An Unsuitable Duchess Read online

  The scandal of the season!

  For American Katrina Vandenberg, the rules of London society are stifling. So, when a rare moment of solitude at a particularly tedious ball is interrupted, she’s disappointed...until she lays eyes on a very handsome stranger!

  Julian Carlisle, Duke of Lyonsdale, is destined for a dull marriage of convenience, and Katrina couldn’t be further from the docile, blue-blooded bride he needs. An affair would be scandalous, but could there be a way for this highly unsuitable woman to become Julian’s perfect duchess after all?

  Secret Lives of the Ton

  What Society doesn’t know...

  Meet Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, Gabriel Pearce, the Duke of Winterbourne, and Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick.

  In the eyes of the ton, these three gentlemen are handsome, upstanding men who (mostly!) play by the rules. But what Society doesn’t know is that, behind closed doors, these men are living scandalous lives and hiding scandalous secrets!

  Read Julian’s story first in An Unsuitable Duchess

  Available now

  And look for Gabriel’s and Hart’s stories, coming soon!

  Author Note

  I’ve been interested in history since I was young, and that interest was fueled by many visits to many museums. The idea for this story came to me while I was visiting Washington Irving’s home in Tarrytown, New York. I confess I have a bit of a historical crush on Irving, who was one of America’s first internationally acclaimed authors. For a time, he lived in London during the Regency era and also served as a diplomat there in the last few years of the reign of George IV. While hearing about Irving’s time in London, I began to imagine what life could have been like for the daughter of such a man. I’d also often wondered about the courtship of the first American woman to breach the walls of the English aristocracy. With these two thoughts in my head, this story was born.

  While writing this book, I used some creative license and changed the name of the United States Minister to Britain who served in 1818 from Richard Rush to the fictitious Mr. Forrester.

  If you’re interested in learning more about some of the historical details in this book, please visit my website at lauriebenson.net and click on the link to my blog. You can search An Unsuitable Duchess for relevant articles. And while you’re there, please subscribe to my newsletter for information about my upcoming books.

  I hope you enjoy An Unsuitable Duchess, which is the first book in my Secret Lives of the Ton series.

  Laurie Benson

  An Unsuitable Duchess

  Laurie Benson is an award-winning historical romance author and Golden Heart® finalist. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter, where she learned more than you could ever want to know about hot dogs and credit score reports. When she isn’t at her laptop avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing museums or taking ridiculously long hikes with her husband and two sons. You can visit her at lauriebenson.net.

  An Unsuitable Duchess

  is Laurie Benson’s fantastic debut

  for Harlequin Historical

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  Acknowledgments

  I’ll always be grateful to my wonderful editor, Kathryn Cheshire, for giving me this opportunity and for helping me bring Julian and Katrina into the world. Thanks for your guidance and support. You’re the best! And thank you to everyone at Harlequin Historical, especially Linda Fildew, Nic Caws and Krista Oliver for all that you’ve done for me.

  Thanks, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for having my back and for just being you.

  To the history bloggers and the people who answered my historical questions, thanks for making research fun.

  Lori V. and Lisa D., this book might not have been written if it weren’t for the two of you. Thanks for encouraging me to put this story to paper and for not running the other way when I asked you to read it—a number of times. I love you both!

  To Jen, Mia, Marnee and Teri, thanks for riding this roller coaster with me and for being such great friends.

  Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. To my boys, you mean the world to me. Thanks for never complaining when deadlines have me ordering takeout for dinner. And thank you to my husband for always believing in me and for proving that love at first sight really is possible.

  Finally, thank you, kind reader, for picking up this book. I hope this story makes you smile, and you enjoy this brief armchair vacation in Regency-era London.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Excerpt from Her Cheyenne Warrior by Lauri Robinson

  Chapter One

  Mayfair, London, 1818.

  Katrina Vandenberg had come to the conclusion that the ballrooms of London were rather dangerous places.

  As she stood under a glittering chandelier in the Russian Ambassador’s ornate drawing room she rotated her sore foot beneath her gown. It didn’t help. Anticipating its tenderness, she held her breath and gingerly lowered her slipper to the red and gold rug.

  ‘Why does Lord Boreham continue to ask me to dance?’ she groaned as her foot began to throb. ‘Each time we do he stumbles through the steps and blames it on me being American and not knowing the movements. This time he stepped on my foot so many times I stopped counting.’

  ‘Perhaps he is enamoured with you,’ replied Sarah Forrester, the daughter of the American Minister to the Court of St. James.

  ‘Perhaps he’s waiting for me to issue a war cry in the middle of the dance floor and wishes to have an excellent view.’

