The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (43 page)

Leaving his study, he strode to the drawing room, where sat his pianoforte, his private
defiance of his father. He sat down and began to play a somber Bach piece, one that
often allowed him to vent the darker emotions that never saw the light of day in public,
where he was a gadabout and a rebel.

Or he had been until Father’s death. Since then his petty rebellions had begun to
seem more and more pointless. There’d been no deathbed reconciliation, but also no
attempt to keep him from his rightful inheritance. And no explanation of why he’d
been abandoned. None of it made sense.

The fact that he
wanted
it to make sense annoyed him. He was done with trying to understand it. The only
thing that mattered was that he’d triumphed in the end. He’d gained the estate while
he was still young enough to make something of it, and clearly that was the most he
could hope for.

Of course, now that he was the earl, people expected him to change his life. To marry.
But how could he? Once married, a man had to endure the whims of his wife and children.
He’d grown up suffering beneath the whims of his parents; he wasn’t about to exchange
one prison for another.

He pounded the keys. So for now, everything would stay the same. He would go to the
opera this evening to seek out a new mistress, and life would go on much as before.
Surely his restlessness would end in time.

Leaving the pianoforte, he was walking out of the drawing room when the sight of Boyd
heading toward him with a look of grim purpose arrested him.

“An express has come for you, my lord, from Montcliff.”

He tensed. His estate manager, Miles Fowler, never sent expresses, so it must be something
urgent.

To his surprise, the letter Boyd handed him hadn’t come from Fowler but from Mother’s
companion. Since
Mrs. Stuart hadn’t written him in the entire six months she’d been working for him,
the fact that she’d sent an express brought alarm crashing through him.

His heart pounded as he tore open the letter to read:

Dear Sir,

Forgive me for my impertinence, but I feel I should inform you that your mother is
very ill. If you wish to see her before it is too late, you should come at once.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Camilla Stuart

The terse message chilled him. Based on Mrs. Stuart’s recommendation letters and references,
not to mention the glowing accolades heaped on her by Fowler, Pierce had formed a
certain impression of the widow. She was practical and forthright, the sort of independent
female who would rather eat glass than admit she couldn’t handle any domestic situation.

She was decidedly
not
a woman given to dramatic pronouncements. So if she said his mother was very ill,
then Mother was at death’s door. And no matter what had passed between them, he couldn’t
ignore such a dire summons.

“Boyd, have my bags packed and sent on to the estate. I’m leaving for Montcliff at
once.”

“Is everything all right, my lord?” Boyd asked.

“I don’t believe it is. Apparently my mother has fallen ill. I’ll let you know more
as soon as I assess the situation.”

“What should I tell your uncle?”

Damn. The Waverlys were expecting him in a few days; he still spent most holidays
with them. “Tell Uncle Isaac I’ll do my best to be there for Christmas, but I can’t
promise anything right now.”

“Very good, my lord.”

As far as Pierce was concerned, the Waverlys—his great-uncle Isaac and his second
cousin Virginia—were his true family. Mother was merely the woman who’d brought him
into the world.

He ought to abandon her in death, the way she’d abandoned him in life. But he still
owed her for nurturing him in those early years, before he was old enough to be fobbed
off on relatives. He still owed her for giving birth to him. So he would do his duty
by her.

But no more. She’d relinquished the right to his love long ago.

© JESSI BLAKELY FOR TAMARA LACKEY PHOTOGRAPHY

SABRINA JEFFRIES
is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of the Royal Brotherhood trilogy, the School for Heiresses series,
and the Hellions of Halstead Hall series. Her first hardcover release, the stunning
holiday novel
’Twas the Night After Christmas,
was named one of
Library Journal
’s Best Romances of 2012. Recently, she revised
By Love Unveiled
, her beloved novel written under the pen name Deborah Martin and brought back into
print by Pocket Books. There are more than six million copies of her books in print
worldwide.

Sabrina Jeffries also headlined the novella collection
The School for Heiresses
and contributed to the holiday anthology
Snowy Night with a Stranger
. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and son.

Follow Sabrina Jeffries on Twitter, join her more than 10,200 fans on Facebook, and
visit
www.sabrinajeffries.com
.

A
LSO BY
S
ABRINA
J
EFFRIES

By Love Unveiled

’Twas the Night After Christmas

T
HE
H
ELLIONS OF
H
ALSTEAD
H
ALL
S
ERIES

A Lady Never Surrenders

To Wed a Wild Lord

How to Woo a Reluctant Lady

A Hellion in Her Bed

The Truth About Lord Stoneville

T
HE
S
CHOOL FOR
H
EIRESSES
S
ERIES

Wed Him Before You Bed Him

Don’t Bargain with the Devil

Snowy Night with a Stranger

(with Jane Feather & Julia London)

Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

Beware a Scot’s Revenge

The School for Heiresses

(with Julia London, Liz Carlyle & Renee Bernard)

Only a Duke Will Do

Never Seduce a Scoundrel

T
HE
R
OYAL
B
ROTHERHOOD
S
ERIES

One Night with a Prince

To Pleasure a Prince

In the Prince’s Bed

Pocket Books

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Deborah Gonzales

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof
in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department,
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First Pocket Books paperback edition July 2013

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Designed by Leydiana Rodríguez-Ovalles
Cover illustration by Alan Ayers
Hand lettering by Iskra Johnson

ISBN 978-1-4516-9346-1

ISBN 978-1-4516-9351-5 (ebook)