School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do

”

“But apparently the memories that loom largest in my mind differ from the ones looming largest in yours.”

The sudden feral hunger in his eyes called to the dark wildness that Louisa had suppressed inside her these many long years. “What do you mean?” she asked, her breath hitching in her throat.

“I remember long waltzes and longer conversations. I remember a time when you did trust me.”

“Before I discovered how false your attentions were, you mean.”

“They were not all false,” he said softly. “And you know it.”

As he bent his head, a frisson of anticipation swept her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, though she very much feared she knew.

“Finding out if you taste as good as I remember.” Then he covered her mouth with his.
Acclaim for Sabrina Jeffries!

“Sabrina Jeffries’s wit, passion, and ardent characters will enthrall you.”

—Christina Dodd

“Anyone who loves romance must read Sabrina Jeffries!”

—Lisa Kleypas

And praise for her previous works of romantic fiction

The Royal Brotherhood Series

“Jeffries not only beguiles readers with scenes of passion and vivid characters but steadily builds the story

’s tension to an exciting conclusion. The details of gambling, mistresses, and scandalous conduct further enrich the tapestry against which this emotionally satisfying story plays out. Jeffries’s readers will be royally pleased.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Jeffries’s sparkling dialogue takes center stage in an emotional, highly sensual and powerfully romantic story…. All the characters have such depth they simply leap from the pages.”

—Romantic Times

“[T]he parallel courtships of the Tremaine and North siblings engage throughout. Readers will eagerly await the third brother’s story.”

—Publishers Weekly

IN THE PRINCE’S BED

“A traditional Regency told with sparkle and energy…. The chemistry among all the characters—not just the hero and heroine—ensures that there’s never a dull moment in this merry romp…. The attraction between the protagonists is electric, and it’s consistently entertaining to watch them juggle their various secrets. Fans of historical romances will find the simple pleasures of this novel irresistible.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Delightful, sensual, and poignant, Jeffries’s latest brings humor and pathos to a richly peopled tale. This is a delightful start to a new series featuring a trio of heroes to die for.”

—Romantic Times

Also by Sabrina Jeffries

Never Seduce a Scoundrel

One Night with a Prince

To Pleasure a Prince

In the Prince’s Bed

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 by Deborah Gonzales

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY

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To artist Ursula Vernon and doll lover Carlota Sage,who never cease to make me laugh. And to all the crew at Mr. Toad’s Coffee—thanks for keeping me supplied withthe best coffee in North Carolina!

Family Tree

Chapter One

LondonApril 1821

Dear Cousin Michael,

Do you know the Duke of Foxmoor who recently returned to England? I’ve heard such differing accounts of the scandal surrounding his departure that I hardly know what to believe. The two ladies most affected, Lady Draker and Lord Draker’s sister Louisa, say nothing of it. Does the duke mention it around other gentlemen?

Yours fondly,

Charlotte

N othing had changed in seven years.

And everything was different.

Simon Tremaine, the Duke of Foxmoor, stood on the granite gallery above his sister Regina’s gardens and warily surveyed her guests. Perhaps he was merely different. Before his term as Governor-General of India, he would have known precisely how to handle this assembly of the brightest and best of English society.

Now he felt like a stranger in his own country.

A screeching sounded in his left ear, reminding him he was not the only stranger. He reached up to scratch his pet monkey’s belly. “Yes, Raji, parties here are very different from those at Government House in Calcutta, are they not?”

No native orchestras playing with more enthusiasm than skill, no rich curries and peppered soups, no tropical palms dripping with coconuts. Here it was all practiced harpists, French sauces, and yew hedges dotted by beds of primrose.

And a host of new faces to attach to names, a host of new Members of Parliament to assess at this fete celebrating the birthday of the king’s bastard son.

“Regina could have warned me she meant to invite every bloody MP in the kingdom to her husband’s celebration,” he told Raji. “I am surprised that Draker allowed it. There was a time when he would have barred his estate to this lot.”

Simon started for the steps leading into the lamplit gardens, then froze as his gaze fell on the dark-haired woman who stood near the bottom.

Draker’s sister, Louisa North. Who was also the king’s bastard. And the very female who’d had him banished to India.

Regina had made it clear that her sister-in-law would be at the fete, yet expecting Louisa to attend and seeing her in the flesh were two entirely different things.

Especially when she looked like that.

Responding to the sudden tension in his master, Raji chattered madly. Simon nodded. “Yes, she was pretty before. But now…”

Sometime during his years abroad, the socially awkward innocent who had haunted his dreams had blossomed into a refined beauty.

Simon groaned. Why hadn’t her fruitless years on the marriage mart dulled her jeweled eyes or her sparkling laugh? Why hadn’t her rich meals at court transformed her lush figure into a stout one? She wasn’t the least bit stout, damn her.

