The Duke's Gamble Read online

  The Duke’s Gamble

  Catherine Windsor

  Live Life Fully Media

  Copyright © 2017 by Catherine Windsor

  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.

  ISBN: 978-1-63536-002-8

  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

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Bonus: An Excerpt from The Duke’s Deception

  About the Author

  Also by Catherine Windsor

  Chapter 1

  “Father, do you not think you should enjoy an evening at home tonight? I will play cards with you if you would like.”

  Louisa Bramick watched as her father adjusted his cravat in the hall mirror, looking at her with his reflection. “Now, Louisa, how on earth shall you find a husband if we do not attend these parties? Do you not enjoy going? Rebecca is expecting you.”

  “Of course, Father,” Louisa replied quietly, releasing a nearly imperceptible sigh as her fingers fidgeted with the folds of her ball gown. It wasn’t that she disliked going to social events, but her father, John Bramick, Baron of Grimsey, saw the events as an opportunity to find a place at the gambling tables. While he was very good with cards, Louisa knew that he had replaced his love for her late mother with the pastime of wagering.

  Louisa barely remembered her mother now, eleven years having passed since her untimely death. What she did remember was the smell of lilacs and the way her parents would dance across the parlor in their evening attire right before they would depart for the night’s event just so Louisa could enjoy the festivities as well. As their only daughter, she knew it was her responsibility to look after her father and as of late that task was becoming exceedingly difficult.

  “You look lovely, dear,” he replied, a fond expression on his face. “The young men will be begging for a dance tonight.”

  Louisa looked down at her pale blue ball gown and mustered a smile for him so that he wouldn’t be worried about her. Her father was being polite, for even he could see that Louisa was not the most popular debutante of the ton this season. Even the society pages had picked up on the way that most of the young gentlemen steered clear of her, all because she refused to hide her personality behind a coy smile and fluttering fan. The first time she had asked one of them to explain the details behind the latest political uprising in France, he had looked at her as if she had sprouted another head. Clearly, the eligible men whispered to one another as readily as the ladies in sewing circles because it took no time for word to travel. Since then, the begging her father insisted would occur was less likely than her actually sprouting that second head.

  “Let’s depart before the crush,” the Baron was saying, grabbing his top hat from Andrews, his butler, and thrusting it onto his balding head. “The Earl’s home is certain to draw a great deal of people tonight.”

  “Yes, Father,” Louisa conceded, drawing in a deep breath. They were invited to attend a dance at the home of the Earl and Countess of Simmons, the parents of her dearest friend Rebecca, and though she would have preferred to stay home with her father this evening, a small piece of her wanted to attend if for no other reason than to visit with her friend. “Let me retrieve my wrap.” She intended to keep an eye on her father before he gambled away their entire fortune. His luck was bound to run out eventually.

  Grayson Kilmore, Duke of Montrose, swaggered into the crowded ballroom of the Earl of Simmons, wishing he was anywhere but there. Tonight it appeared as if most of the city had gathered in that one room which likely was larger than it seemed with such a crowd. They were all so close that he imagined if someone fell no one would see it. Of course, he had heard of the crush while at White’s, enjoying a fine glass of port before departing to his chosen social event of the night. But as an elite member of this farce that was called London society, it would be remiss of him not to make an appearance. After all, if he didn’t, the society pages would have nothing to talk about in the morning.

  Grayson greeted the host and hostess as he always did before standing at the railing that overlooked the ballroom, searching. As was his custom, he never danced with the same woman more than once for, at the age of thirty, that would send the tongues wagging that he had finally chosen his Duchess. In fact, Grayson was far from marriage.

  None of the simpering girls from the titled families had captured his attention. True, several were beautiful and would produce the heirs that he was required to provide. And his mother was anxious for him to be wed. But there had to be more to marriage than having a pretty woman by his side, agreeing with every word he said, and bearing his children. He wanted more. Needed more.

  He had met a young woman when he was 21 years old and home from college who had challenged his intellect. She was well-read and questioned the ways of the world. But when he introduced her to his parents, they forbade him from seeing her because her father was a mere tenant on their estate. He had never forgotten the way she made him feel and no other girl had come close to meeting his expectations for a wife.

  “I say, old boy, why do you torture yourself with these events?”

  Grayson turned to see his oldest friend from his Eton days standing next to him, looking about as excited as he felt in regards to the scene below. Harrison Tremble was one of the lucky ones, a second son of the current Duke of Literwall who had believed that both of his sons should receive the same education as he had. While Harrison’s brother and the heir to the Duke, William, was a rather nice fellow, Grayson and Harrison had been in the same class and he had always felt a kinship to the younger, more relaxed and fun-loving of the Tremble sons.

  “The same could be said of you, my friend,” Grayson returned.

