Dismissing the Duke Read online

  Dismissing the Duke

  When the Duke Comes to Town

  Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Claudia Dain

  Olivia Kelly

  Night Shift Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Flirting With Scandal

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Also by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  The Husband Hunt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  About Claudia Dain

  Also by Claudia Dain

  Look to the Stars

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About Olivia Kelly

  Also by Olivia Kelly

  Evading the Duke

  Thwarting the Duke

  Outwitting the Duke

  Copyright © 2016 by Jerrica Knight-Catania, Claudia Dain and Olivia Kelly

  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: 978-1-311-60962-5

  Created with Vellum

  Flirting With Scandal

  Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Dedication

  A great deal of time and research goes into each and every book that I write, but one way I’ve started to save time is by asking my dear, wonderful readers to help me name things – people, places, animals, etc… And they come up with better ideas than I ever could have! Isn’t Facebook wonderful?

  So, a huge shout out to my readers for playing along with my name games, and special shouts out to Cass Dixon and Melody May for helping me name the Lyon’s Den (teamwork!!) and to Catherine Elliot for naming Gabriel and Sara Beth’s new gelding, Cinnamon. It suits him perfectly!

  Chapter 1

  Danby, Yorkshire

  March 1817

  The smell of worn leather and pungent body odor hit Timothy Hargood’s nose as he stepped foot into his local boxing salon. It was a small club, when one compared it to those of London, and certainly not as well appointed as somewhere like Gentleman Jackson’s. Rather, it sat in a small building at the edge of town, somewhat run down and unassuming. But being the only club of its kind nearby, it attracted all sorts of men, be they aristocrat or merely a servant. It was a comfortable haven for Timothy, and a much needed escape from the stresses of life. Though he was wont to blame his need for exercise on the stress of being a valet rather than on the extended presence of a certain young woman who ought to have returned to her own home long ago. A young woman whom he could never ever pursue for a myriad of reasons. The main one being that she was far out of his league—a great-niece to the Duke of Danby—a man with more power in his pinky than all the gentlemen of Yorkshire combined. She was a lady in more than just name, though. She held herself with the upmost decorum, knew all the rules there were to know, all the necessary people. But even more importantly, she was kind. It sounded like a silly thing to be attracted to, and yet, it seemed such a rare thing among ladies of her ilk, that Timothy couldn’t help but find her more than just a little interesting. It was especially enjoyable to watch her try and gain control of her younger sister.

  “Ah, there you are!” Timothy’s older brother shouted from across the room, startling him from his wayward thoughts. Jimmy was already stripped of his shirt and sparring with the last man Timothy expected to see in The Lyons Den.

  What the devil was Gabriel Whitton doing there? It was the one place Timothy could go to escape his employer. Not that Gabriel was a tyrant or anything—on the contrary, he was quite a good man. So much so that Timothy could almost count him as a comrade. Almost. He wasn’t so bold as to think of his employer as a friend. That would be foolish. But then again, if Timothy had his way, he might think of the man as brother-in-law one day. An even more foolish thought, certainly.

  He shook the idea away as he made his way to the boxing ring where his brother and employer sparred. Judging by the sweat dripping off both of them, they’d been at it for quite some time.

  “See?” Jimmy said, never taking his eyes off his opponent. “I told you he’d be here.”

  “Indeed you did,” Gabriel replied, taking a jab at Jimmy’s nose and missing.

  “Care for a break?” Timothy asked them, despite being eager to enter the ring himself.

  Both men dropped their fists, though Gabriel looked far more relieved at the suggestion than Jimmy did.

  “Lead the way,” Gabriel panted, grabbing his white shirt from the wooden post at the corner of the ring. Timothy could hear his employer fall into step behind him as he led them from the sparring room and into the pub.

  Fully clothed again, they took their seats at a small table and Timothy gestured to the barkeep for three pints of ale.

  “You don’t wish to spar, Timothy?” Jimmy asked as he settled onto the rough wooden chair.

  “Oh, I do,” Timothy assured him. He always wished to spar. It made him feel alive whenever he was in the ring. “But it can wait.”

  “Not too long,” Gabriel chimed in. “I’m being forced to dine with Danby tonight, and I’ll need your assistance at the cottage.”

  Timothy was well aware of the fact Gabriel was going to dinner at Danby Castle this evening, along with his new wife, Miss Sara Bethbeth Millstone. The woman who had held Jimmy’s heart for longer than she ought to have. Not that it was her fault, but it seemed the more she discouraged Jimmy, the more obsessed he became with her. But when the time came to truly let her go, Jimmy had been quite noble. Now he’d apparently turned his aggression to the boxing ring, which was fine, Timothy supposed, so long as it stayed there.

  “Not to worry,” Timothy replied. “I shan’t be long. But what brought you here today? I wasn’t aware you were a member.”

  “Whitton here divulged he was getting a bit bored out here in the country, so I suggested he join me,” Jimmy said before taking a long swig from his tankard. “Quite a match in the ring.”

