Deceiving the Duke of Kerrington (Ladies of Deception)

Deceiving
the Duke of Kerrington

Ladies
of Deception Book 1

A
Novel

Ginny
Hartman

Copyright
© 2013 by Ginny Hartman

All
rights reserved.

Cover
design by Ginny Hartman

Book
design by Ginny Hartman

No part
of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission
in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote
short excerpts in a review.

This
book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are a product of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

First
printing: June 2013

Second
Edition: August 6
^th
, 2013

ISBN-13:
978-1490475110

To
Kim, who was there when my imagination took flight and encouraged me all the
way.

Part One

Chapter 1

            Pierce Chadwick, the Duke of
Kerrington, observed his surroundings with disdain. Once again he found himself
at another monotonous ball given by another over indulged lady of society with
too much money on her hands. The ballroom was filled with white hothouse roses
and a plethora of members of the ton, making this event a veritable crush. Lady
Sedgewick would be pleased. Pierce grabbed another glass of champagne off the
tray passing by, quickly downing its contents in one large gulp. It was his
third glass and so far it was proving not nearly effective enough to dull his
senses. He’d have to go in search of something stronger if he had any hopes of
making it through the rest of the evening.

            The endless stream of assemblies
and routs were wearing on his nerves. He had never been prone to enjoying the
festivities of the ton, often finding the endless dancing and keeping up
pretenses wearisome and tedious but growing up as the Duke of Kerrington’s heir
he had all but been required to attend, to keep up appearances and of course,
to look for a bride. He had often been rebellious in his youth, spending more
time at his club, White’s, or gallivanting around with his cronies than taking
the marriage mart seriously. But since the death of his father two years past
and since taking on the title of duke himself he was being forced to take his
duties more seriously.

            The duty that was forefront of
his mind was taking a wife and producing an heir. Not a desirable task if you
asked him, but seems that no one cared much about what he thought anyway. There
may have been a time in his life when he wouldn’t have minded the prospect of
falling in love, getting married and starting a family of his own, but that was
all in the past. For season after season he had attended every monotonous ball,
every wearisome garden party, and every dull rout in hopes of finding that
elusive lady with whom he would fall madly in love. But season after season
proved just as ineffective as the last.

            The ladies of the ton bored
him. He had grown tired years ago of fortune-hunting, title-seeking ladies and
their over anxious mama’s, and found he could hardly tolerate their idle
chatter long enough to endure a single dance with any of them. He knew his
aloofness only added fuel to the already burning fires regarding his reputation
as a notorious rake but he didn’t care. Let them think what they may, for the
ton often did whatever they wanted in that regards anyway.

            Setting his glass down on
the table he looked up in time to see a girl looking at him coyly. Not just any
girl however but a debutant clad in a white dress, her hair expertly coiffed
like almost every other girl in attendance. Pierce wanted to groan in
frustration. He supposed she was pleasant enough to look at, with her ebony
hair piled high on her head and her lips the color of crushed berries, but it
would take more than an attractive face to lure him in. He knew there was one
thing only on the minds of any debutante and that was catching a husband, the
bigger the title the better. He quickly turned on his heel, heading in the
opposite direction before the girl could get close enough to trap him into what
would inevitably be a never ending dance filled with pathetic attempts at
flirtation.

            Pierce exited the ballroom,
relieved to get out of the stifling heat and began wandering down the long hall
seeking other distractions to take his mind off his current search for an
acceptable wife.  He poked his head into a room that had been set up for gaming
and quickly entered, knowing that a game or two of piquet would be the perfect
diversion.

            “Well if it isn’t the Duke
of Kerrington,” Pierce’s good friend Elliot, the Viscount Martineau sauntered
towards Pierce, a drink in one hand and his other arm going clumsily around the
Duke’s shoulders, obviously already deep in his cups. If there was one person
who hated parties more than him it was Lord Martineau. He was constantly sought
out by various women of the ton who thought it was tragically romantic that he
had vowed to never fall in love again after his first and only love had
disappeared mysteriously. They found him a challenge and often made bets to see
who could get him to fall in love with them first. So far there had been no
winners.

            “Let me guess Martineau,
you’ve already gambled away your vast fortune and entire estate and are looking
for me to bail you out?” Kerrington asked facetiously, thumping the other man
good-naturedly on the back as he spoke.

            “Hardly your grace, though I
do admit that the Earl of Brattondale is playing a fine hand tonight. I’ve
already lost to him twice.”

            Suddenly Pierce’s interest
was piqued, Elliot rarely gambled and when he did he rarely lost. “Really?” he
asked, one dark eyebrow raised. “Which one is Lord Brattondale?”

            “The nearly bald man in the
corner,” Lord Martineau replied.

            Pierce quickly scanned the
dim room, his eyes landing on the portly bald man sitting rigidly in his chair,
intent on the game before him. Pierce instantly decided he’d be his next
opponent, feeling more enlivened by the prospect of a rousing card game than of
entering the crowded ballroom once again. His feet ached at the prospect of finding
himself subject to more tiresome dancing. He made his way across the room and
waited patiently for Lord Brattondale to finish his hand before sitting down in
the empty chair at the table across from him and offering to play.

            “Ah, think you can best me
now do you?” Lord Brattondale’s chest puffed out in conceit as he poured
himself a measure of brandy from the crystal decanter sitting on the table next
to him.

            “I’d say I’m willing to give
it a try.” Pierce replied nonchalantly.

