The Devil Duke Takes a Bride (20 page)

Three years later.

“A
gatha
!” Benedict screamed
.
T
hey were going to be late for the Kringle Ball
,
and his daughter of two was currently running through the house naked.

Like father
,
like daughter he supposed.

His valet still hadn’t quit, but he knew one day he would lose his mind
.
I
f anything, Benedict’s own nakedness had become worse what with having a wife around all the time.

Clothes? Who needed clothes?

His
v
alet did not agree.

Nor did his butler, but he gave them enough bonuses every Christmas not to care, so he figured he was safe.

“Agatha,” he said quietly when she approached him giggling. “You need to go upstairs with Nanna. Mother and I are leaving for the night
.
C
an you do that for us?”

She shook her head no.

Of course.

He swore up and down that Agatha, while in heaven, chatted up God and told him how amusing it would be to gift them with a child who took exactly after both their parents, to a fault.

And God, being in good humor and loving Agatha as he should, granted her this one boon.

Little Agatha smiled up at him and giggled again, his heart thumped with joy. “You must get some clothes on before Mother sees you.”

“Before I see what exactly?” Katherine floated down the stairs looking every inch the duchess, and every inch the seductress. Heavens how he loved her. It seemed the longer they were married the more their love grew, until most days he felt so stupidly happy that he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried.

“Happy anniversary, love.” Katherine kissed him on the cheek then looked down
.
“Agatha, sweetheart, why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

“Papa!” Agatha squealed
.
“
N
o clothes too!”

Katherine glared at Benedict. He winked shamelessly and then she blushed from the roots of her hair down her glorious neck. He leaned forward to take a peek down her dress.

She pushed him away. “Those are the very things you should not be doing in front of your daughter. She already copies everything else.”

They both looked down at their grinning little girl and laughed.

Nanna came rushing down the stairs and scooped up Agatha, scolding her for running away during bath time.

“She takes after you,” Katherine said.

“Does not.”

“Does too! She runs around naked and ignores anyone’s pleas to do otherwise!”

“She also tried to kill me three times. So who exactly does she take after in that regard?”

“It was four,” Katherine argued. “And she didn’t try to kill you
.
T
hey were all accidents. It wasn’t her fault you fell into the pond while taking her for a walk, or out of the tree when getting her an apple. You just need to be more careful.”

Benedict grimaced,
careful
and his daughter were not anywhere near the same thing. The more he coddled her, the more it seemed she wanted to do something daring.

Unfortunately
,
it reminded him of himself, which frightened him more than words could express.

Luckily, he had Katherine.

And with her, he could do anything.

“Why are you smiling?” Katherine put her hands on her hips, tilting her head.

“Why shouldn’t I be smiling?” His grin grew.

“You look like you’re about to do something…”

He grabbed her hands and ran into the study, shoving the door closed behind them and with little effort lifted her skirts.

“Benedict!” she scolded. “What are you doing! We’re going to be late!
”

“Then we’ll be late. I am a duke after all.”

His argument to get away with anything.

She rolled her eyes and squirmed happily beneath his touch. “But it’s our anniversary and everyone is going to want to see us. Oh!” She leaned in and kissed him. “Maybe just this once.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed her firmly across the mouth.

And an hour later, when they arrived at the ball hand in hand, Benedict’s past reputation was merely a shadow on everyone’s lips. Had he really been all that bad? People wanted to know. For what they saw now was a man completely changed from the one he was before.

And it was all because his
a
unt loved him enough to trick him. God rest her soul.

Rachel Van Dyken is the USA Today Bestselling author of regency and conte
m
porary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandyken.com
.

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Compromising Kessen

Prologue

The mourning call of the turtledove echoed across the field, muffled only by the rustling of the nearby trees in the mild summer breeze. From the far side, a lone figure, a boy no older than one and six, carried a musket at the ready, wading through the tall field grass with a slow, deliberate gait. His gaze scoured the land all around him. The crack of a twig brought him swinging around to take aim at the disturbance, but his sudden movement startled the prey, sending it scurrying back into the cover of the nearby thicket.

He shook his head and turned in the opposite direction, following his original path. His bright copper hair danced in the light gust sweeping the field as he traipsed forward once again, musket at the ready.

A piercing scream mingled with the call of the turtledoves, startling the hunter and the wildlife. There was an instant rush in the trees as birds took to wing. The boy craned his neck in the direction of the unearthly wail. It seemed to come from beyond the line of trees.

Somewhere in the blur of thick foliage, he seemed to catch sight of something he wasn’t expecting. Patches of bright blue interspersed among the leaves high in a tree glittered in the sunlight.

Tiptoeing forward, he made his way through the field to stand directly under the giant oak. He slung his musket over his shoulder, crossed his arms, and gazed up into the branches at the offending apparition.

