GAMBLE FOR LOVE Read online

  THE DUKE’S RELUCTANT BRIDE

  ♠♠♠

  Copyright © 2019 Regina James All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter One

  ♠♠♠

  April, 1820

  The spring washed in like the tide, advancing confidently with warmth and white sunshine one day and retreating the next. On some days the new vibrant hues of the pansies and daffodils were bathed in tepid air that encouraged them gently, on others the wintry wind gusted fiercely - demanding a return to the bitterness of the months before.

  The previously denuded branches offered their wands of tight green bud to the brilliant rays of spring. The wind had lost its bite, it had become ambient, congenial, blowing branches and tousling the hair of pedestrians - but no longer stealing their warmth. The only clouds were fluffy, white and quite dispersed, there would be no rain today.

  On the plains there were years in which old man winter refused to give up without a fight. Spring would ride in on a gentle breeze, unhindered by any hill. This April air would soothe the embattled flora with its sweet promise of the warmth to come, only to be pushed back by bitter gales and hail.

  But the spring was patient, always returning in the calm between each storm and each time expanding until it had ebbed out the frigid blasts entirely. Then for some months it rained down both water and soft heat. Some days could still be a blanket of cloud, like the season passed, but mostly they were sporadic and sparse - allowing the brilliant light to strike the fields unhindered.

  The journey down from Scotland to Langley Manor seemed to be taking forever. Alexander Randall, Duke of Daventry, could not help feeling as if the world was holding him back somehow, keeping him from his life and his love.

  It was a splendid day. The winter cold was now banished and the finally the sun’s warm rats reached the soil rather than being halted by clouds. The spring breeze was quite refreshing with the touch of the pleasant smell of the trees and flowers. The place was so peaceful, the sun was shining bright and the cool mountainous winds caused all the small plants to dance along, it seemed that the mountains sang a song and the trees danced to its melody. The scent of the flowers was very soothing and stimulating. The hills were very attractive; the pleasant place was an attraction for those who desired peace.

  Randall had spent the last six months staying in a family property just outside Edinburgh. It was a private residence, and one which had not been lived in since Alexander’s father had been but a young boy. However, Alexander’s father had never forgotten the time he’d spent in the home of his mother as a child.

  It had been a most bittersweet time for Alexander Randall. Bridget’s letters seemed to have grown shorter and shorter, and the time between the arrival of each one seemed to grow larger and larger.

  The last of her letters had been a brief yet perfect account of an afternoon buffet at the home of one of her friends. There was nothing in her letter about Bridget herself, and nothing to say that she missed him at all.

  Worse still, that letter had arrived more than six weeks beforehand and, despite numerous missives of his own, it seemed that Bridget was not inclined to respond any further.

  Not a day had gone past when he hadn’t thought of her; her blonde hair the colour of straw and her eyes so blue that even the sky of a summer’s day could not compete. Bridget was the most beautiful woman Alexander had ever known and, at three and twenty years, she was certainly ready to marry. Alexander had courted her since she had been twenty and had assumed that they would soon be married. It had been a very long time since each had declared their love for the other, and it had only been the gap of almost ten years in their ages which had made Alexander a little reticent.

  As each day passed without a letter, Alexander began to regret his thoughtfulness in that regard. He had begun to wish that he had simply proposed to her within their first year and married soon after, making her his irrefutably.

  But surely Bridget had been true to him, despite the fact that they had made no public announcement of their intentions. Alexander had never considered a need to do such a thing, believing the bond between them to be strong, and the need for such pronouncements unnecessary.

  Surely they were going to marry; surely that was something that they had both understood.

  Alexander looked at the beauty of Langley Manor, an aged stone house. He saw water of the lake flickering nearby. A profound feeling tranquility overcame him as he stared at the expanse of blue that lay before him. Rays of light moved gently over the water, birthed from the morning sun that made the view all the more beautiful. ​

  The windows of the house were oversized, mullioned and almost cathedral-like. The chimneys worked busily puffing smoke from the cozy interior to the cool morning. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The driveway was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

  The stone path was punctuated with weeds after every stone. The dishevelled, un-manicured lawn was more moss than grass and was over shadowed by huge weeping willow flowing down onto the dank and squishy ground. Clusters of defiant daffodils reared their golden heads amidst the gloom and there were smatters of fuchsia along side the scarlet and saffron hued primroses.

  He was the master of it all now, and yet it seemed to mean nothing to him. He knew that he would have given anything to have remained the son of the Duke the rest of his life.

  Alexander’s attention was drawn to some movement at the front of the hall when he saw the great door opening inwards. For a moment, there was a tiny frisson of joy when he realized that it was very likely Bridget waiting for him.

  He had written to her, of course, to let her know that the worst had happened, and he was now ready to return home. She had not written back, although he had assumed that to be because her letter would pass him on the road home, and he would never see it.

