The Duke and the Dressmaker (The St. James Series)

Prologue

In the confines of the small box, Sara willed her body to calm.
Slow deep breaths. Replace your restlessness with serenity and you will endure. Slow, slower, slower
, her mind chanted. In order to survive this imprisonment, she needed to be calm, to be in control. Her tongue touched the fabric stuck in her mouth and she choked.
Ignore the grime and grit of the sour-tasting gag.
You are strong, you have value, you can do this
. The smell of dead fish assaulted the fine hairs in her nostrils. Rough movements jarred her senses again as her new prison bounced over what sounded like old rickety boards. How long could she endure having her limbs twisted unnaturally as they were inside this stifling box?

She thought of all that had transpired since she had met the Duke of
Brentwood, of how peaceful her life had been prior to the day Philip St. James had marched into her life. No, not marched, but emblazoned his essence into her core.

Yet, in a matter of hours, she had found herself tortured by Stinky, mauled by a dandy, drugged by a courtesan. Her last whereabouts had been a whorehouse, her last friend, a whore.

Fight? For what? She had been sold as if she were a piece of raw meat, and now was about to sail across the ocean. Who would miss her? Let go.

Let go
.

Nothing matters anymore.
She had no reason to live
.
Her breathing became irregular, something was wrong. She could no longer hang on. Her eyes closed as she fought for a very shallow breath.

No reason to live
, she chanted.

No reason to live
….

No reason…

…

…

Philip! I love you. Save me. Don’t give up on me. Please find me.

Her eyes flew open
. She kicked her legs as hard as she could. How she wished she could shout, could get this awful tasting gag out of her mouth. Twisting and throwing her shoulders inside the small compartment, she rocked and rocked and rocked…

She rocked as hard as she could until the entire
trunk swayed under her weight.

Philip!

Chapter One

Much
earlier in the year

London,
spring 1812

“Someone needs to remind that woman of her place in the
ton.
Why, she acts as if she is the patroness of Almack’s.” Mary St. James, the Dowager Duchess of Brentwood, stared wide-eyed at her son seated across from her in the carriage. “Really, Philip, it would please me if you would do something about the woman. Must she be at the center of attention for everything? Even a wedding?” The duchess crossed her arms.

Unfortunately, Philip St. James, the
sixth Duke of Brentwood, knew exactly whom his mother referred to and whom she considered the “someone” to be. He was going to have to deal with Miranda Montrose, his current paramour, or his mother would be expounding on his extracurricular activities.

“Of course, Mother. As soon as the carriage stops rolling, I will speak with
Lady Montrose.” He attempted to stop his eyes from rolling but failed.

“Philip?”

“Yes, Mother, I will take care of it.”

“Who is the poor woman that is the object of her ire? She is a pretty little thing.
Poor girl. Lady Montrose would frighten the daylights out of anyone.” His mother shook her head in pity.

Unfortunately, their carriage
sat in a long line awaiting arrival at the front of St. George’s Church in Hanover Square. Philip rapped his cane against the roof of his carriage a few times to get his driver’s attention. Probably best to get this done as soon as possible. Much as he loved his mother, he knew that once she set her mind to something, she would not give up.

Nor did he expect Miranda Montrose to show any morsel
of good sense. Contrary to most of the
ton,
Miranda loved to have attention thrown her way. He chastised himself. Why did he persist in continuing his affair with someone so coarse? A courtesan would be easier and probably less expensive than Lady Montrose, with all the jewels he lavished on the miserable woman. But he did have needs, even his own mother must be aware of a man’s needs. He paid very well for his paramour to use discretion. Apparently, her memory was short.

As his footman opened the door, Philip glanced at his mother. “I will await you at the front of the church, Mother.”

He sighed as he headed down the street toward the screeching woman.

“You have no right to be here, missy, so take yourself away. You may have been a member of the
ton
at one time, but no more. I will have you removed if you step inside that church, Sara.”

Miranda Montrose had her back to
him as he strode toward her. She did make an enticing picture from behind. Her nicely rounded bottom matched her voluptuous bosom. Philip was well aware of her curves and the pleasure they were capable of providing. It was unfortunate she possessed the raw mannerisms of a circus performer to go along with her looks. Ah, well, usually he only had to deal with her in the bedroom for the short time she’d been his paramour.

