The Duke She Swore Never to Love (Preview)

Prologue

Whitehall Gaming Rooms
London

The well-dressed gentleman sat at the table and fought back a smirk as Viscount Edmund Fairleigh lost yet again, his expression dejected as he laid his cards on the table. This had been happening all evening. Fairleigh wasn’t good at playing cards on a regular evening, but tonight he was even worse. It was like he was determined to prove a point.

In a way, he had. He just hadn’t done it the way he wanted.

“Maybe you should stop,” Fairleigh’s opponent said as he pulled the coins in his direction, adding to the vast pile beside him. “You are going to go bankrupt, at this rate.”

But Fairleigh shook his head, his mouth hardening into a thin line.

“No, I’m not going to do that. I’ll be able to win it back in the next couple of hands.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. You’ve lost every hand so far.”

“Deal.”

The gentleman exchanged glances with the other man at the table, the pile of money sitting between them. His pile was a lot smaller than his companion’s, but he was more shrewd with his bets. He didn’t go too high, knowing when he should play his hand. If Fairleigh took the same advice, it would save him a lot of heartache.

But it would work in his favor, at least. And Fairleigh wasn’t in a position to refuse. He just had to wait for the right time.

“Aren’t you going to deal, Your Grace?” Fairleigh snapped as his opponent hesitated. “I said I want to play again. And I’m going to win all of my money back.”

The Duke of Hartwood looked uncomfortable, his hand hovering over the pack of cards. Then, with a heavy sigh, he picked up the remaining cards and began to shuffle them.

“I suppose we’d better get the drinks in.”

“I’ll get them.” He stood up and patted the duke on the shoulder. “You focus on ruining him.”

“That’s not amusing.”

But the gentleman’s mouth twitched as he went to the saloon bar and ordered the next round of drinks. He could’ve signaled a servant to come to them and bring them out, but he wanted to stretch his legs. They’d been deeply engaged in the game, and his legs were getting sore.

Besides, it was amusing to see Fairleigh struggling from afar. It was like a game in itself, seeing the viscount sweating and pale, looking close to having a fit. But he refused to move, certain that he would win this time.

The man was playing into his hands.

Walking back into the card hall, the gentleman stood behind Fairleigh for a moment and looked at his cards. The man’s hand was terrible. It looked like it could work with a bit of clever thinking, but he couldn’t see Fairleigh doing that. It was just going to make it worse with the way he was thinking this would work out.

It was almost comical to see someone so bad at playing cards.

The viscount and the duke played the round without the gentleman, and he was happy to sit back, sipping his brandy when it was brought to him, and watched the older nobleman fall with a hard thud. He lost, again, and the last of his coins ended up on the duke’s side.

“I think we really should stop now,” the duke said, getting to his feet and signaling a footman to join them. “I won’t take more off you when you have nothing.”

“I can put something up for collateral,” Fairleigh said quickly.

The gentleman had to admire the viscount’s tenacity. Even after losing everything, he still wanted to prove a point. The duke shook his head.

“It’s over, Lord Fairleigh. I think you should go home now while you’ve still got a shred of dignity.”

That made him smile. Fairleigh had lost all dignity tonight. He wasn’t going to get it back anytime soon. The duke thought he was being kind, but he was just as wily. He knew that the duke was rubbing his hands with glee inside, knowing that he’d added more money to his coffers.

“Please, Alastair…” Fairleigh shot to his feet and gripped the duke’s arm. “You…I need to…”

But the duke sighed and gently removed Fairleigh’s hand.

“You have my sympathy for your situation, Edmund, but this has to stop now. You need to back off before you ruin your family further. What are your children going to think?”

That made Fairleigh flinch. He had really forgotten that he had a son and a daughter who were going to be heartbroken knowing that they had nothing to their name now? The duke stepped back and gave both of them a slight bow.

“I’ll bid you both goodnight. And again, Edmund…”

He hesitated, as if he was about to apologize again, but then he turned and walked away. A footman was at the table now, scooping the coins and putting them into a velvet bag, which clinked with each drop of a coin. It was a satisfying sound, but Fairleigh didn’t think so. He looked ashen, as if he was going to collapse.