  “Yes, well, I spent my fair share of time at Gentleman Jackson’s in London,” Gabriel said. “Though I fear I’ve a ways to go to be a true match for you, Jimmy.”

  “If you think I’m a worthy competitor, I caution you from getting into that ring with Timothy here.” Jimmy squeezed Timothy’s shoulder. “Out for blood, I tell you.”

  Timothy was at once embarrassed and flattered at his brother’s praise. It was true he took great pride in his abilities, and he took the sport rather seriously—more seriously than most of the men who frequented the club. Which was probably why he was so embarrassed by it. Perhaps if they were in the company of Tom Cribb, he’d feel more at ease.

  “Then I shall leave him to more worthy opponents,” Gabriel said with a chuckle. “I’m sure he’d rather not see me here, anyway.”

  “You are always welcome, sir,” Timothy said, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth to catch a dribble of ale.

/>   “So, how is married life, Whitton?” Jimmy asked, changing the subject. “And your lovely bride?” Timothy studied Jimmy’s face for any trace of jealousy, but only genuine curiosity lit his elder brother’s features.

  A smile spread across Gabriel’s lips. The man was truly smitten with his bride, if that dreamy look in his blue eyes was any indication. “She is well, Jimmy. Quite well. And her studies are coming along splendidly. Why, just last night she read to me from Evenings at Home with hardly any help from me.”

  “Bravo, good man,” Jimmy said, shaking his head in apparent awe. And truly, it was awe-inspiring. The poor girl had lived her whole life pretending to know how to read, when she couldn’t make out much more than her own name. Gabriel had changed that in just a few short months.

  “No need to praise me,” Gabriel said, modestly swatting at the air. “She’s done all the work—she was more than ready to learn, as you can imagine.”

  “And what of your sisters?” Timothy blurted out, and he was certain he’d not hidden his agenda nearly as well as Jimmy. Though it was possible Jimmy no longer had an agenda.

  Gabriel turned to him and gave a curious laugh. “What of them? You see them nearly daily, Hargood.”

  That was true, which was why Timothy’s cheeks were flaming hot now. What was the matter with him? Surely nothing a good spar in the ring couldn’t fix, he hoped.

  He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “Yes, but only in passing. Are they…well?”

  Gabriel seemed to accept Timothy’s excuse, thank God. He took a swig of ale and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose. Esther seems as if she’s walking on clouds, which makes me wonder if she’s developed a tendre for someone. I’m sure we’ll find out in due time. Leah is more than happy about it, as Esther is lately more prone to leave her to her own devices. Frightening for the rest of us, I assure you.”

  Timothy tried to laugh at the joke, but hardly anything came out. His lungs were too constricted—or was it his heart?—to produce anything even remotely jovial sounding. Damn it all, had she met someone? Who? There weren’t that many gentlemen to choose from here in Yorkshire. Surely he would know if someone were courting her. Perhaps someone back home? Or in London? Were they sending love letters back and forth to one another this whole time?

  He glanced across the table at his brother, who seemed quite unaffected by this news. Almost too unaffected. Was it him? Was Jimmy having secret rendezvous with Esther?

  No, of course not. She wasn’t the kind to have secret rendezvous, was she? Surely, she would insist on doing things the proper way—a proper courting, a chaste engagement, reading of the banns—then, and only then, would she allow more than an innocent kiss on the cheek.

  Timothy shifted again, only this time because of the discomfort in his trousers. How the hell had the thought of an innocent kiss on the cheek caused him to grow hard? Damn, but it had been too long since he’d been in the company of a woman.

  He poured the rest of his ale down his throat and then slammed his tankard down on the table. “My good men, this has been delightful,” he said, allowing the slightest edge of sarcasm to imbue his tone. “But seeing as my time is limited, I believe I shall make my way to the ring.”

  “Was it something I said?” Gabriel asked, clearly picking up on Timothy’s strained tone. But Timothy didn’t want his employer to think it was anything he’d done to cause the abrupt departure.

  “Not at all,” he said, softening his tone as he stood, grateful his member had decided to stand down finally. “To be frank, it’s been a bit of a morning.”

  “Anything we can help with?” Jimmy piped up, always the helpful brother.

  Timothy held up a hand. “No, no. All is well. I just…need a bit of release.” In more ways than one.

  “Say no more.” Gabriel stood, having polished off his own ale. “I could use a bath and some rest before this evening anyway. Jimmy, many thanks for bringing me here today.”

  “You’re welcome anytime, Whitton.”

  Gabriel made his way out of the salon, and Timothy turned to his brother. “Care for another round?”

  “Against you? Not really.”

  “Come now,” Timothy smiled. “I’ll go easy, I promise.”

  “Your idea of ‘going easy’ is not completely pummeling me into the ground.” He glanced up toward the doorway. “Look. Rumsfeld just arrived. He’ll put up a bigger fight, I’m sure.”