Ever since his
ex-wife had run off with another man, Philip had great difficulty bearing the company of women other than his family members. Miranda fit only because she could take care of his needs without bothering him in the daylight. Amazing how a few expensive jewels could guarantee a man’s whims were met.

Philip finally took his eyes off Miranda’s
derriere as he stepped next to her. “Is there a problem, Lady Montrose?” He intentionally used his deepest voice to intimidate her. Miranda jumped and stared up at him. He restrained his smug smile at how easily he accomplished his objective.

“Your Grace, I beg your pardon.
How may I help you?” Miranda blushed a deep shade of red.

“Why, thank you kindly for offering,
Lady Montrose. You may remove yourself. I will take care of the problem.” His icy glare often achieved the same results with her.

“But
, Your Grace, you do not understand. This chit…”

His
eyebrows rose as he stared at Miranda. He hadn’t even bothered to see who she’d insulted. He needed to stop her verbal assault of the poor thing before his mother drew close enough to descend her carriage and start speaking. His mother’s involvement would guarantee it would be in every newspaper in London by morning.

Miranda stopped instantly
. Dropping a brief curtsy, she turned and fled.

Thank the saints above
, Philip thought as he turned to face the unfortunate recipient of Miranda’s tirade.

His
gaze fell on a beautiful, brown-haired young woman. He guessed her to be in her early twenties. She was tall and willowy, quite the opposite of Miranda’s buxom figure, yet full of curves in the right places. He was embarrassed to admit he couldn’t stop himself from taking a full-length perusal of her. Rarely did a woman attract his attention since his wife had done her nasty deed.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, his friend Edward
Davis, the fourth Earl of Ardleigh, appeared at his side.

“I say,
Brentwood, you have finally met Lady Downey.” Ardleigh clasped Philip’s shoulder. “What a lovely young woman she is. I couldn’t help but hear the tension coming from Lady Montrose. It could not have been aimed at this young lady. She is certainly a treasure.”

Philip froze. Downey
? Lady Downey? As in the wife of the man that ran off with his ex-wife, Caroline? The blood pulsated through his brain, the pressure building, clearly affecting his ability to think. His jaw clenched, and his fists tightened so his nails dug into the flesh of his palms.

Philip forced his gaze from Lady Downey’s and stared at
Ardleigh. “We have not met, Ardleigh. I have just come upon her as she was being treated rudely by Lady Montrose.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Your Grace
.” Ardleigh took a step back. “Let me introduce you to Lady Sara Downey.” Edward started a lazy smile. “Lady Downey, this is the Honorable Philip St. James, the Duke of Brentwood.”

Philip’s hand brushed her
gloved fingertips. He bowed briefly to her as she curtsied, their eyes steady on each other. As Sara stood, she pulled her hand back and nodded. “Your Grace.”

Philip tried to force his mind
back into action. This little thing had been married to the man his ex-wife claimed to love. He assessed her carefully. Her hair was more than brown; it was a rich chestnut sable with little curls framing her face. She was dressed in a soft green gown that made her emerald eyes glow. The gown fit tightly in just the right places, accentuating her breasts. Her pert nose actually came up to his chin. He imagined her long legs wrapped around him and had to mentally shake himself. Best of all were her full, pink lips.

It had been a long time since a woman affected him so.
He forced himself to think of the conniving, deceitful ways of the fairer sex, raising his ire.

But then he reined in his impulse
to insult her. After all, she had not run away with his wife, her husband had. Would he ever be able to get past the pain his wife had caused?

“Lady Downey, may I assist you in some way? I would be happy to allow you the use of my carriage if it would help.” Her face flushed a
t the attention of the people around them. Hellfire, her beauty stunned him, hit him right in the gut, and soon would make its way right to his groin if he didn’t gain control again.

Sara stiffened, acutely aware of the
onlookers gathering around them. Instant quiet descended on the group as the crowd awaited her answer to the duke.

She lifted her chin a notch. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I am perfectly capable of finding my own way.”

Philip could not focus on her words
. What spell had this woman cast on him? He envisioned her with her chestnut locks down, flowing over her naked body.