There would be sympathy for him if he wasn’t so obsessed with winning. But there were some people who were so bad at trying to win, it became an addiction, almost as if they were trying to prove a point. Fairleigh was one of those people.

And he was ripe for the picking.

The gentleman waited around, trying not to look too suspicious, until Fairleigh left. The duke had already departed, heading back home with his extra wealth, while Fairleigh would be walking back to his townhouse a few streets away. It would be a long and difficult walk for him to do, knowing that he was a pauper now. Getting a loan to help for a while might be a brief reprieve, but that would only last for so long.

There was no hope in giving the man any sympathy.

The gentleman stood in the doorway and watched as Fairleigh made his way down the street, turning his collar up against the chilly air. Despite it having been a warm day, it was cold tonight. There was even fog curling up from the Thames nearby. There was something ominous about the scene before him.

Retrieving his hat and coat from a servant, the gentleman stepped out into the street, shivering in the chilly wind. Nobody would think it was mid-April when it was this cold. Perhaps it was due to being so close to the river; the wind did tend to whip off it at times. The smell didn’t make it any better, and it was turning his stomach. That was the only downside of the club being this close to the Thames: it was a beautiful sight on a nice day, but if the wind was blowing the wrong way they could smell the factories on the other side.

At least it was quiet. Nobody wanted to venture out at this time of night, although there were a few mudlarks coming up the slippery stone steps from the river. The gentleman didn’t know why they’d tried to go and scavenge anything off the banks of the river when the tide was in, but when something was hungry and desperate, they would try anything. He gave them a wide berth as he passed them, falling into step a little way behind Fairleigh, who hadn’t noticed that he was being followed. The viscount had his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and his head down. He was looking like a man who had lost everything.

But that was ideal. The gentleman was going to take advantage of it.

They were alongside the river wall, almost at the end of the street, when Fairleigh slowed to a stop, his head twitching. Had he heard someone following him? That was confirmed when he spun around, his expression one of apprehension and fear. He couldn’t blame the viscount for that; it was common for pickpockets to be out and about during the night. It was not a good idea to be walking around alone.

But Fairleigh likely couldn’t afford his carriage anymore, so it was likely he didn’t have a chance.

“What are you doing?” Fairleigh demanded once he realized who was following him. “Why are you following me?”

“I was just making sure you were getting home safe and well.” The gentleman raised his hands and approached, giving the viscount what he hoped was an innocent smile. “We have to look out for each other, don’t we?”

Fairleigh snorted.

“You’ve never cared about anyone except yourself in your life. You expect me to believe that?”

Sighing, the gentleman lowered his hands.

“All right, you saw through me. I wanted to know when you were going to pay back your debts. The duke isn’t the only one you owe money to.”

Fairleigh swallowed, his annoyance faltering.

“I’m aware that I owe you as well,” he croaked. “But you saw what happened tonight. It’s going to be a while before I can get anything to you.”

“Well, I’m giving you a week.”

The viscount blinked. “What? You’re giving me a week? But I can’t get my debt to you paid in that time!”

“You’re going to have to find a way, aren’t you?” He folded his arms and smirked. “You know my price, Fairleigh. I’ve mentioned it before.”

From Fairleigh’s expression, he knew exactly what he meant by that. The gentleman raised the suggestion before. If Fairleigh wanted the debt paid off quickly, then he would hand over his daughter. That would wipe out the debt almost immediately. But the viscount had been holding out, determined not to drag his child into the mess he’d created.

That wasn’t what the gentleman wanted, though. He wanted Arabella, and he was determined to get her.

“No,” Fairleigh said firmly. “I’m not having that.”

“It would be beneficial for both of you.”

“I’m not using my daughter as a pawn because of my failings. Arabella deserves better than that.”

“She doesn’t get a say in this and neither do you.” He stepped toward the older man. “If you want this debt cleaned out, and me to help you in the future, then you’ll let me marry Arabella.”

“Never!” Fairleigh shot back. “Arabella deserves much more than you. She would never forgive me if I did this to her.”

