The Other Duke Read online

  Rafe swallowed. “That she is the most beautiful woman in London,” he said, staring at her because he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  Crispin followed his gaze and his eyes widened. “Is that the lady in question?”

  Rafe managed a nod. “I think it must be.”

  Crispin let out a low whistle. “Then I would say the gossip is not an overstatement.”

  Rafe shook his head. “No. It is not.”

  He had seen many beautiful women before, of course. He had been with them in virtually every way imaginable. Normally, he was not attracted to cool propriety or even women of rank at all. They came with too many entanglements unless they were widowed and as anxious to remain free as he himself was.

  But looking at this woman, he was seized by a sudden, powerful jolt of desire that seemed to work its way through his entire body and settle most uncomfortably between his legs.

  He couldn’t explain the reaction. He could only assume it was because of the shock of the past few days and the knowledge that he could not escape a future with Miss McPhee unless something entirely unexpected happened, that encouraged his body to behave in such a fashion.

  “When you meet with her, will you drool all over her like you are now?” his brother asked.

  Rafe forced himself to stop looking at his cousin’s fiancée and glared at his brother. “Shut up.”

  “I’m just wondering if that will be the main part of your plan today,” Crispin continued, his lip tilting up in amusement at Rafe’s expense.

  “I do not wish to discuss this,” Rafe said through clenched teeth.

  His brother shrugged. “Well, you’ll surely be talking about it sooner rather than later, even if it is not with me.”

  Rafe looked back across the room and found that Miss McPhee’s father had seemed to notice him. The man said something to his daughter and then began to stride across the room toward Rafe and Crispin. Rafe straightened his shoulders and prepared for the worst.

  “It seems you are correct, Crispin. Which I know you love to hear. Why don’t you step away, as it seems I cannot avoid what is about to happen.”

  00

  Chapter Two

  Serafina had always particularly hated the parlor where the mourners now gathered to eat and drink and mull over Cyril’s life, as well as gossip behind her back about his death. Just two days after the accident and the details of that morning’s events had already begun to spread, even reaching her ears. She blushed as she tried not to think about them too closely.

  All she knew was that she felt sorrier for the whore who had been riding in the phaeton with Cyril and met the same fate he had than she did for her fiancé. That fact left a sour taste in her mouth.

  Across the room, she caught a glimpse of her once-future mother-in-law. Hesper was standing with a woman Serafina did not know. The two talked together for a moment, with the dowager duchess’s face angry and brittle. Then the dowager motioned toward her dismissively. Serafina turned away with a blush. From the whispers of the other mourners and the glares from Hesper, it seemed Her Grace almost blamed Serafina for Cyril’s death. Which was preposterous to the core.

  Before she could find a way to excuse herself for a moment and get some air on the terrace, she felt a hand on her elbow and turned to find her father at her side.

  “Come,” he said, gripping her arm a bit roughly. Their eyes met and she saw his determination, as if he thought she might resist. In truth, the thought had crossed her mind.

  “Where?” she asked even though she had guessed what was about to happen and had little choice but to stagger in the direction that he pulled her.

  “To meet the new Duke of Hartholm,” he said, his voice and face heavy with grim resolve.

  Serafina found herself yanking against him as sudden terror shot through her.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”

  Her father glared down at her. “There is no more escaping this now than there was before, child. Come along or I shall drag you from this room kicking and screaming, no matter how it looks.”

  Serafina stiffened. The world, or at least her world, was taking enough pleasure with the matter of the death of her fiancé. A fit at his funeral would make her even more a topic of gossip.

  And since it would do no good to refuse, she set her shoulders and followed her father from the room of her own volition. As they walked through Cyril’s twisting halls, she drew a few long breaths. Even if she was screaming inside, she had to look calm. Cyril had taught her that bitter lesson very well, and she intended to use it against his cousin just as she had against him once upon a time.

  “He is awaiting us here,” her father said, pushing open the door to Cyril’s office. Serafina forced herself not to flinch as she entered the room with its richly paneled walls and tall bookcases filled with tomes Cyril had never touched in his life.

  Come to think of it, Serafina hated this chamber as much as the parlor.

  A man stood at the fire and, as her father shut the door, he turned. Serafina caught her breath.

  She had never met Raphael Flynn, the new Duke of Hartholm and the cousin of her late fiancé. He wasn’t titled and moved on the outside fringes of the Upper Ten Thousand. What had been said about him were murmurings of a reputation that seemed to both irritate and intrigue those in her circles. He was rich but no stranger to scandal and repeated behavior that thwarted Society’s many rules.

  Even Cyril had hardly spoken of his cousin in the past except to malign him, which softened her to the man considerably.

  And then there were the rumors of his intensely handsome good looks. Now that she stared at him, leaning on the mantel with a haphazard nonchalance that didn’t reflect the importance of the moment, she couldn’t deny that he was utterly beautiful. An Adonis. There was no other way to describe him.

  He had tousled blond hair that was a bit too long for current fashion. His face was a work of art, with a hard, angled jaw, full lips and bright blue eyes that seemed to be fashioned after the Mediterranean Sea in some of her favorite paintings. He was an angel, just like the one he had been named after, only it seemed this man would be more like a fallen angel.

