In Bed With the Duke Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Teaser chapter

  PRAISE FOR CHRISTINA DODD’S DARKNESS CHOSEN NOVELS

  Into the Flame

  “Alluring and intriguing.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Sizzling sensuality. A book by Dodd is always worth reading.”

  —Romantic Times

  “[A]n explosive page-turner.”

  —Eye on Romance

  “Once again Christina Dodd weaves her spell.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  “Loyalty, love, and strength resonate on every page.”

  —Huntress Book Reviews

  “[E]njoyable and easy to get caught up in.”

  —The Road to Romance

  “[A]ddictive . . . We’re excited to finally have Firebird’s story.”

  —Rendezvous

  “[A] stunning tale of love, of sin and redemption, of exciting adventure.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Into the Shadow

  “[F]antastic. I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat. . . . Wonderfully conceived and executed . . . Dodd conveys a tremendous sense of place. . . . All in all, a gorgeous book.”

  —Errant Dreams Reviews

  “[T]he cliff-hanger ending is sure to whet appetites.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Ms. Dodd has once again created an amazing novel.”

  —Eye on Romance

  “Dodd builds believable characters which draw you in quickly.”

  —The Road to Romance

  “Another stellar book from a most talented author!”

  —Romantic Times

  FURTHER PRAISE FOR CHRISTINA DODD

  “A star in any genre!”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author J. R. Ward

  “Sexy and tormented, the men of the Darkness Chosen are darkly appealing.”

  —Rendezvous

  “[A] fantastic read with a mysterious, darkly seductive hero, an independent and admirable heroine, and a sexy, fast-paced plot.”

  —Romance Roundtable

  “[A] powerful book, sensual, even erotic, but also otherworldly and mystical . . . I enthusiastically award a Perfect 10 to Christina Dodd’s Into the Shadow.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “The action is nonstop; the sex is primal.”

  —Romance Novel TV

  Touch of Darkness

  “A sweeping saga of good and evil . . . one of her best to date.”

  —Library Journal

  “Enthralling, intense.”

  —The State (Columbia, SC)

  “Filled with action and adventure . . . A must read.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Christina Dodd demonstrates why she is such a popular writer, in any genre. The characters are boldly drawn, with action on all sides. Readers will be riveted until the final page.”

  —A Romance Review

  Scent of Darkness

  “The first in a devilishly clever, scintillatingly sexy new paranormal series by Christina Dodd.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “[A] satisfying series kickoff . . . [A] fast-paced, well-written paranormal with a full, engaging mythology and a handful of memorable characters.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Multigenre genius Dodd dives headfirst into the paranormal real with . . . a scintillating and superb novel!”

  —Romantic Times (top pick, 4½ stars)

  Thigh High

  “A joy to experience!”

  —Romantic Times (top pick, 4½ stars)

  “Christina Dodd is a master.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Twists and turns and sizzling-hot sensuality.”

  —Romance Novel TV

  Danger in a Red Dress

  “Deliciously suspenseful.”

  —Booklist

  “Fans will relish [it].”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Tongue in Chic

  “Christina Dodd is my go-to author when I want outrageously entertaining romantic suspense.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Another of [Dodd’s] superbly sexy literary confections.”

  —Booklist

  Trouble in High Heels

  “A book by Christina Dodd is like a glass of champagne . . . sparkling and sinfully delicious.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lisa Kleypas

  “Dodd will dazzle readers with this . . . deliciously sensual romance.”

  —Booklist

  ... AND HER OTHER NOVELS

  “Dodd delivers. . . . This romantic suspense novel is a delicious concoction that readers will be hard-pressed not to consume in one gulp.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Dodd’s hot contemporary romance [is] a delight.”

  —Booklist

  “Sexy and witty, daring and delightful.”