“You listen to what she wants?”

“If you love someone, you listen to them. That’s how it works.”

The gentleman knew that love meant people doing things they shouldn’t, but he didn’t care about that. As long as it advanced what he wanted, that was enough. Although having a beautiful woman like Arabella Fairleigh as his wife would be quite a trophy.

Even the duke couldn’t get that for himself.

“Well, how about I tell you how it works?” The gentleman stepped toward the viscount, who didn’t back away despite the scared look on his face. “You give me your daughter’s hand, and I’ll make sure the debt is wiped clean as soon as the wedding happens. If not, then you’re going to have to find a way to get a loan to pay me back. And I’m aware that you’re not on good terms with your bank, given the loans you’ve gotten out from them before.”

“So you’re going to blackmail me with my daughter?” Fairleigh snapped.

“I don’t think you should consider it as blackmail. More like a…business transaction.”

Fairleigh glared at him. His eyes were glinting, his outrage building more than his fear. To his credit, the viscount knew when to stand his ground. Even if he didn’t know when to stop gambling.

“I will not allow you to do that with my daughter,” he growled. “You keep your hands off her. You’re not going anywhere near her, and you certainly won’t become her husband.”

“Why don’t we see what she thinks about it?”

“She wouldn’t look at you for a potential husband, anyway. She wants to marry for love, not because the other party wants to claim her as his own. That’s not love.”

The gentleman threw back his head and laughed.

“You still believe in love? That doesn’t exist. It’s too ridiculous.”

“It was enough for me when I was married, and it’s what I’d want for Arabella. She deserves the best, both in a loving husband and a good life.”

Listening to this was boring, and he rolled his eyes. This was getting too long already. They should’ve agreed to an arrangement already, but Fairleigh was incredibly stubborn. Even though he had nothing to his name now, he was determined to make sure that Arabella was not in anyone’s clutches.

At this point, he wouldn’t have much of a choice.

“At this moment in time, Fairleigh, it’s not up to you. You’ve lost everything, and you can’t even give your daughter a dowry. If she marries me, I won’t care about that. You don’t have to pay a dowry and your debts are gone. It’s as simple as that.”

But Fairleigh shook his head. He looked like he was getting angrier.

“I’m not doing it. I’ll get the money to you one way or another but not by using my daughter.”

The gentleman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t believe you’re not agreeing to any of this. It works out for you. Your daughter is practically a spinster now. Don’t you want her to be married and settled down?”

“On her terms, not mine.”

“And you respect that?”

This was getting nowhere. Fairleigh should’ve been in such a low mood that he would agree to anything. But he was holding out and patience was being lost.

“Look, I know what you want,” Fairleigh said, stepping toward him. “You keep your hands off my daughter. In fact, keep away from her completely. You don’t deserve to be in the company of someone as remarkable as my child.”

“I don’t think you can tell me what to do.”

“How about I make the point hit home?”

Fairleigh moved so quickly that the gentleman wasn’t able to react in time. The fist hit him in the face, and he stumbled back, pain exploding in his mouth. He could taste blood, and it was a sickly, metallic sensation. He was sure one of his teeth had come loose, and he wobbled it with his tongue.

Fury sprang up. Fairleigh had made a big mistake lashing out like that. He wasn’t going to stand for it.

Launching himself at the viscount, the gentleman shoved him hard, trying to take a swipe back at the older man’s face, but Fairleigh stumbled with the shove, falling back so suddenly that he just ended up punching air. He hit the parapet, and he was knocked off-balance.

The gentleman could see his eyes widening with shock and horror as he toppled over the wall, disappearing from sight with a cry of terror. Moments later, there was a splash.

He hurried to the edge of the wall and looked down, but it was too dark. All he could see were the rippling waves crashing against the wall. If there was a body down there, he couldn’t see one.

Or the sound of splashing, indicating Fairleigh was still alive.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Panicking a little, the gentleman straightened up and looked around. What if someone saw him, saw what had happened? But there was nobody about. Even the mudlarks had disappeared.

