Helen Dickson Read online

  THREE GOLDEN RULES FOR THIS SEASON’S DEBUTANTES:

  1. Ensure that you have appropriate instruction in etiquette

  2. Flirting is acceptable if done with decorum

  3. Your future husband must be of honorable intent

  But unconventional Marietta Westwood has already broken all the rules! Her suitor, the enigmatic yet charmingly irresistible Duke of Arden, has long been intriguing the ladies of the ton. And he’s the same man whose dangerous kisses have been scandalously burned into Marietta’s mind....

  She couldn’t believe her eyes when she recognized Max Trevellyan approaching her.

  Their eyes met and locked for a moment. Then Marietta’s opened wider and wider as she experienced astonishment and incredulity before brusquely recollecting herself. He was dressed in a well-worn tweed jacket and the pale sunlight fell across him, touching his thick dark hair. His silver-gray eyes were clear and alert.

  For one dreadful moment she panicked, feeling an urgent desire to turn and run. For heaven’s sake—she was Marietta Westwood, afraid of nothing and no one. She almost did turn and run, but the fierce resolve with which she had been born and which had developed inside her since she was a child kept her rooted to the spot.

  “It’s you,” she said frostily, on a calmer note—though her heart, for some bewildering reason, was beating quickly.

  * * *

  When Marrying a Duke...

  Harlequin® Historical #341—October 2012

  Author Note

  I loved writing When Marrying a Duke..., detailing the trials and tribulations of my heroine, creating a larger-than-life hero and the woman who loves him. It is a love story, and the hard and fast rule of a romance writer—which is carved in stone—is that there must be a happy ending.

  Reading is a tremendous joy to me—I read anything from historical romance and family sagas to thrillers and fantasy. I love to absorb myself in the stories, and feel a real sense of discovery with each new book. Foreign shores rarely feature in any of my books, so using Hong Kong as the location in the opening chapters of When Marrying a Duke... was an unlikely setting for me to choose. I enjoyed researching this fascinating island.

  While the setting of Hong Kong and the issues of the time are real, my characters are entirely fictitious.

  Helen Dickson

  When Marrying a Duke...

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and HELEN DICKSON

  The Rainborough Inheritance #24

  Honor Bound #38

  Katherine #56

  An Illustrious Lord #80

  An Innocent Proposal #104

  Conspiracy of Hearts #114

  Lord Fox’s Pleasure #130

  Carnival of Love #137

  The Pirate’s Daughter #143

  Highwayman Husband #154

  The Property of a Gentleman #160

  Belhaven Bride #190

  The Earl and the Pickpocket #201

  Rogue’s Widow, Gentleman’s Wife #853

  His Rebel Bride #222

  Wicked Pleasures #873

  A Scoundrel of Consequence #248

  The Defiant Debutante #256

  Seducing Miss Lockwood #263

  Marrying Miss Monkton #271

  Traitor or Temptress #274

  Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride #280

  Diamonds, Deception and the Debutante #283

  Forbidden Lord #290

  Destitute On His Doorstep #301

  Beauty in Breeches #313

  Miss Cameron’s Fall From Grace #331

  When Marrying a Duke... #341

  And in Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook

  One Reckless Night

  HELEN DICKSON

  was born and lives in South Yorkshire with her retired farm-manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favorite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, traveling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Prologue

  Waking shortly after midnight and unable to go back to sleep, thinking a glass of milk might help to settle her, Marietta padded from her room. Yang Ling, her Chinese nurse, was asleep in a nearby bedroom, dreaming of the Chinese New Year that was upon them, and the visit she would make to her family to wish them well and good fortune in the year to come.

  The night was moonless, a black quilt shrouding the hills of Hong Kong, but by the nuances and textures of the dark the girl was drawn towards the stairs. She moved quietly so as not to wake her parents, for she was ever conscious that her mother needed her rest. Ever since she had miscarried yet another child—three in total—her parents had slept in separate rooms, so Marietta was surprised to hear muffled voices coming from her mother’s bedroom. Something had changed. Marietta sensed it and shivered. Concerned because her mother was sobbing, thinking she might be ill, she paused, straining her ears to listen.

  ‘Leave me be, Monty,’ she wept. ‘You promised me there would be no more children.’

  ‘Don’t deny me, Amelia,’ her father’s pleading voice said. ‘Not now—not again. I can’t stand it.’

  ‘No, Monty. Don’t ask me to go through it again. When our last baby was born dead you gave me your word...that you wouldn’t...’

  Her mother’s frantic pleas must have fallen on deaf ears because, apart from the creaking of the bed, there was silence. There was no one to see the swift shadow dart along the landing, the agile shape that fled silently back to her room. Scrambling into bed, Marietta pulled the covers up over her head to shut out any sounds she might hear. Confused by what she had heard and at nine years old still too innocent to understand what went on between a husband and his wife—only that whatever it was they did resulted in pain and suffering for her mother and another dead baby—afraid for her mother and desperately sorry for her father, she wept.