But different, yes. Her appealing country-fresh features were now schooled into reserve. Even her China blue gown was restrained, a quietly elegant bit of female trickery that only hinted teasingly at the full glory of her curves. And gone were her girlish curls, replaced by a sophisticated swirl of black locks that begged to be taken down and kissed—

Bloody hell. How dared she still have this effect on him? His grandfather would turn over in his grave. After Simon’s reckless behavior with her, the aging Earl of Monteith had been livid. Simon would never forget what he’d said on Simon’s last visit to him before leaving for India. I knew you would prove as worthless as your father, pursuing pleasure before duty. Did you learn nothing from my training? You’re too much a slave to your passions to ever govern a country successfully.

Damn him and damn his “training.” Simon had proved his maternal grandfather wrong in India, where, except for his blunder at Poona, he had governed with skill. And now he would prove the man wrong in England, too, Louisa or no Louisa. He only wished Grandfather Monteith had not died before witnessing Simon’s triumph.

Raji danced restlessly on his shoulder and Simon rubbed the monkey’s shoulder to soothe him. “Yes, scamp. It’s best we join the crowd before anyone, especially Miss North, sees me eyeing her like some starving Hindu contemplating a bowl of rice.” He strode toward the steps.

“Your Grace!”

Simon turned to see a Castlemaine servant hurrying along the gallery. “My lady told me to watch for you,

” the man said as he reached Simon. “His Majesty asked that you join him in the rose garden at once.”

Deuce take it, someone else he didn’t want to see. Simon’s correspondence with his ex-friend had been limited to Indian government affairs. “What does His Majesty want?”

The servant blinked. “I-I don’t know. I was just sent to fetch you.” He eyed Raji warily. “Shall I put your creature in his cage first?”

“Raji attended over thirty balls in India. He will be fine.” Simon dismissed the servant with a nod. “Tell His Majesty I will be along presently.”

“Very good, sir,” the servant said, looking distinctly uneasy as he rushed off. Simon didn’t care. Let the king wait, the way he had made Simon wait all these years to continue his political career.

He started down the steps, only to realize that his way was blocked by Louisa and the elderly lady with whom she conversed. Good God, it was Lady Trusbut. He would know the bird-loving baroness anywhere. No one else would carry a feathered fan and a feathered reticule, not to mention the usual feathers in her gown and coiffure that made her look more like a poulterer than the wife of an influential member of the House of Lords.

When the harpists began a new piece and Lady Trusbut turned her head to listen, he noticed that she even wore a brilliantly plumed artificial peacock nestled in—

Damn. Raji!

Even as Simon thought it, he grabbed for his pet, but Raji was already scampering down the steps after the one thing that could tempt him to misbehave. Fake birds.

With great glee, Raji climbed Lady Trusbut’s back and dove into her coiffure after what he saw as a toy. Simon dashed after him with a curse, wincing when Lady Trusbut screamed…and kept screaming as Raji leaped about her head, tugging on the ornament firmly attached to Lady Trusbut’s hair.

“Raji, no!” he ordered, but his voice was drowned out by the panicked ones of guests who ran to her aid.

Meanwhile, Louisa was trying to coax the monkey onto her arm as Lady Trusbut lapsed into a sobbing chant, “Get-it-off—get-it-off—get-it-off—”

“Raji, come here!” Simon barked as he neared them.

This time both his pet and Louisa heard him.

Although Raji ignored him, Louisa did not. Her head whipped around, her eyes briefly filling with shock. Then her features smoothed into a composed mask. “I take it that this creature is yours.”

“Afraid so.” He scowled at his pet. “Come down this minute, you scamp!”

Simon reached for him, but Raji shrank back, taking the peacock with him and eliciting another screech from Lady Trusbut. For a monkey, Raji possessed a remarkably well-developed sense of self-preservation.

“You’re making it worse, Your Grace,” Louisa said. “He’s afraid of you.”

“The only thing he’s afraid of is losing that bloody bird,” Simon snapped, irritated that she could call him “

Your Grace” as if they were strangers.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Lady Trusbut grabbed at her head, then squealed when Raji dug in harder. “You mustn’t let that creature destroy my favorite peacock!”

“It’s all right,” Louisa said, “I’m sure we can find something else for him to demolish.”

She glanced about, then grabbed a cup from a passing footman. After dipping her finger in punch, she held it up to the monkey. “Ooh, smell that, Raji. Doesn’t that smell delicious?” She drank from the cup and smiled broadly, easing her finger closer to the monkey. “Yum, very sweet.”

Raji leaned near enough to lap her finger, first warily, then eagerly. She held the cup higher, and Raji reached for it with one hand, his other clasping the bird.

Louisa drew the cup back. “Oh no, dear boy, you must come here for it.”

As soon as Raji leaned toward the cup, Simon reached up to pry the monkey’s fingers from the peacock. Raji looked torn, but in the end the punch won and he leaped onto Louisa’s shoulder. Lady Trusbut gasped, but Louisa didn’t so much as flinch. With admirable calm, she coaxed the monkey into her arms and handed Raji the cup.