That was a little relief. It was an accident, and he didn’t mean this to happen. But it was doubtful that anyone would see this as anything otherwise. Fear rose in his chest, and the gentleman’s chest tightened. What if someone thought it was suspicious and started looking into his life?

He could only hope that he could walk away and nobody would be any the wiser.

Chapter One

Six Months Later

“Here’s your tea, my lady.”

Arabella Fairleigh barely looked up as her maid placed a tray on the nearby table. She was scribbling furiously at her writing desk, trying to put her words down without making them sound like a hysterical woman or insulting anyone. That was easier said than done.

Giving up, she screwed up the most recent attempt to write to the coroner. She was getting fed up with this. There was nothing to point the finger at someone for her father’s death, but the coroner refused to listen. Almost everyone did. They were willing to believe Edmund Fairleigh took his own life and threw himself into the river after losing everything he had in a card game.

Arabella knew different, but nobody was listening to her.

“My lady?”

She looked up. Constance was hovering by the table, watching her nervously. Arabella sighed and waved her away.

“Thank you, Constance. I’ll have what I can.”

“Mrs. Parrish said you must eat something. You barely do nowadays, and she’s concerned about you.” Her lady’s maid paused. “We’re all concerned.”

“And I appreciate it, but I’m perfectly fine. Nobody needs to worry about me.”

Constance didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything. She simply curtsied and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Arabella rose and went to the tea tray, which had a teapot along with a cup and saucer, as well as the sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits and cake that Mrs. Parrish had been busy with in the kitchen.

Arabella wished she knew how to thank the cook for taking care of her, but she was at a loss. The household staff had been doing whatever they could to help her and her brother after the shocking news, and she would be forever grateful. They didn’t need to, especially when they were aware their positions were at risk due to barely any money to pay their wages, but it was nice to know they were on their side.

She sat down at the coffee table and poured herself out a cup of tea, stirring in the sugar. It still didn’t taste that nice when she took a sip, so she added more sugar. The biscuits, normally soft and delicious, tasted like she was eating paper, while the cake felt dry. But Arabella forced herself to eat it all, knowing that she needed some nourishment. She couldn’t live on just her nerves.

How could anyone think that Pa had taken his own life? He’d been found one morning in the river, face down and with a cut to his head. The coroner had ruled that he’d fallen into the Thames and hit his head on the way down. It was surmised that he’d drowned himself. Arabella had objected at the time, but she’d been ignored. Someone had even suggested she was hysterical and might need to be committed. Arabella had been furious at that, but she’d held her tongue, not wanting to be stuck in a place she would likely never get out of. She’d heard a lot of scary things about madhouses, and she didn’t want to visit one anytime soon.

But how was she supposed to get the truth? She knew that something was wrong. She and Pa had been close, and it was out of character to take his own life. He might’ve lost everything—and that she was furious about—but he wouldn’t kill himself. It was all wrong.

However, nobody agreed with her. Not even her brother. Philip seemed to have accepted that Pa had killed himself, and he refused to listen to Arabella saying otherwise. He kept away from her nowadays, not wanting to discuss it at all.

It felt like there was a conspiracy going on, and the walls were closing in on her.

“Lady Arabella?”

The housekeeper, Mrs. Simeon, had entered the room. She looked at the tea tray and glanced at her. Arabella sighed and nodded.

“I’ve eaten, Mrs. Simeon. I’m finished now.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Mrs. Simeon looked relieved as she picked up the tray and left the room. Arabella wanted her to stop, just for someone to talk to, but, at the same time, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. It all started coming back to talking about Pa, and even the staff were getting fed up with it.

She felt so alone. It was horrible believing one thing that nobody else did.

Unable to sit still, her mind turning over everything, Arabella stood and paced across the room, finding herself back at her desk again. There was a piece of paper with scribbled notes to one side, one that was almost completely filled with segments of sentences that Arabella had understood at the time, but now she felt like she was struggling to translate.

However, one name was standing out, and she grabbed onto it.

Alastair Vaughn, Duke of Hartwood.

From what Arabella had been able to figure out with her own investigation—which hadn’t gone very far—Pa had been at Whitehall Gaming Rooms, and his last opponent had been the Duke of Hartwood, a young man who was very good at playing cards. He’d taken Pa’s last penny and urged him to go home.