  —Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling

  author of After Midnight

  NOVELS BY CHRISTINA DODD

  Danger in a Red Dress

  Thigh High

  Tongue in Chic

  Trouble in High Heels

  NOVELS IN THE DARKNESS CHOSEN SERIES

  Scent of Darkness

  Touch of Darkness

  Into the Shadow

  Into the Flame

  NOVELS IN THE CHOSEN ONES SERIES

  Storm of Visions

  Storm of Shadows

  SIGNET

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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&n
bsp; Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, March 2010

  Copyright © Christina Dodd, 2010

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18551-3

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

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

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Scott and Jerry,

  the little boys who wore old hats, put broomsticks through

  the shoulders of old coats, stuck straw in the sleeves, and

  rode their neighborhood on make-believe horses to fight for

  justice.

  They were the Scarecrows of Romney Marsh.

  Long may their spirit reign.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing my first historical in four years was a labor of love, and my pleasure was intensified by the enthusiastic support of the NAL team. Leslie Gelbman, Kara Welsh, and Claire Zion, as always I appreciate you. A special thank-you and welcome to Jesse Feldman, who keeps the office running. This spectacular cover was the concept and work of NAL’s brilliant art department led by Anthony Ramondo. Thank you! My appreciation to the publicity department with my special people, Craig Burke and Jodi Rosoff. My thanks to the production department, and of course, a special thank-you to the spectacular Penguin sales department. Finally, my heartfelt appreciation to my editor, Kara Cesare, who contributes so much to my work with her discerning eye and tactful suggestions.

  Most especially, thank you to all the readers who, like me, love a rollicking historical romance. Here’s to you!

  Chapter One

  Moricadia, 1849

  The four-piece ensemble ceased playing, and with exquisite timing, Comte Cloutier delivered the line sure to command the attention of all the guests within earshot. “Have you heard, Lady Lettice, of the ghost who rides in the night?”

  Certainly he commanded the attention of the Englishman Michael Durant, heir apparent to the Duke of Nevitt. There had been little to interest him at Lord and Lady Thibault’s exclusive ball. It was an exact clone of every English ball he had ever attended, and indeed of every Prussian ball, every French ball, every Venetian ball. . . . He had made the Grand Tour, and discovered that the wealthy imitated one another to the point of boredom.

  Now, tonight, the musicians played, the guests danced, the food was fashionable, and the gambling room was full. Prince Sandre and his henchmen circulated, lending the patina of royalty to the gathering.

  But of useful reports, there had been nothing . . . until now. And now, Michael knew, only because Cloutier failed to comprehend the seriousness of his faux pas. He failed to realize that by tomorrow he would be gone, thrown out of Moricadia and traveling back to France while cursing his own penchant for gossip.

  With every evidence of interest, Michael strolled closer, to stand near the group of suitors surrounding Lady Lettice Surtees.

  “A ghost?” Lady Lettice gave a tiny, high-pitched scream worthy of a young girl’s alarm. “No! Pray tell, what does this ghost do?” Before Cloutier could answer she swung around to her paid companion, a girl of perhaps twenty, and snapped, “Make yourself useful, girl! Fan me! Dancing with so many admirers is quite fatiguing.”

  The girl—a poor, downtrodden wisp of a thing with a lace cap set over dull brown hair—nodded mutely. From the large reticule she wore attached to her waist, she withdrew an ivory-and-lace fan, took her place at Lady Lettice’s right shoulder, and fanned her abruptly flushed and sweating mistress.

  Lady Lettice complained, “It’s too warm in here. Don’t you agree it’s warm in here, Lord Escobar?”

  Escobar hovered at her left elbow. “Indeed, you are right, señorita, an unseasonably warm summer evening.”

  It was a gross flattery to call Lady Lettice “señorita”—she was a widow, in her early forties, with the beginnings of the jowls that would plague her old age. But her bosoms were impressive and displayed to advantage by her immodestly low-cut, ruffled bodice, and her waist was made tiny by her stays, which had been tightened enough to impede her breathing and make the dancing, as she said, fatiguing.

  None of that really mattered, because Lady Lettice was wealthy, and the half dozen men around her knew it. They jockeyed for position beside her gilded chair, offering cool goblets of champagne, smiling toothily, and, behind her back, examining the debutantes lined up along the wall, girls who were prettier and far younger, but without the necessary riches to make a good match.