“Young Miss Trent, I presume?”

Her only response was a pitiful whimper. She gazed down on him with wide brown eyes which glistened with fresh tears.

“Are you stuck?” he asked.

After a moment of hesitation, she answered with a loud sniffle. “Yes.”

“Then I shall rescue you, fair damsel,” he announced, sweeping low into a grand bow. He removed his musket sling and game satchel and leaned them against the base of a nearby elm. Without further ado, he reached for the lowest branch and hoisted himself up, crawling higher and higher until he reached her side.

“Alas, fair lady, your knight has arrived.” His most dazzling smile comforted the frightened girl. “However did you come to be imprisoned here in this tower, Princess?”

“My foot is stuck.”

“I see. This is a grave situation indeed. May I?” He gestured to her slipper. Her mousy brown pigtails bounced when she nodded her assent.

With a gentle twist, the boy freed her foot from its confinement. He lifted her into his arms and started back down the tree.

Once safe on the ground, he set the little girl on her feet and knelt on one knee to examine her face-to-face.

“Are you well, Princess?”

She bobbed her head again and threw her arms around his neck.

“There now, Princess,” he said, patting her gently on the back. “All is well.”

As if she remembered her part in the farce, she released him and stepped back with a coy smile and a sweet curtsy. “Thank you, Sir Knight, for rescuing me.”

“At your service, my lady,” he said, rising to his feet and bowing at the waist. “‘Tis my sworn duty to protect a lady of the realm.”

She giggled. Her eyes shone bright with joy in their little game.

“Are you hungry, Princess?” He picked up his hunting satchel and reached inside it, fishing out a shiny red apple and a hard biscuit.

The little girl smiled wide, showing a gap where her two front teeth used to be.

“Oh, dear. I suppose the apple is out of the question then,” the boy said with a wink. “Unless…” he paused thoughtfully, then reached a hand into his bag once more, retrieving a small hunting knife with triumphant flair. “Ta-da!”

She clapped and shrieked with laughter.

“Apple, Princess?”

Her enthusiastic nod sent him straight to work peeling and slicing the fruit into crisp slivers.

They sat under the tree together. He handed the juicy slices to her one at a time, and she munched on them happily. “Thank you, Sir Knight!”

“You, my dear princess, may call me Baldwyn.”

“Baldwyn,” she tried it out, chasing it with a short burst of bubbly little girl laughter.

“There now. Isn’t this much better than being stuck up in that old tree?”

“Yes!”

“Whatever were you doing up there anyway?”

“I was looking for the nest.”

“The nest?”

“The turtledoves. Papa says they make their nests out here in the spring and fly away in the fall.”

“That’s true. They do like it out here in the fields.”

“I heard them crying. I thought maybe they needed help.”

“Ah, yes. They do sound terribly sad, don’t they?”

“Yes. Like they’ve lost their true love.”

The boy chuckled. “I suppose that’s exactly how they sound.” He handed her another sliver of apple. “That sad cry is the sound they make when they call to their mates. Turtledove pairs don’t like to be apart. So they call to each other, reminding each other where they truly belong.”

She sat silent for a moment, staring at the piece of apple in her hand. “Sometimes I awake at night and hear that sound.” Her voice lowered to a confidential whisper. “Once I followed it to my father’s chamber door.” Her big brown eyes lifted to meet his sparkling blue gaze. “Do you think he cries like that because Mama was his turtledove?”

The boy’s eyes glistened as he blinked back at her. “That might be,” he whispered finally. They held their peace for a moment, listening to the mournful cry of the turtledoves dodging through the canopy of branches overhead.

Finally, the boy stood and brushed off his breeches. He reached for his musket and satchel and slung them each over his shoulders. He offered a hand to the child who still sat at the base of the giant oak. When she grasped it, he helped her to her feet, then proffered his elbow. “May I see you home, Princess?”

“I’d be delighted, Sir Knight.” Her smile was cheery and bright once more as she rested her tiny fingers on his forearm like the perfect little medieval lady, and the two of them made their way back across the field to the estate house, laughing and joking as they went.

Chapter
One

Twelve years later

Baldwyn Sinclair, the Duke of Paisley, gazed out the window, blinking his heavy eyelids, and watched the snow-covered landscape slip by. As rare as it was for the present time of year, the sun was shining, casting a blinding reflection off the pristine white ground, causing him to blink and turn away from the window.

The wind was quiet. It was an eerily calm winter day, far from normal in that part of the country. The calm before the storm was more like it.

His grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Durbin, had summoned him back from Scotland. For what, he did not know, but one did not ignore a request from her grace.

It was only a matter of hours now until his impending arrival at her London home. She never retired to the country for the winter anymore. The old woman much preferred to stay ensconced in her townhouse, wreaking havoc on the lives of any relative foolish enough to reside within the city limits.