  The friends laughed and a number of the finely dressed gentlemen and ladies looked their way. One of them was their hostess, the Russian Ambassador’s wife, Madame de Lieven.

  ‘I suppose you could wear boots under your gown to protect your feet from clumsy partners,’ Sarah whispered, hiding her amusement behind her fan. ‘Although it would not be very fashionable.’

  ‘I do not believe even that would help. But perhaps I could pretend the orchestra is too loud and I cannot hear them speak. Then maybe I could avoid listening to them boast about how important they are or prattle on about some ancient relative’s great accomplishment.’ Katrina nodded towards a group of gentlemen. ‘One day I wager one of them will show me his teeth in an attempt to impress me. London would be lovely if it weren’t for the men.’

  When they laughed again Madame de Lieven narrowed her eyes and gave them a chastising shake of her head.

  Katrina took a deep breath and shifted her gaze. ‘I do believe our hostess is attempting to inform us that ladies in London do not laugh out loud during entertainments such as this.’

  How she wished there was somewhere she could go to avoid the constant scrutiny.
And that smell! Had someone forgot to bathe?

  She rubbed her forehead and a drop of wax hit the embroidered forget-me-nots on her white silk glove.

  Evenings like this were always so tedious.

  * * *

  This evening could not become any more tedious.

  Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, didn’t know how Lady Morley and her daughter Lady Mary had cornered him. And that bloody chandelier! He was certain his valet would have an apoplexy when he saw how much wax was falling onto his new black tailcoat.

  Tonight’s crush was so great it had become difficult to raise his glass of the Russian Ambassador’s fine champagne to his lips. If he tried he might inadvertently brush his hand over the front of Lady Mary’s dress. It would be interesting to see her mother’s reaction to that. Most likely Julian would find himself embroiled in the scandal of the evening, with a wife he did not want.

  He would stay thirsty.

  ‘And so I told her,’ continued Lady Morley, ‘that if Madame Devy moved back to Paris we simply would not know what to do. She is the best in London. She makes all of Mary’s dresses. Not that she needs any help to show as well as she does. Has the bearing of a duchess, I always hear.’

  Thirty-three. Thirty-four. The peacock feather in Lady Morley’s turban bobbed with every nod of her head. Julian continued counting. The unique sound of soft feminine laughter floated from behind him and he wished he were part of that conversation instead of this one. He made a conscious effort not to sigh.

  Before he could school his features into his usual bored expression he wrinkled his nose. What was that smell? It reminded him of his gardeners in the heat of summer. A man’s sweat should not be mixed with an abundance of flowers and sold in a bottle.

  Julian managed to down the remainder of his champagne in one gulp. The bubbles tickling his throat were a welcome distraction. ‘I understand cards are being played across the hall. Is that where your husband is this evening?’ he asked, with no real interest.

  Lady Morley blinked at his sudden interruption. ‘Oh—oh, yes, I believe it is.’

  ‘I’ll be off, then.’

  Both ladies curtsied to Julian, and he began to attempt a shallow bow. He bumped into something soft. As he turned to excuse himself high, soft breasts met his hard male chest.

  A startled woman with pleasant features and a pair of deep blue eyes looked up at him. Then her gaze travelled slowly down to his waistcoat and back up to his face. When her white teeth tugged at her lower lip, he had a strong urge to lick and soothe that lip. Mentally shaking himself, he tried to gain control of this unexpected yearning.

  Her eyes widened, and a faint blush swept across her cheeks. ‘Please forgive me, my lord,’ she murmured.

  Nine years had passed since anyone had addressed him simply as ‘my lord’. Everyone knew he was the Duke of Lyonsdale and should be addressed as ‘Your Grace’—even if he didn’t care to know them. ‘I assure you no apology is necessary. I believe the fault is mine.’

  She bobbed a shallow curtsey and turned away from him. As he watched her make her way through the crowd something inside him shifted. Suddenly he was striding across the room, not even aware of the parting of finely dressed people before him.

  * * *

  Stepping onto the terrace, Katrina closed her eyes and filled her lungs with fresh night air. For a brief time, at least, she would not have to be conscious of her every action.

  The amber glow of candlelight, shining through the tall windows and doors of the large brick house, streaked this outdoor haven. In the far corner was an unoccupied area that called to her. It would be an ideal place to escape inquisitive stares and pointed whispers.

  The stone of the marble balustrade felt cool against her gloved hands and was a welcome contrast to the warm crush inside. Peering out into the dimly lit garden, she gradually began to relax, enjoying her first bit of solitude all evening. It was wonderful to finally be alone.