  Alexander jumped down from the carriage and swallowed hard, clearing the tightness and pain in his throat. If anybody could make it right again, it would be Bridget. He would marry her as soon as she would agree to it, and they would be the Duke and Duchess of Daventry, living out life happily in the home his father had bequeathed him.

  Alexander strode purposefully towards the door, racing up the stone steps, taking them two at a time. However, before he was but halfway up, he could see that his visitor was not Bridget, but his best friend, Henry Thorne, Duke of Damerell.

  “I really am most terribly sorry, my dear fellow,” Henry said, placing a heavy and comforting arm around Alexander’s shoulders the moment he was inside.

  “I thank you, Henry,” Alexander said somberly.

  Alexander found himself suddenly impatient for news of Bridget.

  “Bridget?” he said, hoping that the single word was question enough as he raised his eyebrows and looked into the kindly face of his best friend.

  “Ah,” Henry said and looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I am afraid I must talk with you.”

  ***

  The marble floor shimmered in the shine of the light spilling in through windows. Two stairways led opposite each other from her right and left to the upper floor. The house was ornamented with antique joinery, Venetian chandeliers and stone columns. The corridors were decorated with antique furniture, impressive paintings and tapestries.

  “Why don’t we sit ourselves down in the drawing room, Alexander?” Henry said, almost forcibly edging his friend in
that direction.

  Alexander knew his friend well and had immediately seen through his determinedly cheerful tone. As much as Alexander wanted to hear it, he also feared it. He was certain it had much to do with Bridget, and there was a part of him which did not want to hear it at all. Whatever it was, it was bad, he knew that much.

  Alexander had taken a seat in one of the armchairs at the side of the fireplace. He simply stared at the iron grate and waited patiently for his life to unravel yet further still.

  “I really was so terribly sorry to hear of your father’s passing, Alexander. I have always had, as I am sure you know, the highest regard for your father and have found myself greatly moved by his death.”

  “I know it as surely as I know it of myself, Henry. And my father looked upon you as another son.”

  “Well, perhaps you ought to tell me everything you need to tell me now, Henry," Alexander said after taking a deep breath.

  “And so, you have guessed there is something to tell?” Henry said quietly.

  “I knew there was something to tell the moment I saw you standing in my doorway, Henry.”

  "I am afraid that it is not good news.”

  “At least tell me that Bridget is well,” Alexander said and suddenly realized a sharp fear that something had happened to her.

  “She is entirely unharmed, Alexander. You may rest easy on that count.”

  “On that count, if on no other,” Alexander said and raised his eyebrows. "You know, of course, why our correspondence began to change.”

  “I am afraid I do know,” Hnery said and turned his head to look fully at his friend.

  “So, are you about to tell me that Bridget has become better interested in another man?”

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

  “But tell me there is some hope for me. Tell me that my return home will be enough to put things right again.”

  “ Alexander ... She lives now in the very heart of the Duchy of Cumberland. She stays there as the Duchess of Cumberland,” Henry said .

  “Bridget is the Duchess of Cumberland? But that is ridiculous, she is not …” Alexander stopped; finally, he had realized exactly what had happened.

  Alexander thought about her last letter to him and tried to remember the exact details. He had kept the letter, of course, and knew that he would return to it the moment his friend left him alone. He knew, of course, that it had contained little of personal content, and now he knew why.

  Chapter Two

  ♠♠♠

  London, One Year Later

  “I am here to speak to His Grace.”

  If the elderly butler who had answered the door was shocked by the forcefulness of Emma Buckland’s tone, or the unfashionably early time at which she was calling, his face did not betray it.

  He ushered the well-dressed young lady politely into the entrance hall of the townhouse, solicitously enquiring if she would like tea, as he led her to an elegantly decorated drawing room.

  “No, thank you,” Emma said in response, as she took a seat by the window.

  From here she could keep an eye on the hackney cab she had arrived in. She had instructed the driver to circle the square while he waited for her. It would not do to be seen leaving the Duke of Daventry’s home unchaperoned, she needed a quick escape.

  “Whom shall I say is calling on His Grace?” the butler was looking at her sympathetically now, her nervousness quite evident in her fidgeting.

  “Miss Emma Buckland,” she said, smoothing down the front of her skirt with restless hands.

  A slight flicker of recognition passed over the butler’s face, as she stated her family name, though in an instant it was gone. Emma had to admire his discretion, the whole ton was gossiping about her brother losing the family fortune to the Duke. Her brother, Christopher, had fled to France leaving Emma and her younger sister alone.

  “Very good,” the butler said smoothly, “I shall see if His Grace is still at home, he usually rides in the morning.”

  He turned and left the room silently, leaving Emma to nervously wait and see if the Duke would receive her.

  It was a terrible idea, she knew, to call unannounced and unchaperoned to a bachelor’s home. In fact, it could be the ruination of her reputation, but Emma had not been able to think of any other way in which to help her family keep their ancestral home.