  But a fallen angel could still be very powerful and dangerous. She wiped thoughts of his pleasing countenance from her mind, refusing to be moved by such foolishness.

  Her father stepped forward, holding out a hand to him. “Your Grace, thank you again for meeting with us. This must be a difficult time for you and your family. Such a loss, such a terrible loss.”

  Serafina barely held back a snort of derision, both for her father’s sentiment and for his utterly ridiculous glad-handing of the new duke.

  To her surprise, the handsome man ignored her father. He pushed past him, coming toward her instead. She froze in her spot, held there by surprise and distraction caused, yet again, by his good looks.

  “Miss McPhee, I presume,” the duke said as he stopped in front of her, looking down with an unreadable expression.

  She swallowed, trying hard to remember how to form coherent words, and somehow managed a nod. “Y-Yes.”

  He smiled at her stammering admission, the kind of smile that had likely seduced many with its dazzling display. He reached out and took her hand, sending warmth through her dark gloves and up her arms like he was lightning in a summer storm.

  “I am Rafe Flynn, Miss McPhee. And you and I seem to have a problem. One I’m certain we can solve if we put our minds to it.”

  Rafe knew when he was being charming. It was a skill he had honed and mastered over the years, turning the power of charisma to his advantage. It had certainly never failed to help navigate a difficulty or seduce a lady. Or seduce a lady who was difficult.

  But to his surprise, Miss McPhee withdrew her hand from his with a cool frown.

  “I’m afraid you are no longer Rafe Flynn, Your Grace,” she said, her tone as chilly as her expression. “At least not in the eyes of the world. As for ou
r ‘problem,’ as you put it, even if you reputation tells you that you may have it all, in this case you cannot avoid the inevitable. We must wed, despite my own desires.”

  Rafe arched a brow. Her reluctance he had expected, but not to this depth. But then, perhaps she had loved Cyril.

  He looked her up and down a second time, from a closer proximity than had been achievable in the ballroom. Her beauty was only enhanced by their closeness. He thought of Cyril and his slick hair and fat gut held in by a corset. Could a lovely creature such as this one truly have feelings for a man like him?

  Before he could think more on the subject, Mr. McPhee rushed forward and all but shoved his daughter out of the way.

  “Serafina!” he said, his tone sharp as a blade. “Watch your tongue with the duke.”

  Rafe looked her over another time. Serafina. Her given name had not been present in any of the marital contract documents, and now it rolled in his head. It was a very unique name, but beautiful.

  It fit her perfectly.

  “Step aside, girl, and let me discuss this with the duke,” Mr. McPhee continued.

  Rafe pursed his lips at McPhee’s tone. His arrogance and dismissal of his daughter irritated Rafe beyond measure.

  “Why should Serafina step aside? This topic surely affects her more than it does you.”

  Her father’s mouth dropped open and he let out a few incoherent, flustered sounds. To Rafe’s utter pleasure, Serafina turned her head, smothering a smile at her father’s reaction to being set down. She was even prettier when she smiled, it seemed.

  “The documents are quite clear, Your Grace,” Mr. McPhee blustered when he had regained some level of composure.

  Any pleasure Rafe had experienced when making Serafina smile vanished. Every time someone called him “Your Grace” it brought his now-nightmarish future into clearer view and made his stomach turn anew.

  “I suppose they must be,” he responded with a sigh.

  “You will wed,” Mr. McPhee insisted, his voice rising.

  Rafe stared at the man. He had learned a little about McPhee since hearing of Cyril’s death and the shocking fact that he might have to marry Serafina. Rumor had it the man was rich and accustomed to getting his way, but he also was grasping, desperate to be linked to an important title like the one Rafe now reluctantly held.

  McPhee wanted to get what he desired, even at the obvious exclusion of his daughter’s happiness. Despite knowing his fate was likely sealed, as Serafina had said it was, Rafe didn’t like the idea of giving in so easily.

  “We’ll see,” he said, enjoying the flush of frustration that came to McPhee’s cheeks. “This is certainly not the place to discuss the matter, at any rate. I will call on you tomorrow and we will talk it over in detail then.”

  “Your Gr—” McPhee began, but Rafe held up a hand to silence him as he turned toward Serafina. She was staring at him in what seemed to be wonder, as if no one went head to head with her father and it had made him more interesting to her.

  Noting that fact, Rafe smiled.

  “Until tomorrow, Serafina,” he said softly. “And my condolences on your loss.”

  The serene look on her face faltered a bit. In fact, Rafe could have sworn he saw her flinch ever so slightly at his words. But then she gave a cool nod of dismissal.

  He exited the room without giving in to a strange desire to look back at her, but as he strode down the hall to gather his family and say their farewells to his Aunt Hesper, he couldn’t help thinking of Serafina over and over. She was a hard one to read and that interested him even more than her intense beauty did.

  Serafina kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet beneath her on the settee. As Emma handed her a cup of tea, she smiled up at her friend, then watched her take a seat in a chair across from her. Once they were both settled, Emma leaned forward.