            “Well then, what say we make
this exciting your grace. I’m finding I’m growing tired of these conservative
wagers, how about a hundred pounds?”

            Pierce sat back casually in
his chair crossing his legs and putting his hands behind his head. “I’m not
destitute, I dare say I find a hundred pounds doesn’t quite pique my interest.”
He watched as the Earl’s eyes took on a greedy glint.

            “Two hundred then?” he asked
hopefully, clearly confident in his ability to best the duke.

            “Your paltry sums don’t
interest me, I’m a man of great wealth or have you forgotten?” Pierce knew he sounded
conceited but he didn’t care. He may not be personally acquainted with every
member of the ton, but he was well aware that most every one of them knew who
he was. His father had been one of the wealthiest men in London and Pierce had
inherited all of his father’s wealth along with his title two years prior.
Besides, something had come over him and he suddenly found himself much more
interested in goading the earl than winning a few extra pounds.

            The earl sat quietly for a
few moments, the wheels in his brain working furiously. Pierce watched his eyes
narrow as he leaned forward and spoke animatedly, “I think I may have come up
with an interesting solution your grace.”

            Pierce leaned forward, their
heads meeting closely over the table. This could get interesting. “I’m
listening.”

            “I happen to know you’re in
need of a wife and an heir.”

            “That’s no secret, all of
London is aware of that,” Pierce snapped.

            “Well I happen to have a
lovely daughter—”

            “You and every other peer of
the realm,” Pierce interrupted him before he could go any further, pushing back
from the table and standing abruptly.

            The earl barked back, “You
were the one who wanted to make this interesting. The way I see it is that we
both have a problem the other one could solve. You have plenty of blunt that
could come in handy to a man in my position, and I have a lovely daughter who
could come in handy to you. What do you say we set the stakes at this; if I win
I get your two hundred pounds, if you win, you get my daughter’s hand in
marriage.”

            If the earl hadn’t been
completely serious Pierce would’ve laughed. What kind of man wagered his
daughter’s hand in marriage in a game of cards? His first thoughts were that
she must be homely, and probably firmly on the shelf for him to be willing to
bet her hand in a card game. If the chit was beautiful or came with any sort of
sizable dowry the man shouldn’t have any problem getting the girl married off.
No, something had to be wrong with the girl.

            Slowly Pierce resumed
sitting, “What’s wrong with her? Is she here tonight? Can I get a look at the
merchandise before agreeing to the stakes?” Pierce couldn’t believe he was
asking the questions, knowing he should’ve just scoffed at the earl and his
ridiculous wager but feeling oddly compelled instead.

            “Regretfully she is not, she
took to bed with the megrim.” Pierce rolled his eyes. Great, not only was the
girl most likely ugly and a bore, but she had a weak constitution as well. He
knew he should just refuse to play this silly game but he was suddenly intrigued
by the impudent earl and his asinine ideas. His mother, the Dowager Kerrington
was being rather insistent that he marry and give her grandchildren before she
was too old to enjoy them and suddenly the thought of attending many more of
these events trying to pick out an eligible lady to court amongst the slew of
spoiled girls seemed overwhelmingly unappetizing.

            Without another thought he
quickly agreed to the preposterous bet, “Well Lord Brattondale, it looks as if
you have yourself a deal.”

             The game started slowly,
Pierce was fully planning on letting Lord Brattondale win. The earl had drawn
the highest card during the initial cut therefore allowing him to deal first so
he was already off to a strong start.  Pierce figured it would be much less
painful to give up a couple hundred pounds to the foolish man than it would be
to have to marry his daughter. It didn’t take long, however, for his
competitive nature to kick in. He had never been one prone to loosing at the
tables, and the arrogant manor of Lord Brattondale rubbed him wrong. He soon
decided that it would do the man good to be beat. And the more Pierce thought
about the stakes of the bet, the more it started to make a sick sort of sense
to him.

            He had long ago abandoned
the idea of marrying for love. He now realized the idea had been childish and
farfetched, especially among members of the ton. And unless he wanted to spend
endless evenings attending the various society events in hopes of finding a
suitable companion he might as well win the game and the earl’s daughter in the
bargain. Besides, it would be better for him to marry someone who was fully
aware that the match was made based on the outcome of a card game and had no
pretense of love being a part of the bargain. The more he thought about it, the
more the idea appealed to him. Thus began his motivation to concentrate and win
the game of piquet he was playing.  

            He forced himself to be
patient and allowed the earl to win the first three deals leading him into a
false sense of security. Just when the earl began getting comfortable and
started to relax, Pierce stepped up his game and began winning his hands. By
the end of the sixth deal Pierce had very clearly won leaving a stunned and
angry earl in his wake.  Lord Brattondale threw his cards angrily onto the
table, his face an odd shade of purple. Pierce wasn’t sure if he was angrier about
not winning the two hundred pounds he so desperately needed or about having to
forfeit his daughter’s hand to the man who had just played him for the fool—
apparently the first person to beat him in a game all night.

            “Well Lord Brattondale, it
appears your daughter has a wedding to plan.” Pierce spoke flippantly. “I have
business to attend to and regretfully won’t be able to meet my new fiancé for a
se’nnight but you can inform her that I’ll be paying her a call as soon as I’m
back in town.” With that the Duke of Kerrington straightened and sauntered out
of the room, leaving a stunned Lord Brattondale gaping after him.