Which meant, if Pa had died by killing himself, he would’ve been responsible for it. The duke was the one who pushed Pa to do what he did, even if he didn’t push him into the river. Arabella knew he had answers, but she couldn’t get them. Hartwood had headed out to his country estate shortly after the inquest had finished, and that had been two months ago. Arabella wanted to follow him and confront him, but she couldn’t do that. She had to stay and try to figure out how she and Philip were going to get through the coming months with very little money. Some was coming in from their tenants, and their various business shares, but that wasn’t much at all.

They were dealing with the fallout of Pa’s death, which further cemented Arabella’s decision that he didn’t kill himself; he wouldn’t have left his children in such a state.

Her pacing brought her to the window, and Arabella looked out into the busy street. It was a nice day, the weather hot and carrying a gentle breeze. For October, that was a novelty to still be warm, but Arabella liked it. Normally, she loved autumn, the leaves turning a variety of different colors before falling and crunching under her feet. It was one of her more favorite walks in the park. There was something satisfying about walking through fallen leaves.

Maybe because she and Pa used to do it when she was a little girl. They would laugh and kick leaves at each other as well. Sadness began to well up again, and Arabella clamped down hard on it. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t, not again.

It hurt too much. But being in the house wasn’t helping either. It felt like the walls were closing in.

Arabella headed into the hall and found her coat, fixing her hat and checking it in the mirror. She might as well go for a walk, something to distract herself. Perhaps she could find Clara and see if she was free to spend time together. Her friend was always available.

She opened the front door and stepped out into the street. Part of her told her to stay and let the household staff know—she needed a companion, an escort—but she didn’t care. Arabella wasn’t interested in what people thought of her walking around alone. Her family was already going through a lot of scandal, so why bother with propriety if she was currently seen as scandalous due to Pa’s actions?

Heading down the stone steps, Arabella started toward the park, ignoring anyone walking the other way. She didn’t care what anyone thought now. She was more focused on doing something for herself. It was the only way she could feel like there was any control in her life, especially when it was slipping through her fingers.

The park was at the end of the street, a short crossing over the bustling road and in through large metal gates. But as she reached the end of the street and prepared to cross, Arabella caught sight of a carriage that had pulled up outside the park. She didn’t see who alighted, but she recognized the family crest on the door.

It was the Duke of Hartwood’s carriage.

Her heart began to race. Had he returned to London? Was he here right now? Or it could be one of his family. Maybe that would be helpful; she could get them to plead with the duke, to try and get him to take accountability.

Then the carriage moved away, and, sure enough, it was the Duke of Hartwood, adjusting his sleeves and tapping his cane on the pavement. He was not someone who could blend into the crowd. He was tall and slim but with a frame that suggested he took part in a lot of exercise. However, the most striking thing about him was his hair. It was strawberry blond, a mixture of red, amber, and gold that glinted in the sun. He had freckles across his face and nose, something that would be considered ugly on a woman, but somehow it worked well with him. It made the duke even more striking. Arabella found herself openly staring at him, taking in the sight of the man.

Handsome he was, but he wasn’t innocent.

Then she realized he was staring at her, and she took a step back in surprise. How had she not noticed that? Then, checking the road was clear, Hartwood crossed the street and approached her, a curious look on his face.

“Can I help you, my lady?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” Somehow, Arabella found her voice, and her anger began to bubble and rise. “I’m wondering when you’re going to accept responsibility for your part in my father’s death.”

He blinked at her, clearly surprised. It looked like she’d caught him off-guard, and his ability to speak had been stalled. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he spluttered out a response.

“What…what are you talking about?”

“You’re one of the people responsible for what happened the night he died!” she cried, not caring that they could be heard. “If you hadn’t controlled his impulses, then maybe he could’ve gone home earlier and he wouldn’t have died!”

He still looked bewildered. But then comprehension dawned, and he peered at her.

“You’re Viscount Fairleigh’s daughter,” he murmured. “I seem to remember you at the inquest.”

