The Duke's Accidental Wife (Dukes of War Book 7)
Read The Duke's Accidental Wife (Dukes of War Book 7) Online
Authors: Erica Ridley
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Victorian, #Regency, #Historical Romance
The Duke’s Accidental Wife
Erica Ridley
The Duke’s Accidental Wife
Miss Katherine Ross is a wealthy, eccentric socialite who knows precisely what she wants: No husband. No children. No candlelit tête-à-tête with the insufferably emotionless Duke of Ravenwood. She's convinced his heart is ice — until she touches that chiseled chest for herself. One lapse in judgment is all it takes to turn both their lives topsy-turvy...
The Duke of Ravenwood isn't cold and haughty, but a secret romantic who has always dreamt of marrying for love. Instead, he gets Miss Katherine Ross — a headstrong hoyden intent on unraveling his carefully ordered world. He doesn't know whether to kiss her or throttle her. Can they survive each other's company long enough to turn a compromise into love?
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Copyright © 2016 Erica Ridley
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1939713439
ISBN-13: 978-1939713438
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design © Erica Ridley
Photograph on cover © kirill_grekov, DepositPhotos
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
The Pirate’s Tempting Stowaway
Four left for war.
One stayed home.
The battle is just beginning…
Chapter One
June 1816
London, England
Lawrence Pembroke, Duke of Ravenwood, could not wait to escape the Palace of Westminster. As usual, the “short” meeting of the House of Lords had not begun until four in the afternoon, because most of the lords present could not be expected to rise from their beds until at least two of the clock.
Ravenwood, however, had been up since dawn. He favored neither drunkards nor dancing, and was not at all pleased that what had been meant to be an intelligent, practical debate on the efficacy of recoinage for greater post-war stabilization of currency had deteriorated once again into speculation about Princess Charlotte’s recent marriage and gleeful gossip about the appearance of a maskless Miss Katherine Ross at one of the Duke of Lambley’s masquerade parties.
Lambley got away with such chicanery because he was a duke. He was not only the very reason why Parliament could not possibly be called to order at a more reasonable hour, but the blasted man was garrulously and delightedly recounting tale’s of Miss Ross’s exploits. Miss Katherine Ross was Lambley’s hoyden cousin, who had apparently staged her stunt to entice other frivolous aristocrats to attend some equally frivolous upcoming crush.
Ravenwood would not be attending. Ever. Besides a visceral dislike of both crowds and parties, he disdained any behavior that cheapened one’s title or one’s integrity.
He wouldn’t even be at the Palace of Westminster at a quarter ’til midnight if he didn’t hold his responsibilities as a duke and a member of Parliament in the utmost respect. He, at least, would uphold his duty to England despite certain capricious lordlings wasting valuable time with idle gossip.
And he would leave here before midnight if humanly possible. His sister had begged him to stop by for a late supper after the meeting, and Ravenwood had given his word.
He rose to his feet. “I propose we form a Coinage Committee to investigate options and propose not only a course of action, but also a schedule in which to achieve it.”
Conversation halted as dozens of faces swung in his direction.
Ravenwood kept his tone imperious, his face a blank mask despite his pounding heart. He disliked being stared at even more than he disliked crowded rooms, but duty came first. The House of Lords needed a nanny, but tonight it must make do with Ravenwood. Experience had taught him that the most expedient way to achieve a goal was to undertake it oneself.
Very well.
“Anyone interested in joining the fiduciary committee should arrive two hours prior to our next meeting. Until a chair can be formally named, I shall head the effort in the interim.” He sent his cool, imperious gaze about the chamber. “Unless one of you would like to volunteer for the position?”
Of course they would not. The handful of lords with enough intelligence and conviction to join such a committee was bright enough not to volunteer to manage it. The more foolish, indolent lords could be trusted to still be abed at the appointed hour, sleeping off another night of revelry.
So be it.
As soon as the meeting was adjourned, Ravenwood stalked from the Court of Requests and out into the chill night air. Only once he was seated inside his stately coach-and-four did he allow himself a small sigh of relief at finally achieving a moment’s peace.
Six more weeks. That was all. Parliament would disperse in July and would not resume until the following November.
Thank God. He sagged against the squab. Nothing sapped his energy and his spirits as efficiently as being forced to interact with crowds of people whom he could neither comprehend nor corral.
Which was perhaps ironic, given he was currently en route to his sister Amelia’s town house.
Lady Amelia was the epitome of a woman unable to be corralled, but he did at least
comprehend
her. He not only valued her sharp mind and managing ways, but also quite missed her presence in his household, now that she was married to Lord Sheffield.
Ravenwood hadn’t even realized how much he had missed her until he’d received her invitation to dinner.
He had always maintained a silent, retiring nature, but without his sister about to put her nose where it didn’t belong, the only words spoken to him at home these days were
Yes, Your Grace
or
Perhaps the blue waistcoat today?
Ravenwood straightened his cravat. He was very much looking forward to an hour or two in the company of someone who didn’t want or expect anything of him. Amelia was one of the few people in the world who thought of him as her brother, the person, rather than His Grace, the duke.
When his coach-and-four pulled in front of the Sheffield town house, Ravenwood alighted from the carriage in haste.
His sister would not be surprised by his extremely late arrival—nothing surprised Lady Amelia—but Ravenwood’s stomach had been growling since half eight, and it was now past midnight.
The butler opened the front door before Ravenwood was halfway up the walk, and ushered him from the foyer to the dining room with no delay.
Lady Amelia all but clapped her hands with glee at his arrival. “Lovely to see you, brother. Your salmon will be served momentarily.” She shot a pointed look over her shoulder. “I told you he’d arrive, if you would suffer the least bit of patience.”
Given that her husband, Lord Sheffield, had never once displayed an ounce of impatience, Ravenwood could only surmise that Lady Amelia had invited other guests to her table.
Guests whose presence would once again force him to resume the role of His Grace, the duke. Delightful. He turned to greet them.
A surprised smile tugged at his lips.
Major Blackpool and his wife Daphne leapt to their feet. Or rose awkwardly, in Daphne’s case. She was partway through her first pregnancy, and still getting used to navigating her new dimensions.