  She must appeal to the Duke’s sense of decency, and allow her to pay him back in instalments so that her small family estate did not fall into the hands of someone who would not care for its tenants as she would.

  She stood up and began to pace the floor of the parlour in agitation; too lost in her own thoughts to note the splendour of the décor, the gleaming mahogany furniture…or the imposing figure of the Duke who now stood at the doorway watching her. “Miss Buckland I presume?”

  Emma gave a violent start, knocking her bonnet askew. “Your Grace,” she breathed, most flustered, her hands reaching to straighten the brim of the bonnet that was obscuring her view, and once it was righted she almost instantly wished it wasn’t…for the man who stood before her was breath-taking.

  But Emma heard he was immoral, and even though many women would have loved to be his wife, Emma found him to be distasteful. She knew of his reputation.

  Emma felt her face flush with heat as she took in the Duke of Daventry. He was tall with broad shoulders, his muscular thighs encased almost sinfully in buckskin breeches. It was his face though, which had her so flustered, he was classically dark and handsome and his eyes held a devilish gleam as he regarded her.

  Emma was of pale complexion, long wisps of umber streaked with highlights of ginger that always seemed to gleam when they captured the light just right.

  Her hair was a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. How such a tint could play with the light, like peering at the sun through a jar of pine honey.

  She had the kindest pair of blue eyes trimmed by long gorgeous lashes. Her eyes were blue like the sea, crystal clear blue- shimmering and crashing and churning. Looking into her eyes you could hear the waves falling against the shore, see the foam flying into the air. Her eyes were blue like the sky right before the sun disappears - dark rich indigo, with specks of wild colours here and there.

  She had florid cheeks and flawlessly sculpted lips, as if crafted by angels themselves. All these features set together on a delicate, almost angelic face.

  There was something about her that lighted up a room when she entered, that made people give her a second look and a smile.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  The deep sardonic tone with which he spoke let Emma know that her presence was anything but.

  “I wish to speak to you about my brother Christopher,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as his impudent eyes raked her body from top to toe.

  “Did he send you?” the Duke’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “No,” Emma spluttered, “Of course he didn’t – Christopher would whip me if he knew that I had come to you.”

  “Well I’m glad to hear that at least one member of your family has a sense of propriety.”

  Emma’s face flushed once more at the Duke’s biting appraisal of her behaviour, though she steeled herself against his patronising gaze.

  “I wish to strike a bargain with you, Your Grace.”

  The Duke’s expression immediately took on a primal, proprietary air.

  “Indeed,” he crossed the room to where she stood by the window in three long strides, coming to a halt in front of her. Emma felt her breath catch in her throat at his closeness – he was so big; although her height was often remarked upon, the Duke positively towered above her.

  He reached out a hand and gently cupped her chin, tilting her face towards his.

  “You are most pretty, Miss Buckland,” he said softly, his eyes holding hers. “Perhaps a bit greener than my usual type, but I can overlook such things when a lady is as comely as yo
u are”

  It took a moment for Emma to realise what the Duke was proposing, but when she finally understood his insinuations she batted his hand away from her person most firmly.

  “Well really,” she snapped, thoroughly annoyed, “That is not what I meant. What type of lady do you think I am?”

  “The type who calls to an unmarried man’s home unchaperoned…” the Duke replied sardonically, watching her bluster with an amused expression.

  “I did not intend to offer myself to you as your mistress,” she retorted, her eyes flashing in anger.

  “Then perhaps you meant to compromise your reputation, so that I would have to offer for you? If that was your intention Miss Buckland, then I’m afraid your actions have been quite foolish. I could not give a jot about any scandals you wish to create.”

  “Oh, just stop,” Emma exclaimed, her face heated in annoyance. “I do not wish to be your mistress, and the last thing I want to do is create a scandal. I came to appeal to your sense of decency, and ask that you accept my yearly annuity in exchange for our family eastate.”

  Silence fell between them as Emma finished her outburst, the Duke watched her closely as she struggled to regain her composure. Why was this man making her feel so agitated? After a moment, he gave a low chuckle of amusement. “You are probably the first person who has ever appealed to my sense of decency Miss Buckland,” he said wryly, “Most people assume that I don’t have one – and they’re right.”

  Emma exhaled the breath she was holding. “So I am to take it that you are refusing my offer?”

  “Yes,” the Duke replied, and Emma nodded her head, making to push past him so she could leave.

  With a quick hand the Duke reach out, and grabbed her wrist. “And am I to take it that you are refusing my first offer Miss Buckland?”

  His grip around her wrist was gentle, so Emma was easily able to tug herself free from his hold. Her usually soft features were clouded with anger as she gave him one last parting glare. “I would tell you to go to the devil sir,” she snapped, “But it seems you are the devil himself.”