No
. She was a bloody female. She would want something from him: jewels, money, clothing, travel, or who knows what else. That’s what Caroline had taught him.

But there was something about her that was different.
Something in her eyes caused his breath to hitch. He couldn’t reconcile the inconsistencies in his mind. He guessed her breasts would fit his hands perfectly, just the way he liked them. Any more was a waste, wasn’t it?

He pictured her
nude with a large ruby necklace wrapped around her throat, her luscious mouth smiling at him.

A rude comment came from the crowd.
Fire lit her eyes. Oh, she was a passionate one. He could envision her writhing in ecstasy beneath him.

Bloody hell! Stop thinking with your favorite organ,
Brentwood!
He chastised his traitorous mind.

Another
snide utterance echoed in his ear. He reached out in a flash, grabbing the guilty party and tugging him forward.

With his hand tightening the man’s neck cloth, Philip spoke loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“Apologize to the lady, young man.”

Philip glared at the guilty party, tightened his grip enough to turn the man’s face a bit purple before
the offender sputtered, “Your pardon, Madam.”

He released him
, and the man stumbled before running away.

Philip’s eyes never left hers. He couldn’t look away
; he was mesmerized.

Sara stared up into the duke’s ice blue eyes. He was dark and dangerous looking, but she refused to back down to the crowd around her. She deserved to be treated with respect as much as anyone. Miranda Montrose was plain crude.

“Thank you, Your Grace, but it was not necessary. I am quite able to take care of myself.”

She knew how this looked, to have the duke speaking to a member of the gentry, or a laborer as she now was. Lady Montrose was correct in one respect
: she was no longer a member of the
ton
since her husband had left her.

She searched his face again. While probably one of the handsome
st men she had ever met, the coldness in his eyes was enough to drive anyone away, leaving no real stretch of the imagination to understand why his wife had left him. Cold eyes and a hard heart made a sad combination. She could almost force an ounce of sorrow for him, since she recalled how it felt to be deserted by one’s spouse.

Now locked in a
staring contest, he broke her gaze when he turned to his mother at his elbow.

“Why,
Brentwood, introduce me to your new friend.” The duchess smiled at Sara.

The
duke reached for his mother’s hand. “Good morning again, Mother. May I introduce you to Lady Sara Downey? Lady Downey, my mother, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Brentwood.”

Sara again curtsied and said, “
I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

“Oh, child, don’t be silly
. You do not need to curtsy to me. Why does your name sound so familiar? Sara Downey, hmmm. Do I know your mother, Lady Downey?”

Brentwood
sighed with exasperation. “No, Mother, you recognize her name because it was Lady Downey’s unhappy husband that seduced my wife.”

She
grabbed Sara’s hands and searched her eyes with sympathy. “Pardon me, Lady Downey, I did not mean to bring up such a subject. Why, you have been through quite a time of it, have you not? What a terrible thing to happen to one so young.”

Sara
glanced at the duchess. “If you will excuse me, please, I really must be going.” She curtsied and turned to flee. The crowd dispersed slowly after she departed.

“What a lovel
y girl, Philip, don’t you think?” His mother beamed a smile.

“No, I don’t, Mother. Her husband
ran away with my wife, and a great deal of our money. I don’t think there is anything lovely about her, with all due respect.” Philip leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Oh, Philip, you really must get over it, dear. You are a grown man
. Find someone else. Just about anyone would be better for you than that one you married.” His mother patted his hand as if he were ten years old again and walked away.

She was an original. His mother never went with society about titles and such. She persisted in calling him just “Philip” instead of “
Your Grace” or “The Duke.” She did the same with all his siblings, using their first names at home, but as she said, since she had given birth to them, she had the right to call them whatever she wanted. Most of the time, it was his given name, though she had been known in the past to call him some names that were best forgotten. However, those were in the days before he gained the title of duke five years ago upon his father’s death.

“That was kind of you,
Ardleigh, making sure the
ton
has something to talk about tomorrow. Did you really need to introduce us?” the duke asked quietly.

“Actually,
Brentwood, I thought it might help you to see who else your wife hurt by her actions. Of course, the fact Lady Downey is one fine specimen of a woman helped. But you probably didn’t notice, did you? Caroline has ruined you in more ways than one.” Ardleigh’s gaze pierced his.