Page 1 of Doubling Down on a Duke
CHAPTER ONE
REDBURN BALL – 1814
At one time, even the thought of hiding in a closet would have terrified terrify Lady Helen, but that was no longer the case. At the ripe old age of six-and-twenty, she would do whatever it took to avoid her intended, even if she had to spend hours upon hours in a small, dark, confined space. Avoiding Bryce Barrington, the Duke of Whistlestop, had increasingly become a challenge over the past year, since the man had declared he was no longer willing to delay the reading of the banns after being formally betrothed for twenty years. The first fifteen years of their engagement had been rather uneventful; she’d lived as she pleased. Even during her debut season, Bryce maintained his distance and his rakish ways, but that all ceased the year she turned one-and-twenty and reached majority. It was also the year that Bryce became the Duke of Whistlestop. After years and years of rarely acknowledging one another in public, Bryce summoned her to his home and informed her that he had no intention of annulling theirbetrothal contract and that he fully expected them to marry and fulfill the promises made by their parents. It was no secret amongst the two families that their union had been born out of necessity to form an alliance to strengthen their status within the Network—a secret conglomerate of individuals who had sworn to support the Crown and its designated Protectors of the Royal Family, also referred to within the Network as PORFs. His decision to wait until she could legally marry whomever she pleased had left Helen in a dilemma for the past five years, which of course led to her employing all sorts of trickery in order to avoid making a decision. Torn between family duty and her dream to have a husband who loved her, Helen found herself yet again crouched in a small hall closet.
She rested her forehead on her bent knees. If only the blasted Duke of Whistlestop wasn’t so darn honest with her. If he simply pretended to be interested in her or employed his rakish charms on her and not half the ladies of the ton, she might have been able to convince herself she could be happy with the man, but over the past five years Bryce had made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of changing his roguish ways and he intended to marry her purely out of duty. She rubbed her chest to ease the constant ache that resided within her. Helen was certain if the late Earl of Saxton had known that the well-mannered and inordinately intelligent boy who would spend hour upon hour playing chess with him would grow up to be a devilishly handsome and renowned rake, her papa would never have agreed to the union. But her papa hadn’t lived long enough to witness Bryce Barrington transform from a quiet studious lad into the well-liked duke who everyone fawned over. Eyes closed, she pictured her intended—his wavy light brown hair had darkened and his adorable round face was long gone, replaced with defined cheekbones and jawline that women swooned over. The only things unchanged were Bryce’s striking blue-green eyesthat made her own heart flutter when his angry, frustrated gaze fell upon her. And therein lay the real reason why she couldn’t marry the man. Only a fool would let herself fall in love with their fiancé, especially a fiancé who was purported by many a widowed lady to be not only be skilled but also generous in bed sport. While Helen didn’t fully understand, she didn’t doubt the validity of the rumor that had been repeated numerous times in the ladies retiring room. To date, her only saving grace had been the fact that other than immediate family members, no one was aware of her betrothal to the duke.
A deep sigh escaped her but the sound of booted footsteps approaching had her whole body tensing as she placed a hand over her nose and mouth. She quickly sent up a prayer not to be found.
Bryce’s distinct low baritone vibrated through the wood. “Shh! Tread lightly.”
She recognized the sound of a door latch clicking open and then closing. Who had Bryce been talking to? One of his paramours no doubt. He probably sought out privacy to once again prove his prowess in the bedroom. A wave of heat and anger rolled through her. She shouldn’t care what the man was up to. Many married men maintained mistresses; why wish for a loyal husband?
About to unfold and make a run for it, Helen stalled at the sound of a woman’s voice. “I doubt we shall find a lady as intelligent as Lady Helen in or near the private quarters of Redburn Manor. Every unwed woman knows how scandalous it would be to be found…” The woman’s whispers trailed off and Helen pressed her ear to the closet door.
Who was the woman on the other side and why was she aiding Bryce in his search?
She rolled back onto her heels and pressed her back against the solid wood behind her. Bryce had confided in his paramour.The ache in her chest deepened. It had always been a possibility that he would find another to care for and share his secrets with, but after all these years a small sliver of hope that it could be her had formed. Helen wiped the moisture from her eyes and counted to a hundred. She would visit Bryce in the morn and release him from his obligations, even if it meant she would have to flee across the pond to the Americas.