  Harrison grinned. “I only come to drive the doting mothers crazy with worry that their precious daughters will fall in love with a second son. ‘Tis good entertainment.”

  Grayson laughed and shook his head, wishing he had that type of problem. As the current Duke, he was high on the list of eligible bachelors and the constant target of parents of the unmarried girls among the ton. His family’s title and vast holdings were the ambition of every mother in this place, and more than one debutante had tried to snare him into marriage since he had acquired the dukedom following the death of his father. Just last week, one had tried to lure him into the library of the home in which he was attending a dinner, feigning a badly hurt ankle. Her attempts had been amusing at best, and he had left her in the care of her mother who had, no doubt, put her daughter to the task.

  “Whom shall I dance with this evening, Harrison? A blonde, a brunette?”

  Harrison clapped him on the back. “I shall leave that up to you my friend,” he said as he headed for the stairs. Grayson watched his friend move down the staircase before surveying the room once more, spying a brunette near the edge of the dance floor. She was certainly lovely, but she looked a bit out of sorts, and Grayson found it intriguing that all of the men near her made no move to engage in conversation with her or ask her to dance. Was she scandalous? Had she done something to cause a snub? There was only one way to find out.

  Chapter 2

  Louisa bit her lip and watched as the dancers whirled about the dance floor, wishing tha
t at least one gentleman would dance with her so that the gossip would not be so harsh in the morning and upset her father. Cowards, the lot of them, intimidated by a woman who had an opinion and was not afraid to express it! She had no intentions of biting them, nor was she going to embarrass them. If they were to be embarrassed by a woman, it would be of their own doing for not being able to hold their own ground in a simple conversation.

  Nevertheless, it remained a bit disheartening. Louisa couldn’t help but feel that there was a man out there that would care for her intellect as much as her wit and charm, pleased that he could engage with her in meaningful conversation and not the droll topics that every young lady is taught during finishing school.

  She looked down at the empty dance card dangling from her wrist and sighed, wanting to hurl the dratted thing across the room. It was not her plan to embarrass her father nor stop what was inevitable in her life, finding a willing husband to secure her future, but she was in danger of doing both if someone did not dance with her. She ripped the dance card from her wrist and squeezed it tightly into a ball with her fist.

  “I say, that dance card must have done something quite bad indeed for you to handle it in such a manner.”

  Louisa looked up to find a pair of stormy gray eyes staring back at her, a hint of amusement in their depths. Broadening her gaze, she realized that the Duke of Montrose stood before her, a man who spent more time in the society pages than she did, only for far different reasons. He was handsome in a rakish sort of way, his jet black hair combed back onto his head neatly without nary a hair out of place. He was rumored to be cool and aloof, and not one to be crossed in any sort of fashion.

  She had read greedily along with the rest of society the small tidbits about him in the pages — whom he had danced with and who was next in line as a potential duchess. The names were never ending, for the Duke never gave more than a cursory glance at the eligible women. Sharing a dance only proved to send the next hopeful woman to the top of the list, her hopes then dashed nearly as quickly when he would not give her the time of day the following week.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace?” she responded politely, with the slightest hint of a curtsey.

  He gestured to the dance card that she still grasped in a tight fist, clasping his hands behind his back and looking every inch the arrogant Duke that he was portrayed. “Your card. You look as if it has caused you some affront.”

  “Well, it is empty and, therefore, doing me no service,” Louisa said. “What use is it to me other than itching my wrist?”

  The Duke blinked and Louisa cringed inwardly, realizing she had spoken more bluntly than she intended, and perhaps a wee bit inappropriately. But then, a grin spread across his face and Louisa caught her breath. Lord, the man was handsome when he smiled.

  “The Duke of Montrose,” he announced, bowing at the waist. Louisa blinked this time, looking at the top of his head as she tried to decipher what was happening here. Was he making a formal introduction to her? But why?

  He straightened, and she realized he was waiting for her to return the introduction. “I, um, Louisa Bramick,” she forced out, sinking into a full curtsy before him. “’Tis a pleasure, Your Grace.”

  “Miss Bramick, do you dance?” he asked, the white of his teeth showing just a bit behind his lips.

  A bubble of laughter threatened to escape as Louisa looked down at her empty dance card. “As much as you would believe I did not, I do enjoy dancing, Your Grace,” she answered, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  He held out his gloved hand to her. “Then shall we take a turn about the floor?”

  Seeing no other option, unless she wanted to snub a Duke, Louisa laid her hand in his with an inscrutable expression on her face and allowed him to escort her to the floor where a waltz was just beginning. The waltz had been considered scandalous until a few short weeks ago where it had been formally accepted by the beau monde. After the acceptance, every private ballroom had taken up the dance and its revelers — aside from the very staunch of matrons — were rejoicing in its acceptance. They took their positions, and Louisa was acutely aware of his hand on her waist, the feeling seeping through the multiple layers of her dress and corset, feeling as if he was branding her skin underneath. He took them into the first turn, and she forced herself to look at him, seeing him watch her intently.

