Page 1 of My Dark Duke

CHAPTER ONE

LILLIAN BEAUFORT EYEDthe imposing house looming over St. James' Square warily. It was home to the notorious Duke of Thorncastle; a man whose reputation was so sordid that he was oft referred to by the sobriquet The Devil of Thorncastle instead.

According to the papers, Thorncastle was a rake of the highest order. Not to mention a philanderer, a gambler, and a womaniser to boot.

He would also, if all things went to plan, soon be Lillian's employer.

A pious woman would never eventhinkto set foot in the home of such a scandalous duke, let alone entertain the notion of entering into his employ, but Lillian could make no claims at piety.

No murderess could.

Squaring her shoulders, in the hope that it might make her feel more confident, Lillian climbed the steps of Thorncastle House to meet her fate.

The front door was black, its gleaming brass knocker fashioned in the shape of a coiled snake; a most ominous sign, if one believed in such things.

Her single knock was answered swiftly by a footman, sombre faced and darkly dressed, but nevertheless far more respectable looking than what Lillian had anticipated. She had expected Thorncastle's staff to be as dissolute as their master, but it was not so. Nor was the home the bawdy house that Lillian had envisioned; instead, she found herself in an elegantly appointed entrance hall, which spoke of an owner blessed with taste, refinement, and wealth.

"Mr Danvers, the under-butler, is expecting you," the footman said once she had introduced herself, before leading Lillian down a corridor toward the rear of the house.

An under butler, Lillian noted with a wry smile. The position she was applying for was not important enough to merit the attention of the senior butler, who no doubt saw himself as being above such things as interviewing a woman.

Stifling a sigh of regret at the turn her life had taken, Lillian followed the butler through the maze of corridors, their progress watched over by the portraits of Thorncastles past.

"Just in here, Miss Smith," the footman said, as they finally reached their destination.

The young man opened a mahogany door, to reveal a small, neat office, whose tidy shelves and sparse desk told of a very organised occupant.

"Mr Danvers will be along shortly," he continued, as Lillian followed him inside. "Do take a seat by the fire. If you need anything, just call."

After he had left, Lillian followed the footman's solicitous suggestion and arranged herself on a chair by the fire while she waited for Mr Danvers to appear. The frost of February had chilled her toes, and she was enjoying toasting them by the small fire burning in the grate, when the door of the office was thrown open.

"Are you in here?" an irritated voice called, as a gentleman sauntered—for there was no other way to describe his confident gait—into the room.

Lillian sprang to her feet, hastily smoothing her skirts with nervous hands.

"Mr. Danvers," she replied, her voice shaking slightly; after the solicitousness of the footman, she had not been expecting such abruptness from the butler.

Mr Danvers' head turned at her voice, and Lillian had to refrain herself from gasping aloud at the vision of male beauty standing before her.

But beauty was not the right word, she corrected herself, taking in Mr Danvers' exquisite features. The word beauty evoked softness, but there was nothing soft about Mr Danvers' face. It was beautiful, yes, but almost cruel in its perfection. His jaw was hard and square. His cheekbones so high and so sharp that one might cut themselves upon them. His nose was decidedly Roman; the perfect shape for looking down upon people, which Lillian instinctively knew Mr. Danvers did quite often. Even his eyes, a brilliant blue, were notably cold, as they traversed Lillian from top to toe.

The hard perfection of Mr Danvers' face was softened somewhat by his hair, falling elegantly—and most untidily, for a butler—across his forehead. Unfortunately it also lent him a rakish edge, which set Lillian's heart racing in her chest.

It was not right for an under-butler to be so handsome, she thought peevishly, as she tried to regain control of herself.

"I am Miss Smith," she continued, when it became apparent that Danvers was waiting for her to speak. "I am here about the position."

"Which position?" Danvers queried in a lazy drawl.

Lillian blinked; was the household so large that the under-butler could not keep tally of all the positions which needed filling?

"Assistant to the housekeeper," Lillian replied, glad she had not stammered. Mr. Danvers was most intimidating—not to mention impudent, with his wolfish eyes and smirking mouth.

"I could think of a better position in which to put you," Mr Danvers replied, his lips quirking slightly at the corners, as though he had made a joke. Lillian flushed, certain that there was a doubleentendreto his words which she did not understand.

"Sit," Danvers continued, ignoring her blushes as he waved a careless hand to the chair before the desk.

Lillian, who was feeling more and more uncertain of her choice to venture into Thorncastle House, obediently placed herself in the proffered seat. She arranged herself in the most ladylike and demure manner possible, folding her hands primly in her lap and crossing her ankles together.

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