CHAPTER TWO
Early morning streaks of sunlight fell upon the perfect script that sprawled across the pristine white parchment held in Bryce’s hand. After five years of playing cat and mouse with his intended, the chit had the audacity to summon him. And bysummon, he meant the woman had employed the resources of the Network, which he had so carefully avoided in order to give her the opportunity to gracefully and equitably end their engagement. He squinted and analyzed the missive once more. The symmetrical calligraphy strokes were nearly identical to those in his betrothal agreement with Helen. Ire born from pure frustration rose within him. With a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair, crumpled the note into a ball, threw it into the air overhead, and then caught it. He repeated the action again and again as he mulled over the terms of his engagement. The same terms he himself had drafted, memorized, and requested to be included in the betrothal agreement that was intended to ally their families. He even had to play and win a blasted game of chess with her papa, who was the grand master at the time, in order for the man to agree to allow Helen the freedom to choose when and where they were to marry. Even at the tender age of eight, Bryce had known itwas wrong to force a woman to wed a man she hadn’t chosen against her will. He caught the wadded paper in his left hand and thought about throwing it into the unlit fireplace for a moment before leaning forward to flatten the blasted missive against his desk to read it once more.
Dear Duke of Whistlestop
Cadby’s tobacco store.
Alone.
Eleven in morn.
Sincerely, Lady Helen
His favorite image of Helen, seated between her papa and him at the chess board in the old earl’s study, appeared as his eyes shuttered. With her strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears, she had gazed adoringly up at her papa with her curiosity-filled brown eyes waiting to see what move the man would make next. In his youth, Bryce had hoped that one day she would gaze upon him with such awe and admiration, but as the years passed, Helen remained oblivious to his efforts to garner her attention. While he enjoyed playing live chess with the daughter of the man who had taught him how to play the game of strategy, he couldn’t continue to deflect the pressure of the Network elders who were demanding that they wed. He needed to gain Helen’s agreement to marry or put a cease to his infatuation with the woman.
Bryce glanced at his timepiece. An hour was plenty of time for him to make his way to the east side of town, but unwilling to be tardy to the meeting initiated by Helen, he pushed back his chair from the century-old desk and rose. He tugged on his coat sleeve and then the other. By the end of the day, one way or another he would have a firm decision as to whether his life would include Helen or not. No more living in limbo.
Bryce steppedup into his coach and ignored the tingling sensation along the skin at the back of his neck. It was natural to be alarmed. After all, it would be the first time in over five years that he and Helen would be alone in the same space. Memories of their last meeting, with Helen standing before him in his study, hands clasped behind her back, head bent and gaze affixed on the edge of his desk, reopened the wounds in his heart.She had spoken no more than ten to fifteen words the entire conversation, but he would never forget her reply to his question as to who she might consider marrying. Those three words had stabbed him straight through the heart: “Anyone but you.”
His knees gave way and he found himself falling back onto the forward-facing bench. Not one to delay dealing with matters, Bryce rapped on the ceiling and called out, “Cadby’s, post haste.”
Exhausted from yet another night of restless sleep and lulled by the gentle sway of the coach, Bryce leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He pictured Helen seated at the Network elders’ table that was secretly stashed in one of Cadby’s back rooms. Unable to formulate another rational reason for her to suddenly summon him other than to inform him that she wished to end their betrothal and marry another, Bryce rubbed his temples. Recalling the events they attended over the past year, he couldn’t recall a single time when she had shown a particular interest or paid any favor to any one of the gentlemen of their acquaintance, yet he would wager all of his estate that was not entailed, which amounted to a handsome sum, that Helen intended to request to be released from the twenty-year-old agreement.
The momentum of the coach slowed and two men—men he’d never seen before—entered the coach on both sides. He sized up his attackers who were definitely not ruffians yet they were not dressed to the nines as gentlemen. Who were these men and what in the bloody hell did they want with him? Before he could utter the questions plaguing him, Bryce found himself pinned to the coach floor. Darkness descended upon him as one man held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Lord save him, for if he lived, Helen would be livid for his failure to appear. If he didn’t survive, he’d at least rest in peace knowing her wish to be free of him would be fulfilled.
CHAPTER THREE
Blindfolded and curled up in a corner with two walls supporting her, Helen remained still as she regained consciousness. She measured her breathing, allowing her foggy brain to slowly clear and focus on the voices of her kidnappers.
“Whistlestop will have our heads if he discovers we were involved.”
The male voice was vaguely familiar, but Helen couldn’t pin point to whom it belonged to.
“What choice did we have?”
She recognized that smooth tenor tone. It belonged to Lord Hurlington! What in the blazes were Bryce and his friends up to?
Her intended and Lord Hurlington were extremely close friends; both were notorious flirts and rakes, and both had familial ties to the Network. Even though their looks were similar enough that they could pass as brothers, Helen had to admit she was slightly more drawn to Whistlestop’s features, especially the man’s eyes which were a mix of ocean blue and grass green versus Lord Hurlington’s emerald green.