  Timothy looked in the direction of Lord Rumsfeld, a large and imposing cad of a man, and smiled. He always enjoyed putting the oaf in his place. “All right, then.” He tipped his hat to his brother and made his way across the room. “Rumsfeld. I was just about to head to the ring. Care to meet me there?”

  The ruddy-faced man laughed and slapped Timothy on the back. “It’d be my pleasure,” he said, his tone more cocksure than it ought to have been. Timothy was not in a mood to give anyone a break today.

  Minutes later, Timothy stood in the ring, his chest exposed to the slightly damp air in the room, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, practically of their own accord.

  Rumsfeld entered the ring, his hairy chest already glistening with sweat, and his large belly hanging over the top of his trousers. Timothy immediately felt sorry for the man’s wife. And mistress, for everyone knew he kept one. God, what women would do for a bit of money and status. Miss Whitton wouldn’t do that, would she? Marry for such things? She was awfully practical, so perhaps she’d see the value in those things, but she didn’t seem the social climbing type. The question was, was she the romantic type? The type to fall in love with someone below her station? The type to shirk all expectations and follow her heart?

  Timothy shook his head and moved determinedly to the middle of the ring, meeting Rumsfeld halfway. What did it matter if she was that type or not? Just because she’d smiled at him a few times in a way that made his insides melt didn’t mean she wanted to walk down the aisle with him, let alone follow him to a bedchamber.

  Damn it all, if he didn’t stop that, he’d end up with an uncomfortably stiff member right here in the ring. Better to focus on pounding Rumsfeld into the ground. He swung the first punch, aiming straight for the viscount’s nose, which immediately began to drip with blood. Perhaps he should stand down just a bit, so as to not actually kill the man.

  He allowed Rumsfeld the next hit. It hurt, but in an oddly satisfying way. Timothy was half hoping a few good punches to his face might knock some sense into him regarding Esther Whitton. Maybe even make him forget all about her, if they were hard enough. Yes, that would be good, wouldn’t it?

  This thought was enough to almost make him give up and after a few more punches, Rumsfeld dropped his fists to his side. “What the devil, Hargood? You’re not even trying.”

  Timothy shrugged. “I suppose I’m just not up to it today.”

  The viscount’s brows shot up towards his receding hairline. “Not up to it?” he repeated incredulously. “Words I’d never expect to hear from the likes of you.”

  “Yes, well…” Timothy had no excuse really. At least not one he cared to share with Rumsfeld. “Everyone has an off day here and there, don’t they?”

  “Not you.”

  Rumsfeld just stood there, staring at him, clearly waiting for him to have a change of heart, but Timothy’s heart just wasn’t in it. It wasn’t bringing him the same satisfaction that it usually did, and it wasn’t making him forget about Esther Whitton. He had a feeling there was only one thing that might get her out of his head, but Madame Rose’s was a half-day’s ride, and even that didn’t feel right. Not that it ever did. He’d been forced into going once by one of the footmen at Danby Castle, and he’d wanted to leave as soon as they’d arrived. Madame Rose set him up with a girl who was far too sweet and innocent seeming for him to want to dally with her in a dank little room with bed linens that probably hadn’t been changed in days, maybe even weeks. So he’d paid for her services and spent the evening chatting with her about
her family in Portsmouth.

  “What the devil has happened to you, Hargood?” Rumsfeld pressed, and only then did Timothy realize he’d been daydreaming. “You haven’t gone soft, have you? You’re the best chance for an honest fight around here.”

  “Not to worry, my lord!” Timothy said as he made his way out of the ring. “I’m sure I’ll be back to my usual self in a day or two. Perhaps I’m coming down with something.”

  “That’s it, then?” came the man’s disheartened protest.

  “I’m afraid so, old man.” Timothy donned his shirt and gathered his things. And then he left the Lyons Den, stopping just outside on the red dirt road. He’d left in such a hurry, but now he was out here, he had no idea where to go. Figuratively, of course. Physically, he knew he’d be required back at the cottage soon to prepare Gabriel for dinner. But…

  What was he going to do about Esther? About his inability to think of nothing else but her? And when the devil was she going to go home? Spring was upon them—perhaps she’d leave for London soon. She was certainly of a marriageable age, if not a little long in the tooth already. Surely, her parents would see to a season for her. Yes, that would be perfect. If she would just leave, he could forget about her and move on with his life. Whatever that life was going to be. Once Gabriel left, he’d have to seek out employment again. Not that he needed to work, what with his brother’s inheritance, as Jimmy reminded him often. But it was Jimmy’s inheritance. As much as he was willing to call it both of theirs, Timothy didn’t feel right about it. And something in him couldn’t live the life of a playboy. He liked to work—he liked feeling as if he had a purpose in life.

  He pulled his jacket more tightly about him as he began the walk toward the cottage. Spring might be upon them, but Lady Winter was still torturing them with bitter temperatures. Soon enough, in the heat of summer, they’d all be praying for the cold again. That was just the way it was.