Page 1 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

CHAPTER 1

“Watch yourself, miss! These streets aren’t safe for a lady after dark.”

Marina Tate drew her hood low over her face as she hurried past the concerned shopkeeper. The man couldn’t know she was no mere shop girl but the Dowager Countess of Asquith, and she preferred to keep it that way.

Her monthly visits to this less respectable part of London would raise far too many eyebrows and set the gossiping tongues of the ton wagging if it was discovered.

The wind caught her cloak, threatening to expose her face to the fading daylight. She clutched the manuscripts closer to her chest and slipped through the narrow doorway into the gloomy interior of the publishing house. Her boot heels clicked against the wooden stairs as she climbed to Mr. Lupton’s office.

“Ah, Lady Asquith.” Lupton’s oily voice greeted her before she’d fully entered his office. He didn’t rise from behind his desk, but he tried to button his coat over his bulging stomach. “Another tale of passion to enthrall our readers?”

“As promised.” Marina placed the manuscript on his desk, careful to keep her gloved hands steady.

She’d learned early on that any sign of weakness only encouraged the man’s tendency to reduce her already meager payments.

Lupton licked his thumb before turning the first page, leaving a greasy smudge on her carefully penned words.

Marina suppressed a wince. Each mark felt like a personal affront, not only to her penmanship but to the hours she’d spent crafting those sentences by candlelight.

“You’ve been quite prolific lately, Lady Asquith.” Lupton’s voice held a note of suspicion. “One might wonder how a woman of your standing finds time for such endeavors.”

“Widowhood affords certain freedoms, Mr. Lupton.” Marina kept her tone neutral though her spine stiffened. “Including time to pursue one’s interests.”

“Interests.” He snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it now? The ton would be fascinated to learn how their mysterious author spends her evenings.”

The threat hung in the air between them. Marina had learned to navigate these waters carefully. Lupton needed her stories as much as she needed his payments, but he would never acknowledge the balance of their arrangement.

“The ton finds many things fascinating, sir. Including how certain publishers stay in business despite their modest offerings.” She allowed herself the smallest of smiles. “Fortunately for us both, my stories seem to sell rather well.”

Lupton’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. It was their usual dance—one that left her feeling soiled but with coins in her purse.

“Oh, they sell well enough.” He leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked under his weight. “But I’ve recently come across some information that could help them sell even better. Something about a certain Duke of Blackmere.”

“I don’t write about real people, Mr. Lupton.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended.

“Come now, Lady Asquith. Surely, you’ve heard the whispers about him? The mysterious duke whom the ton still whispers murdered his own brother and lover. The man vanished for years, presumably to escape the scandal?” Lupton’s smile widened, showing a blackened tooth. “One of his former companions was quite forthcoming about his more…interestingproclivities.”

Heat crept up Marina’s neck. “I won’t?—”

“You’ll write what sells, My Lady, or you won’t write for me at all.” All pretense of civility disappeared from his voice, and his beady eyes turned cold. “Think carefully before you answer me. How long can you maintain your household without this income? How long before you are forced to seek shelter with your late husband’s heir? The same heir who believes you drove his uncle to his death.”

Marina opened her mouth to protest, but Lupton waggled his finger.

“The Duke of Blackmere isn’t the only person the ton gossips about, My Lady. He need not be named directly,” Lupton continued, his tone softening to something almost wheedling. “Just draw inspiration from him. A few carefully written details to make the connection clear to the readers. I took the liberty of noting down some particularly interesting details about His Grace’s preferences.”

Marina took the papers that Lupton pulled from a drawer in his desk. Her stomach churned at the thought of using someone’s private moments for public entertainment.

But what choice did she have?

The ton had already judged her guilty of her husband’s death. Would adding this sin to her conscience make any difference?

“I expect the first installment in two weeks,” Lupton said, already returning to his ledger. “Don’t disappoint me, LadyAsquith.” He paused, his quill hovering over the page. “Ah yes, your payment for today’s manuscript.”

Marina forced herself to remain still as he reached for his strongbox though her fingers itched to drum against her skirts. The last of her coal was running low, and her housekeeper had hinted that the butcher was becoming less patient about their outstanding bill.

Lupton counted out several coins with deliberate slowness. “Three pounds, seven shillings,” he announced, sliding them across the desk.

“Three pounds?” Marina’s voice sharpened before she could stop herself. “The last installment earned you fifteen at least. We agreed on a third.”

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