  * * *

  At breakfast the following morning, Monty Westwood experienced a sudden feeling of unease as his eyes met the steady gold-tinted green eyes of his young daughter sitting as still as a statue across from him. For one discomfiting moment it seemed that she was staring into the very heart of him, noting his faults and failings and measuring his guilt. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he reached for some toast, glancing down to spread it with butter. But he could not control the flush that rose to his cheeks, nor the slight trembling of the hand holding the knife. He was like a man caught red-handed in a felonious act.

  Monty adored his daughter. She was vibrant and spirited, but now her eyes had a cold and knowing glint as she stared steadily back at him. She was accusing him without opening her mouth. She knew he had spent the night in her mama’s bed. She knew, even at her age, what might follow as a consequence of his lust for his wife—for any woman who was willing to accommodate him.

  * * *

  Five months after that night and pregnant yet again, Marietta’s mother went into labour. Everyone was too occupied to notice Marietta peering tentatively round the partly open door of her mother’s room. What she saw caused her heart to sink and her stomach to convulse. The bed was soaked with a quantity of blood around her mother’s body. Marietta knew she was dead. She was motionless, her face ashen, her eyes fixed for ever in a state of death.

  Marietta took a backward step, her face blanching, her
hand to her mouth, faltering so that she almost tripped over her own feet. Then she turned and fled the scene. Her mind had closed up, shutting itself against the sight of her mother. Her face was as blank as an unwritten page, all emotion having been driven deep within her, where it would fester for a long time to come.

  Chapter One

  With the sun shining out of a sky as blue as blue could be, a small, isolated knot of boisterous young people gathered to enjoy themselves at the horse racing at Happy Valley on the island of Hong Kong, which was a major trading post of the British empire. They were the sons and daughters of businessmen, merchants and bankers, all enjoying the freedom and entertainments to be had on this tiny island, the Sovereign British Territory off the Chinese coast populated by Westerners and Chinese immigrants.

  ‘I honestly swear that if I have to sit and talk to those frumpish old tabbies I shall die of boredom,’ Marietta declared sharply, observing the group of stiff-backed ladies all sporting a colourful array of flowered and feathered hats and bonnets on their coiffed heads seated on a veranda overlooking the racecourse. Young married women who no longer mixed with their unmarried friends, being excluded from the excitement and demure flirtation, were seated in chairs beneath the shade of the trees. ‘Promise me, Oliver, that if such a thing should occur, you will have the goodness to rescue me.’ Smoothing her skirts, she sighed in a way that displayed a very fetching dimple. ‘I beg of you if you value our friendship.’

  Glancing down into Marietta’s wide olive-green eyes flecked with golden lights, Oliver Schofield would have forfeited both his feet to do her bidding. ‘I give you my word,’ he replied adoringly. ‘You know perfectly well I would do anything you asked me to do, Marietta.’

  Oliver Schofield was a good-looking young man, just one of several who hung around the group of pretty girls. They were like a cloud of bright butterflies beneath light and colourful parasols. Their fashionable wide skirts of palest pink, light-blue, lemon and creamy white, pleated and flounced in delicate tulle and chiffon and muslin, swung and swayed and dipped to reveal their shoes and the lower part of their white stockinged legs.

  With a gay and uncritical nature, Marietta Westwood outshone all the other girls and was the most sought after among these bright young things. Having spent a great deal of her time with her father and allowed to do very much as she pleased, at seventeen she possessed an active mind, a lively wit and an amazing tendency to think for herself.

  As a child, as soon as she had stepped off the ship she had been enchanted with the tiny island of Hong Kong. She loved life in the colony—the picnics, regattas and parties, where she waltzed and polkaed the night away. She was just one of a civilised society, if one could ignore the heat and humidity of the South China seas and the suffocating stuffiness of the Europeans. Sporting their beards and whiskers and top hats and waistcoats and woollen suits as if they were in London, they would never dream of succumbing to the natural elements of the colony—unlike her father, who favoured wide-brimmed hats and cool linen suits, which gave him a crumpled air.

  Marietta moved towards Oliver with the lightness of step of a fawn. She was naturally cautious, like one who suspects there is a delightful danger ahead, but is prepared nevertheless to enjoy it. She smiled at him beautifully.

  ‘I know I can rely on you, Oliver—always the gallant one and so sweet, that’s what you are.’ Taking his arm, she drew him to one side, leaning forwards so that only he could hear what she said. ‘You haven’t forgotten our outing tomorrow, have you? You said you would take me with you to the native quarter.’

  His face fell. ‘No, Marietta, I can’t.’

  ‘But you promised!’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  Her lips forming a petulant pout, Marietta gave an indignant toss of her head. ‘Then I’ll never speak to you again. I swear I won’t.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t wish to take you with me,’ Oliver said, goaded, ‘but the native quarter is not a fit place for a young English girl to visit. It’s not safe. Besides, your father would never consent to it.’

  ‘He won’t be here. He’s leaving for Kowloon tonight and won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. Besides, what possible harm can come to me in your company?’ she added mischievously.

  Oliver shrugged. ‘I warn you, Marietta, it can be awfully dull. There can be little of interest for you there.’

  Marietta lifted her chin. ‘I will be the judge of that. But since you seem to be averse to my company, I shall not trouble you nor hold you to your promise. Perhaps some other gentleman will be more willing to accompany me instead.’