  ‘We are fortunate the evening air is so pleasant and there’s no rain,’ rumbled a deep voice to her right.

  Resisting the urge to push the intruder over the railing, Katrina held back a sigh. ‘Yes, we are quite fortunate,’ she said, in what she was certain was a bored tone. She kept her eyes fixed on the landscape below, hoping it would discourage further conversation.

  ‘The quality of the Ambassador’s garden is well noted. Have you walked through it yet?’

  ‘No, I have not. Fortunately for us there are lanterns placed along the pathways so we can enjoy the beauty from up here.’ He would soon learn she was not a woman who dallied in the shrubbery. Perhaps he would move on.

  When Katrina glanced over at him, she was surprised to discover the handsome gentleman she had clumsily bumped into a few minutes before. He was standing tall, facing the garden, in formal black evening clothes, with the moonlight shining on the waves of his neatly trimmed dark hair. She studied his profile with its chiselled features and square jaw. He must have noticed, because he turned his head towards her and their eyes met.

  It happened again. The ground seemed to shift, and this time their bodies hadn’t even touched. Deciding it was best to focus on the flowering shrubs and manicured lawn, she diverted her attention away from the man at her side.

  * * *

  Julian closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Was he actually reduced to discussing the weather and gardening with this woman? When had he become this dull? And he was certain she had just dismissed him. No one ever dismissed him.

  For the first time in his life Julian felt the need to capture a woman’s attention. ‘Are you new to town?’

  In whose world was this captivating conversation?

  ‘I suppose. I have only been in London for a few weeks.’

  ‘Your accent escapes me.’

  She crossed her arms under that pair of lovely small breasts and turned towards him. ‘I’m American.’ When he remained silent, she tilted her head and studied him. ‘Pardon me, but have we been introduced?’

  He shook his head, amused at her candour. ‘Not that I recall—and I am fairly certain you are not someone I would forget.’

  ‘Then speaking with you would not be proper.’ She glanced at the French doors, as if she expected to see someone. ‘Did you follow me out here?’

  Julian never followed women, and he never acted improperly. He had needed to get away from Lady Morley, and that smell had been unbearable. There had been no reason to consider it further.

  ‘We must have had the notion to step outside at the same time.’

  ‘And you just happened to find yourself standing next to me?’

  He shifted under her sceptical expression. ‘It appeared to be a pleasant spot.’

  She narrowed her eyes momentarily before she turned her attention back towards the garden and began to drum her fingers on the stone.

  Below them, a figure walked in and out of the shadows, along one of the garden’s gravel paths, as the flames inside the lanterns flickered. Julian traced the figure’s movements. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be hiding from someone, now, would you?’

  She looked at him with a curious glint in her eyes. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘When a woman as striking as you is alone at a ball teeming with men, one must conclude that her solitude is by choice. Are you attempting to avoid a foolish suitor?’

  Her lips twitched. ‘What makes you believe I have foolish suitors?’

  ‘Ah, I said suitor. Apparently there is more than one.’

  ‘Perhaps I was simply seeking a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Then I would say any man who wasn’t wise enough to accompany you out here to take the evening air was foolish.’

  The silk of her ice-blue gown shimmered in the moonlight as she turned her body to face him. ‘And why is that?’

  He had the strongest urge to step closer. She smelled like lemons. ‘Because in this secluded spot he has left you free to be charmed by another man.’

  ‘Are y
ou attempting to charm me?’

  ‘Do you find me charming?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ she replied, even though her expression said the opposite.

  ‘Then I suppose your suitor is safe in his position of favour.’

  A soft laugh escaped her lips before she quickly pursed them together.

  ‘Or perhaps not,’ he amended, revelling in the odd satisfaction that she found him amusing.

  ‘My purpose in coming out here was simply to enjoy a bit of solitude.’

  ‘And I have intruded on your privacy—not well done of me at all. Perhaps we might enjoy the solitude together?’

  ‘Then it would not be considered solitude.’

  ‘Semantics,’ he replied with a slight shrug. ‘So, why are you seeking solitude?’

  She looked down at her slippers and appeared to give her answer great consideration. ‘I grew weary of people telling me how important they are.’

  He wondered if he was like that. He didn’t think he was. Nevertheless, it was probably best not to let her know how important he really was. ‘A bold admission.’

  ‘An honest one. And what brings you out here? If you were planning on having a clandestine meeting, I fear you are keeping some lady waiting,’ she said with a teasing smile.

  ‘I’m not. Perhaps I too grew weary of spending time with people I have no interest in.’