Arabella snorted.

“You should’ve stood up and said that you played a part. Pa should’ve been stopped before…”

Her voice trailed off, and the words got stuck in her throat. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She had taken to shouting at strangers in the street. Maybe she really needed to be committed.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swiped angrily at them. The duke didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he held out to her.

“Here.”

“I don’t want it,” Arabella hissed.

“Take a moment to compose yourself. We can talk once you have.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to scream at him and accuse him of causing Pa’s death, but that would just make her look more insane. Hartwood could easily turn it around on her. Her emotions arguing with each other, leaving her mentally exhausted, she snatched the handkerchief from his outstretched hand and wiped at her face. Her feelings were all over the place, and she couldn’t keep up with it all.

“You have my deepest sympathies for what happened to you, my lady,” he said quietly, his voice level and measured.

Arabella snorted, but he continued.

“I know you’re angry and you want answers, but there are going to be times when there are no answers. And, trust me, if I was suspicious about what your father was going to do, I would’ve done something to stop him.”

“But you didn’t,” Arabella snapped, lifting her head and glaring at him. “You were more interested in getting our money.”

“It’s how a card game goes. I did suggest that he stopped…”

“And you should’ve done! Then this…”

She was going to start crying. After struggling to do so for several days, it was coming out again. She turned away, burying her face in her hands. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Then she heard an awkward cough behind her.

“My lady…forgive me, I’m not aware of your name.”

“Arabella,” she whispered.

“Lady Arabella.” She hated how he said her name, like he was pouring honey. “I know your father had a debt to me, but I’ll forget it all if you just leave me in peace.”

She snorted at that.

“Is that your way of absolving yourself of guilt?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” He looked annoyed at her further accusations. “I’m not responsible for a man who has nothing to do with me!”

“You could’ve done something! Anything! Maybe even made sure he got home before someone…”

She broke off. Every time she suggested that someone else had been there when Pa had died, she was scoffed at and told that he’d been alone, and she should stop trying to find something that wasn’t there. Hartwood would likely do the same, and Arabella was too worn out emotionally to hear that again.

Maybe she really did need to rest. She couldn’t do it properly, not when there were so many questions going around in her head, but perhaps…

No, she couldn’t do that. She had to continue and find out what truly happened. Pa deserved that, at least.

“Listen…” He touched her arm, but Arabella flinched and jumped back. He lowered his hand. “Perhaps I can help you?”

“What?” She thought she’d misheard him. “What are you saying?”

“I’ll help to ease the debt your father had with me for you. Then that will give you time to find a way to repay the most pressing debts your family has.”

Arabella wondered if she really had gone mad. She stared at him in confusion.

“What…are you trying to help me?”

“You have a financial problem, don’t you? And seeing as you believe I’m partly responsible…”

“I don’t accept charity, Your Grace.” Her voice was like ice as she glowered at him. “I am insulted you would even think that.

“I didn’t mean…” Hartwood pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Will you not accept any sort of help? I’m prepared to help you…”

“Why?”

He looked surprised at this outburst, and for a moment, Arabella thought he was going to answer it. Instead, he reached out and gently took the handkerchief from her fingers. Their gloved hands brushed, and Arabella bit back a gasp as she felt the warmth shoot through her fingers.

“I have something in mind that can help you,” he said, putting the small square silk into his pocket. “But it will require your cooperation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to the Earl of Hertford’s ball tomorrow evening?”

It took a moment for Arabella to remember the social event. She’d accepted it, even when she didn’t want to go, and then she’d forgotten about it. She nodded.

“I am.”

“So am I. We can talk more then. I’ll be sure about what I have in mind by then.”

“Why? What is it?”

But Hartwood merely gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he touched his fingers to the edge of his hat.

“Good day, Lady Arabella. And, again, my condolences for what happened to your father.”

Then he turned and walked away, heading into the park. Arabella stared after him until he disappeared from sight. She was still reeling from what had actually happened. What had she just experienced? What was the duke talking about?

Whatever it was, it seemed that he had a plan for her, and Arabella had a feeling in her gut that it wasn’t going to be in her favor.