  “Now that we are finally alone, why don’t you tell me about it?”

  Serafina shifted. “About what?” she asked, though she knew exactly to what Emma referred.

  Raphael Flynn.

  Her friend arched a brow. “The weather,” she said, her tone dry as a desert.

  Serafina smiled despite herself. “It is quite warm this summer and thankfully there has been little rain,” she offered. “But I think perhaps you would rather hear about the funeral gathering and my meeting with the mysterious new Duke of Hartholm.”

  Emma shrugged. “If you insist upon changing the subject, I won’t stop you, this is your home, after all.”

  Serafina laughed for the first time in what felt like weeks.

  “This is why I adore you. Even in my worst moments, you make me laugh. And today was certainly a worst moment.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.” Serafina stopped, thinking of her meeting with Rafe Flynn, as he had introduced himself, despite his new title. “Well, almost all. It started out poorly enough. Cyril’s mother glared at me the entire afternoon. When I approached her to give my regards, she cut me down quite viciously in front of several people.”

  “She’s always been a bitter one,” Emma said with a wrinkle of her nose, as if she had smelled something vile. “Nastiest woman in Society.”

  “I happen to agree. It’s almost as if she thinks Cyril’s death is somehow my fault. Or at least that I’m gaining from it somehow. As if I ever wanted anything Cyril or his title had to offer in life or in death.”

  “Certainly not!” Emma said, folding her arms in solidarity. “That is your father, not you.”

  “Speaking of my father, you should see him. He is desperate now,” Serafina said.

  “Why?” Emma asked, her eyes wide. They both knew what happened when Serafina’s father was desperate. Bad things.

  “The new duke does not bend so easily,” Serafina explained with the slightest smile as she remembered how Rafe had spoken to her father.

  “Yes, let us get to that subject. I am dying to know what this new duke was like,” her friend said. “You have been very vague.”

  Serafina pondered the question for a moment. “If I have been vague, I suppose it’s because I have little answers about the man. He is…well, he’s terribly handsome.”

  “That is an improvement,” Emma said with a smile.

  “Yes, but I think he knows it too well.” Serafina sighed. “And he has likely never had a woman in his life turn him down. Not that I shall have that option soon enough.”

  Emma pursed her lips. “Does he seem delighted to have the title, ready to use it and wield the power it brings?”

  “No.” Serafina thought of the man again and his words and actions during their brief moment. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Some might very well be crowing and strutting and enjoying every moment of their new position. Rafe seems as troubled by this turn of events as I am. And he does not seem fully accepting that we will marry, either.”

  Emma’s eyes went wider. “Do you think you will escape the altar yet?”

  Serafina barked out a laugh. “No. No matter what the new duke thinks, there will be nothing for it in the end. My father will, as always, have his way.” Serafina shook her head slowly. “And this Raphael Flynn and I will both suffer for it.”

  Emma was silent for a moment and Serafina sank back on the settee. Now that she had stated this truth out loud, it seemed to pile itself onto her shoulders and drag her deeper into the cushions. How she wished she could sink all the way inside and hide forever.

  But if she had learned anything from her very long engagement to Cyril, it was that hiding was not possible. This was her fate, one way or another.

  “What if you did not have to suffer?”

  Emma’s unexpected question pulled Serafina from her maudlin reverie. She sat up and shook her head at her friend. “I already know my father won’t bend. You know him—he’s like a bulldog with a bone when it comes to earning a relationship to a title through me.”

  “I don’t mean change your situation with you father,” her friend clarifie
d. “I mean that if you and this new duke are both being forced into this situation, if he is as unhappy about it as you are, doesn’t that leave you with some opportunity to…to…”

  Her friend seemed to struggle for an explanation and Serafina leaned forward. “What?”

  “Negotiate, I suppose is the best word for it.”

  “Negotiate what, exactly?”

  Emma tilted her head. “Your future. With Raphael Flynn.”

  Serafina opened her mouth to protest, but then she thought of what her friend had said. She’d been so focused on what her father would have done, she had never considered that she might have some control—not over the wedding, but the marriage. That was what Emma meant, after all.

  She thought again of Rafe and how he had approached her before her father, of how he had included her in their discussion and even put her father down when he sorely needed it. Based on what she’d heard through gossip, but also on what she’d already seen of the man, Rafael Flynn believed he could have it all.

  “I suppose he might be amenable to such a conversation,” she said slowly. “If he is not like his cousin.”

  Emma bent her head. “I certainly hope he is not.”

  “As do I,” she whispered.

  Emma reached across and caught her hand, and they sat quietly together for a moment before Serafina shook her head and gathered herself.

  “He is coming here tomorrow,” Serafina said as she shoved to her feet and paced the room. “So I will somehow manage to get him alone and discuss the future with him.”

  “At the very least, you’ll learn more about his true character through the exercise,” Emma said.

  Serafina nodded. “And even if he isn’t open, I will be in no worse position than I am now.”

  She looked out the window into the darkness outside and found herself smiling. Because for the first time in years, she had begun to believe that she might actually be in a better position than she had ever been before.

  00