomi had been pestered into accompanying her brother this evening. Considering his former reputation as a society peacock, she thought it rather quaint that Harry had developed an aversion to attending social functions on his own.
The joy of being one half of a couple, I suppose.
Naomi turned and smiled at Monsale. “Yes, your grace, happy birthday, I wish you both health and happiness. And since your family is renowned for its longevity, I expect we shall have your company for many years to come.”
Monsale raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well, only those family members who managed to avoid getting a stray bullet or a sword in their bellies were the ones graced with long lives. Fortunately, if my present run of luck holds, I should be able to look forward to making it to a ripe old age.” He glanced down at his brandy glass, studying it for a moment. “It’s the happiness bit I am not so certain of Lady Naomi— that appears to have eluded me.”
Yes, well, a stone heart doesn’t receive warmth, your grace.
Biting her tongue, Naomi turned her attention back to the dance. She would not be the one to make mention that a man could find happiness in the state of wedded bless.
I am willing to give you all my love for the rest of my life, Monsale. You simply have to ask.
Her generous offer did, however, come with some conditions. Monsale had to reciprocate her affections. To willingly offer up his own heart.
Naomi wouldn’t ever enter into a loveless union. As far as she was concerned, spinsterhood was a far better option than being bound to a man who kept himself closed off from his wife’s love.
Harry elbowed his friend in the ribs. “What you need to get yourself is a bride. A loving wife would bring you much joy. I can’t believe I am saying this, but marriage has a great deal to offer a chap.”
Lord Harry Steele had turned in his wicked party man card and become a dutiful husband and doting father. Naomi chanced a look at her brother, he was positively beaming. She had never seen him so happy. Love looked good on him.
If only she could say the same for herself. Unrequited love was a cruel burden at the best of times, at the worst— soul-destroying. Standing this close to the man who held her love so thoughtlessly in his hands had a familiar twinge of pain settling uncomfortably in her chest.
Why must loving someone hurt so much?
She had lost her heart to the tawny haired Monsale the first second she had laid eyes on him. He had been thirteen, she was a mere seven. And yet, there had been something about the poorly dressed Andrew McNeal which had captivated her, long before she knew what the word love truly meant.
Her father, the Duke of Redditch had taken the orphan boy-duke under his wing the moment he arrived in London. And with his careful guidance, he had helped Monsale to slowly pull the McNeal family finances back from the brink of bankruptcy.
When he finally reached his majority, Monsale had taken over the full management of his estate and through his own efforts had taken the dukedom’s wealth to a whole new level. It was rumored that he was now one of the richest men in all of Britain. More affluent than even all the major banking families.
Yet no woman had managed to capture his heart. He remained, steadfastly, and in Naomi’s opinion, stubbornly, a bachelor.
Why can’t you see me? I am standing right here, ready to love you.
Naomi stirred from her musings as the music stopped, and the quadrille came to an end. They applauded the dancers. Harry downed his glass of brandy and gave her a gentle nudge.
“Why aren’t you twirling around the floor this evening, Naomi? I know you love to dance.”
She gave a disinterested shrug. To her way of thinking dances like the quadrille, were boring. They lacked passion. Only a waltz would tempt her, and even then, it had to be with the right partner. The only man who held her interest was the same man who paid more attention to his drink than the entertainments which the party had on offer.
“I think I may have a touch of ennui. To be honest, dear brother, if you hadn’t badgered me into accompanying you this evening, I would have likely stayed at home,” she replied.
It was late July, and Naomi was just about at her wits end. The social season had seen her once more left on the shelf. Certain that they couldn’t ever give her what her heart desired, she had refused marriage suits from two perfectly suitable noblemen.
At six and twenty, she was in grave danger of becoming a set-in-stone, spinster, an ape leader. No other duke’s daughter of her generation remained unwed.
