Desperately Seeking a Duchess (All the Duke's Sins, Band 2) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Christi Caldwell is the USA Today bestselling author of the Sinful Brides series and the Heart of a Duke series. She blames novelist Judith McNaught for luring her into the world of historical romance. When Christi was at the University of Connecticut, she began writing her own tales of love—ones where even the most perfect heroes and heroines had imperfections. She learned to enjoy torturing her couples before they earned their well-deserved happily ever after. Christi lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, where she spends her time writing, and being a mommy to the most inspiring little boy and empathetic, spirited girls who, with their mischievous twin antics, offer an endless source of story ideas!

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

Staffordshire

Just outside the Cheadle mines

Spring 1805

Courtland Balfour, the seventh Duke of St. James, had long appreciated the irony of the word "saint" being affixed to his name.

A notorious rogue, with a reputation for being able to charm any woman from age eighteen to eighty-eight, no one would dare dispute Courtland belonged firmly in the column of sinner rather than saint.

And yet, on this particularly warm spring day, visiting the far-flung corners of Staffordshire, Courtland thought, for the first time, perhaps he might be deserving of that title.

After all, it wasn't just any brother who'd take on the unenviable task of passing himself off as his twin and playing at man of affairs to the Duke of Bentley.

His twin's arrangement had shocked all of Polite Society. For even the second son of a duke didn't take on employment. And he certainly didn't take on work for his late father's friend. But Keir, Courtland's twin, had craved a sense of purpose, and was denied that ability while their father lived.

Only when that miserable, heartless scoundrel had kicked off-in the bed of a courtesan, no less-had Keir pursued that opportunity. His bluntly spoken, socially awkward brother, who'd landed a role as man of affairs to the Duke of Bentley, was paid handsomely.

The part his brother did not fully know, however, was that Courtland's visit this day wasn't entirely altruistic.

Neither Courtland's twin nor their three sisters nor any other member of Polite Society was aware of the full truth: that the previous Duke of St. James had left Courtland staring down a sea of debt collectors and a nearly bankrupt title.

Given the state of their family's finances, the Balfours weren't in a position to lose the monies that funded their sister's Season . . . or that important connection.

As such, whereas Courtland and Keir had swapped identities quite often as young boys, today's deception was no child's play. This time Courtland had volunteered to be the one to convince Bentley's by-blows to journey to London so they might assume their rightful place among Polite Society.

It was curious, that. Most any other-nearly every other-illegitimate child of a duke would have surely leaped at the prospect of trading life in a mining village for a comfortable existence in London. And, to boot, a father who wished to have something to do with them. Certainly, as the son of a late duke himself, Courtland had never known a thing about paternal affection.

Apparently, however, Bentley had sired three curious and contrary children.

Courtland guided his black mount down the dusty path, armed with directions he'd managed to ply from the mouths of stonily stubborn patrons at the tavern, who'd proven more amenable when Courtland had urged the innkeeper to let the ale flow freely that day.

There'd been several ribald songs he'd joined in on.

And then, at last . . . directions.

Nudging his horse, Ace, up over a slight rise, Courtland drew on the reins, and halting his mount, he scanned the green countryside below.

So much greenery; more in fact than he'd ever believed possible in any part of England. Even his estates were peppered with ponds and stone structures; lands that had been tamed long ago. Courtland squinted, the sun's glare blinding, and he lifted a palm to his brow to blot out the brightness.

There it was.

A speck upon the horizon.

Clucking his tongue, he squeezed his knees slightly and urged Ace on to the small, narrow drive.

Dismounting, Courtland looked about, and locating a block, he looped his horse's reins to it, then turned all his attention to the house ahead, and the task at hand.

Upon close inspection, the distance and light hadn't been playing tricks with his vision. The cottage truly was as small as he'd taken it for in the distance, dwarfed all the more by grounds and gardens long overdue in terms of tending.

Courtland patted Ace one more time, and then, collecting his satchel from his saddle, he headed down the overgrown pathway, filled with so many blooms; the neglect had all but created a veritable buffet that invited insects.

Bees buzzed. Butterflies danced around them. Beetles. Ladybugs. Each insect vied for a place, all the while their brains too tiny to register that there was enough food and space contained within this ill-tended area to keep them for several summers.

Courtland gave his head a wistful shake, as for the first time since he'd arrived, he felt a frisson of . . . guilt, about asking anyone to give up the comfort of obscurity here for the garish opulence that was the Town.

Ace whinnied noisily, and Courtland absently stroked the loyal creature between the eyes. His nostrils flaring, Ace arched his head back into that favorite-of-his touch.

From the corner of his eye, Courtland caught a faint flutter, and he swung his attention to find a person watching him.

The less-than-furtive figure in the cottage pressed her forehead against the glass.

"It appears we have company," he murmured, patting Ace once more. "Which isn't terrible, as it means the sooner I finish, the sooner we're free to return to London."

Ace gave an a toss of his head in clear equine disapproval.

"It appears we are of like opinions then, on that score," Courtland said, winking at his horse.

Once again, those curtains parted slightly, and a young woman peeked through the crack in the fabric.

Enormous, saucer-sized blue eyes, filled with mistrust, met Courtland's gaze.

The sister, then.

He grinned. "Good afternoon," he called, and sketched a bow. "I'm here to speak with Mr. Audley."

Judging by the stretch of silence to follow, the young woman was anything but impressed. Alas, while he was on the other side of a doorway, without a line of sight to his quarry, she was afforded an unhindered view that put Courtland at a distinct disadvantage.

Giving Ace another pat, Courtland started down the walkway.

"Stop there!" she shouted, a healthy dose of anger and suspicion freezing him halfway down the path.

Anger and suspicion, both of which, as a duke, he was unaccustomed to being greeted with.

"What do you want?" she called, her voice muffled by the oak panel.

What did he want? Or what did he need?

A fortune.

Security.

His siblings settled.

All of which indirectly accounted for his being here.

Bringing himself back to the matter at hand, Courtland offered another smile and held his empty palms up. "I want nothing more than to speak with your brothers . . . or you," he cajoled, using soothing tones meant to bring her outside.

At last, the wood panel swung wide, affording him his first full, unobstructed view. And Courtland went absolutely motionless.

Oh, hell.

The young woman, with her full, ivory-hued cheeks and golden blond hair, had the height of a child, but the hardened stare of a woman some three decades her elder. Unfortunately for Courtland, that flinty stare was leveled at him.

Along with her ancient-looking firearm.

Reflexively, Courtland's palms went...