  ‘Come, Marietta, you need not take that attitude with me,’ Oliver said in a more conciliatory manner. ‘The fact is you misunderstand my reluctance to take you with me.’ He hesitated, then went on in a low voice, ‘I would not wish it to reach your father’s ears that I have taken his daughter to purchase opium supplies—on behalf of a friend of mine, you understand, who is unable to go himself. I have the address of a merchant and I plan to visit him tomorrow.’

  She stared at him. It all seemed so terribly exciting. ‘Are you afraid you can’t trust me? Is that why you won’t take me? I promise I will be all discretion if that’s what worries you.’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘I see I am outwitted and shall have to give in to your wishes. But you must promise not to tell anyone, Marietta.’

  With a sense of adventure and eager to explore Hong Kong’s China Town, Marietta’s eagerness increased. ‘Of course you may trust me,’ she exclaimed. ‘Though you really need not fear my father’s disapproval, for he has told me himself that he has the greatest faith in opium as a medicinal cure for everything from the most serious illness to toothache. I do know some people abuse it, but one has to be sensible about these things. I am already a convert to it since it was opium that Yang Ling gave me in the posset to cure a fever I had last month.’

  Privately Oliver doubted if Marietta’s father would approve of the use he planned to make for the drug, but he wouldn’t express his doubts to Marietta. He wished he’d been firmer with his refusal to take her, but when Marietta turned her big, dark green eyes on him, resolutions were apt to vanish. He was happy enough to have her smiling at him again and told her he hadn’t doubted her for a moment. Some people had prejudices and misconceptions about opium smoking, but since she wasn’t one of these killjoys, he would be happy to take her to the native quarter.

  Thanking him prettily and arranging to meet him the following morning, Marietta turned her attention to Julian Fielding, who was holding the reins of Oliver’s horse and seated atop his own. Suddenly she had what she considered to be a brilliant idea to spark up the afternoon. Spinning on her heel, she sprinted towards Oliver’s horse and with a fluency that caught the eye, she hoisted herself up into the saddle, her legs astride the huge gelding.

  Emma, a petite brunette and Marietta’s best friend, in a flurry of pink taffeta and bouncing ringlets, moved to stand beside Oliver. ‘Oh dear! Whatever do you think Marietta is planning to do now?’ she enquired, knowing that whatever it was, her friend was about to make a freak of herself cavorting on the back of Oliver’s horse.

  Oliver sighed, resigned as always to Marietta’s reckless escapades. ‘She will do whatever she wants to do—which is what she always does, Emma.’

  ‘Come along, Julian,’ Marietta urged with a shout of laughter, hearing the smattering of giggles as the group looked on and encouraged by it. ‘Let’s you and me have a little race of our own. To that post at the end of the green and back—and I bet I win.’

  With a gentle kick at the horse’s flanks with her heels and firing an amused glance over her shoulder at her friends, while feeling the force of the ancient ladies’ unwavering scandalised cold stares, their faces taut with disapproval on the veranda, with her skirts ballooning behind her she was off, with Julian, always game for anything, tearing after her.

  Their horses’ hooves thundered over the hard green turf. All th
e way to the post they were neck and neck, and not until they turned for home did Marietta pull ahead, finishing a length ahead of Julian. Unfortunately her horse was going so fast she had to pull up sharply, causing the animal to stumble on a raised hillock and tossing her over its head. After flying through the air, in a tangle of flounces and frills and furbelows as her skirts were upflung, she landed on the ground. Unhurt and laughing happily despite the loss of her dignity—for she was the victor after all—she scrambled to her feet.

  ‘Dear God in heaven,’ she heard someone exclaim in a furious voice, his temper roused, not at all pleased at being almost knocked off his feet. ‘Why don’t you look where you’re going, you stupid girl? You might have caused a serious accident.’

  Marietta hadn’t seen him at first. She was too busy trying to regain her balance, but she did feel a crackle in the air and perceived the unnatural silence when it fell among her chirruping friends. As she stood, with her nerves jangling like wind chimes in a typhoon, her heart began to beat unaccountably faster when she found herself confronted by the formidable Lord Trevellyan and his beautiful wife, Nadine, who had been forced to halt when she tumbled right in front of them.

  Marietta was for once speechless. He was surely the finest man that ever was. Meeting his silver-grey eyes, she felt herself instantly redden with pleasure.

  ‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ Lord Trevellyan demanded, his voice about as friendly as cold steel, not quite done with chastising her.

  The icy tone of his voice checked any wayward thoughts Marietta might have concerning Lord Trevellyan. Having halted in a small puddle left over from the previous day’s rain, she saw that Oliver’s horse had splashed mud on to Lord Trevellyan’s shiny black shoes.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she put in hastily. Able to see the funny side of the incident, she tried to stifle her mirth, but on seeing the look of unconcealed displeasure on Lord Trevellyan’s face as he looked down at his shoes, her mirth threatened to erupt into hilarity. ‘It really was an accident,’ she began defensively, ‘but I fear I’ve made rather a mess of your shoes...’