Her father and eldest brother had both assured her, she would never be compelled to marry. And while financial security was one thing Naomi didn’t have to worry about, she still hadn’t managed to overcome the problem of her aching need to be wanted. To have a man in her life who truly loved her.
I’ve half a mind to march up to Monsale and demand that he offers for me. I would make a wonderful birthday present. Something warm and willing for him to unwrap.
Harry leaned in and nudged her once more. “Come on Naomi, cheer up. Augustus and Evangeline are arriving from France later this week. You must be eagerly awaiting their wedding ball; I know Mama and Mrs. Jones are planning a party of special magnificence.”
Naomi forced a tight smile to her lips. The last thing she needed was to attend a function where love was being celebrated. And while she was happy for Gus and eager to meet his bride, she found it a struggle to dampen down her own disappointment.
She quietly admired Gus Jones’s grand gesture of love. Only a man who had lost his heart completely to a woman would give up his family, his country, and go to live with her in the ruins of an old château.
How romantic. Evangeline is a lucky girl. After all that Gus has been through, he deserves to be happy.
She was still lamenting her own lack of success with love when the orchestra struck up the opening strains of a waltz. Couples quickly gathered on the dance floor once more. Naomi’s pink-slipper clad feet itched to dance.
It was time to take a chance.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
She stepped away from her brother and came to stand in front of his friend. A scowling Monsale peered down at her from his lofty height. “Lady Naomi.”
It was a familiar game; one which they had played many times before. And all with the same outcome. She had always lost.
“Your grace. Would you be so kind as to indulge me with a turn or two around the dance floor?”
His brows furrowed in their all too familiar way. Anyone would think she was asking him to ride naked along Oxford Street such was the look of surprised distaste which appeared on his face.
“Dance?”
Naomi painted a smile on her lips. “Yes. That’s when people move about together in time to music. It’s really quite fun. I am sure you would enjoy it immensely if you would just try. I am quite accomplished when it comes to the waltz, so I promise we won’t look foolish.”
A duke’s daughter reduced to begging. What has the world come to?
The frown on his face deepened. “I don’t dance.”
And there it was, yet another rejection. Why did she even bother?
Because you are a silly girl who still lives in hope that he will one day see the love which shines for him in your heart. And that he will decide he cannot live without you.
Her bitter frustration spurred her on. “Didn’t you hear Harry as he extolled the virtues of wedded bliss not five minutes ago? You will never find a wife if you don’t socialize with the fairer sex. And if you don’t have a duchess, how is the McNeal family line to continue? You have a duty to make sure that the sixteenth Duke of Monsale is born, and the title passed on.”
Naomi cursed the tears which threatened. How many more times would she make a fool of herself over this man?
Monsale glanced down at the glass of brandy in his hand. “I am in no haste. When I eventually feel that it is necessary for me to take on a wife, I shall do something about it. Until then…”
He couldn’t even be bothered to give her a full answer. She wished nothing more than to punch Monsale. To knock some sense into him. To make him finally see that she was more than just Harry’s little sister. That in her heart of hearts she knew they were destined for one another.
She blinked back the tears, determined not to show him, or anyone else her pain.
I should not have come this evening. When am I ever going to learn that he doesn’t give a damn?
“If that’s the case then you should be relieved to know that women are not lining up, to become your duchess. Excuse me, your grace, I have better places to be this evening. Happy birthday, Monsale. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
She gave Harry a brief nod and headed straight for the door, taking what was left of her crumbling pride with her.
Monsale lifted his brandy to his lips and took a sip, all the while his gaze lingered on the retreating figure of Lady Naomi as she walked away. The duke’s daughter was feisty, headstrong, and determined.
She was also thoroughly delicious.
The way her generous breasts filled out the top of her evening gown always made his heartbeat skip to a fast clip. And the fabulous sway of her hips and ass as she moved. Even in a foul mood, she had a certain allure about her.
If only you weren’t so bloody tempting.