  “So, Cloutier, tell me about this ghost.” Lady Lettice withdrew a white cotton handkerchief from between her breasts and blotted her damp upper lip.

  “This ghost—he is called the Reaper. He rides at night, in utter silence, a massive white figure in fluttering rags atop a giant white horse. His skin is death, his clothes are rags, and where his eyes should be, there are only black holes. A terrifying apparition, yet the peasants whisper of him fondly, claiming he is the specter of Reynaldo, dead two hundred years and the last king of Moricadian blood.”

  “Peasants,” Lady Lettice said contemptuously. “Peasants know nothing.”

  “I would not argue with you there,” Cloutier agreed. “But not only peasants have seen this ghost. Others who have come to this fair city to take the waters and enjoy the gaming tables have seen him, too. The rumor claims that if you’re not Moricadian, and if you are unlucky enough to see the Reaper, you should flee at once, for this fearsome phantom”—Cloutier lowered his voice in pitch and volume—“is a sign of impending doom.”

  Michael snorted, the sound breaking the shocked silence.

  At once, Lady Lettice fixed him with her gaze. “You’re impertinent. Do you know who this man is?” She gestured to Cloutier.

  Her paid companion might be a mouse, but she was an intelligent, observant mouse, for she squeaked a small warning and flapped the fan harder.

  Lady Lettice paid no heed. “He is Comte Cloutier, of one of the finest noble families in France. One does not snort when he speaks.”

  “One does if one is Michael Durant, the heir to the Nevitt dukedom.” Cloutier bowed to Michael.

  “Oh.” Lady Lettice didn’t bother to be embarrassed by her discourtesy. She was too enthralled by her newest prospect of a suitor. “My lord. Your grace.” She fumbled, not knowing quite what to call him.

  Cloutier met Michael’s gaze and, knowing Lady Lettice aimed too high, did the honors. “Lady Lettice Surtees, this is Lord—”

&nb
sp; “Please.” Michael held up a hand. “In England, my name is old and honored. In Moricadia, I am nothing but a political prisoner, a nonentity, a man who has vanished from the world I knew due to the oppression of the ruling family and Prince Sandre. Call me Durant. It is the only decent title for a disgrace such as me . . . and I confess, I should be ashamed to use my family name so shabbily.” His voice was a low rasp.

  Lady Lettice looked appalled. “A political prisoner? I am shocked, gentlemen. Shocked! How is this possible?”

  “The only ghost in Moricadia is me, my lady, for until I was allowed out for this one night, my existence has been no more than a rumor.” Michael bowed and walked away, projecting tragedy with a surety that would have commanded the admiration of the stage actor Edmund Kean.

  “The poor man.” Lady Lettice spoke in a whisper so high as to pierce the ears. “What did he do?”

  Michael paused behind a marble pillar to hear the answer.

  No one replied at first; then Escobar reluctantly said, “Durant fell foul of the de Guignards. They own this country. They rule this country. The first de Guignards deposed King Reynaldo—murdered him—and now the de Guignards crush the native Moricadians beneath their jeweled heels.” He lowered his voice even more. “There are rumors of rebellion and that the true king is returning to claim his throne.”

  “How romantic!” Lady Lettice clutched her hands at her bosom.

  “Yes, except that the de Guignards accused Durant of assisting the rebels, and for these two years, it has been generally believed he was dead. Only recently has it come to light that Lord and Lady Fanchere, trusted allies of Prince Sandre, are holding him under house arrest.” In a mere whisper, Escobar added, “It is rumored he spent most of that two years in the medieval dungeon below the royal palace.”

  A silence fell as the little crowd observed Sandre. He stood across the ballroom near the dais where the ensemble played, suave and trim in his ceremonial uniform covered with medals. Sycophants surrounded him, and he played the role of noble prince with a sure hand, charming the wealthy who came to Moricadia to visit, to gamble, and to rub shoulders with easily accessible royalty.