  “Am I fulfilling your required dance tonight, Your Grace?” she asked politely, if not a tad impertinently as her lips curled upwards in a wry smile.

  A surprise crossed his face. “One of them,” he said slowly. “I say Miss Bramick, I do not think you are like the usual debutante.”

  “So I have been told,” she responded with a slight smile. “I suppose I could engage you in a conversation about the weather we are having or the color of Lady Versely’s dress tonight, but I would think a man of your position would rather discuss something else.”

  “You are a very intuitive woman, Miss Bramick,” the Duke responded with a slight smile of his own. “One can only hear the weather report so much before feeling as if all of London cares about the slightest chance of rain this week.”

  Louisa laughed, tilting her head at him. “So what would you like to discuss, Your Grace? Our dance will soon come to an end and then I will be quite satisfied to retire my dance card for the evening.”

  “Why do they all avoid you?” he asked.

  Louisa nearly faltered her next step, the burning sensation in her stomach returning. He would think her too unconventional, too rash with her words if she told him the truth. Truth be told, though, the Duke was the first man whose company she was actually enjoying. Unfortunate for her, he was well above her position and clearly not at all interested in marriage. Which meant speaking freely would have no damage to her standing. No, this man simply enjoyed the stir he caused, and Louisa could already imagine her name moving to the top of the growing list by morning where it would stay for a few days until replaced by the recipient of the Duke’s attention at the next dance. Hopefully, her father would not read too much into it. It was just a dance after all.

  “I do not know really,” she said. “I believe they are intimidated by me.” She could find no other words to describe the reason for which the young men of the ton avoided her. “I speak my mind and, to be frank, very few of the men even have half a mind.”

  The Duke surprised her with a hearty laugh which she felt from his belly as he twirled her effortlessly across the dance floor. “I know that feeling. Do you know they will not sit at the same table as me in White’s? I confess, I do not know if they are scared I will bite their heads off or actually engage them in a conversation.”

  Louisa laughed, astonished that the Duke was so engaging. She took a chance and asked him his opinion of Carlton House and whether he felt it appropriate that it was designed in the French style, particularly considering the current relations with France. She enjoyed listening to his detailed description of the rooms there, where he dined often with the Prince Regent.

  The last strains of the dance ended and as they stopped moving, the Duke immediately stepped back and bowed. “It has truly been a pleasure, Miss Bramick.”

  She dipped into a curtsy, a bit saddened that the dance was over so quickly. “Your Grace.”

  “Perhaps we shall dance again,” he said. “I shall withdraw to the gaming room now and engage in a bit of harmless wagering. But I would be most pleased to fill another slot on your dance card before the end of the evening. That should raise some eyebrows.” The Duke smiled broadly, genuinely enjoying himself for the first time since taking the title.

  Louisa frowned. Harmless wagering? She had almost been fooled into thinking he had more substance than the rest of the ton, but he was no better than any of them. He had far more money than anyone else in the county and, no doubt, little concern for whether he won or lost. Spending time in the company of men such as this was negatively influencing her father.

  “No, thank you, your Grace,” she said. Her voice was
flat and toneless, her eyes suddenly cold, unlike the animated lighthearted laughter and smiling eyes she presented during their dance. In an attempt at a plausible explanation for her rejection, she added, “I would not want to be the cause of any unwanted scandal for Your Grace. Seeing as how we shall unlikely meet again.”

  She curtsied again briefly, turned her back and walked away, ignoring the stares of the envious women and newly captivated men surrounding the perimeters of the dance floor.

  Grayson stood frozen in place, stunned by her rebuttal and bewildered by her abrupt change of humor. He was aware of the stares, the guests’ eyes darting from Louisa to him, the whispers. He straightened and strode purposefully out of the ballroom towards the gaming room where he would take his mind off this humiliation with a drink and a wager.

  “Louisa!” Rebecca moved quickly to her friend’s side.

  “Becca,” Louisa was relieved to have the company of her friend as she caught her breath from her unexpected interlude with the Duke.

  Rebecca and Louisa had both been presented to society in the same season, and where most of the other debutantes were snooty, Louisa had found a kinship in the brunette. Her brother, Thomas, was a few years older than they were and was also like a brother to Louisa. Thomas frequented the same gambling tables as the Baron and often escorted Louisa’s father home when he’d had too much to drink which Louisa appreciated.

  “Did you just dance with the Duke of Montrose?” Rebecca hissed the question excitedly, unable to hide the glee for her friend, combined with a faint hint of jealousy.