If she had been any other woman, he might have already given up the fight and married her. But Monsale was no fool. He knew full well that the man who did eventually marry Lady Naomi Steele was signing up for a life with a stubborn wife. She had made no secret of the fact that she would want a marriage of equals. To have a say in every one of her husband’s major decisions.
The mere thought made him scoff. He had never been one for any sort of connection or relationship being based on an equal footing. In his business dealings people did as he instructed. Even the other members of the RR Coaching Company, his closest friends, and partners, yielded to his demands.
He’d had almost twenty years of no one daring to question, let alone countermand his commands. His loyal steward Adan had been the first and last to try it on that fateful day in Bermuda.
Monsale had long ago realized that acquaintances and even friends could be easily manipulated, but the woman who made it plain that she wished to be his duchess was someone he knew he could not control. Lady Naomi had grown up a duke’s daughter and was used to having people listen to her. In the Steele household, her opinions carried weight. She had power and influence. And that made her dangerous to a man like him.
She will challenge me. Expect to be my equal. I can’t have that with anyone.
Monsale was utterly clueless when it came to being able to handle a woman such as Naomi. He knew enough from the marriages of his fellow rogues of the road that only a rash idiot would attempt to tame a wife. Naomi wouldn’t ever stand for a man to tell her what to do.
She will bite the hand off the first person who tries to put a leash on her.
During his illicit career he had battled bloody pirates and taken on both the French and British navies, but when it came to dealing with headstrong women, Andrew McNeal, Duke of Monsale hadn’t the foggiest notion as to what he should do.
And yet, you still want her.
His nights had long been filled with dreams of holding Naomi naked in his arms; of her long golden locks splayed out across the sheets of his bed. Of her soft sighs of sexual completion. Of knowing that he was the only man she loved. The only one who would ever possess both her heart and body.
What on earth am I going to do about her?
“You certainly have a knack when it comes to annoying the devil out of my sister,” observed Harry.
Monsale lifted his glass to his lips, surprised to discover that it was, in fact, empty. When had he finished the last of his drink?
“I don’t know why she insists on asking me to dance with her, she knows I never partake,” he replied.
Harry gave a knowing hum. “One day some other chap will catch Naomi’s eye. Might even sweep her off her feet and offer to marry her. The question you have to ask yourself, old chap, is, are you prepared to stand by and let that happen?”
And while Naomi was no longer a fresh debutante, she was still one of the major catches of the London ton. Her dowry and lineage were enough to have her firmly at the top of every noble matchmaking mother’s list.
Harry’s remark pulled Monsale up short. Doing his best to maintain his air of vague interest, he slowly turned and met his friend’s gaze. “Is there someone else in your sister’s line of sight? I mean an earl or a marquis she might be prepared to settle on?”
“Who knows. But eventually, she may tire of receiving a firm no from the lips of a certain duke and decide that hearing yes from someone else is enough on which to build a life. You have been warned.”
Monsale was in sudden need of another stiff drink.
Would she? Could she really choose another over me?
And what if Naomi finally did give up on him and agreed to settle down with another chap? Some gormless lesser male whom she could dominate, and who would soon bore her to tears. It was a chilling prospect, one which would see all parties living out a miserable, bitter existence.
What if I do push her patience too far? If she gives up.
He was in no particular hurry to leap into the arms of wedded bliss, but Lord Harry’s words gave Monsale reason for pause. There surely had to be a limit as to what Naomi would endure from him. She was a female, and her sights had to be set on finding a husband.
What would he do if he lost her? Naomi might well be stubborn, but she was the only woman Monsale could ever imagine waking up next to for the rest of his life.
This birthday evening had seen him presented with several unexpected gifts. The prospect of Naomi choosing another over him, the most unwelcome of them.
Perhaps I should say yes to the occasional waltz.
But that would mean handing control to Naomi. Unable to reconcile his mind to such a foreign concept, Monsale set to grinding his teeth.
Could he willingly give up any sort of power to another person?
“Impossible,” he muttered.