The Perfect Duke (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Read online

  “Then take Lore with you,” Asher said to Beatrix. Lore was currently working at his own property that was not far from the castle. Asher thought the matter quite settled after that.

  “But it’s a gift for Lore,” Brinley said, settling back into her chair. “I can’t take Lore and then surprise him later.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” Asher decided readily. He’d been going over Valiant’s ledgers with her. Her husband had died in a tragic fire eight months ago and though the two may have had their differences. he’d willed quite a sum on her in the event of his death. Thankfully, since his sister planned to remain at Ayers’ Castle during the Season, there was truly no rush to get it done.

  Brinley took a calming breath and met his gaze head on with her own dark one. “That is very kind of you, Your Grace, but do you plan to come with me every time I’d like something to be made?”

  Asher didn’t know Brinley well. He’d been aware of his brother’s true interest in her just weeks before Asher received the letter that announced their hasty wedding and trip to the Continent.

  Lady Brinley Soulden was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Tellock.

  Her sister, Arabella, had married Beatrix’s brother, the Earl of Dalewell, and thus Tellock’s family had been invited to last year’s country party.

  From the beginning, it had appeared that Brinley and Lore had formed some sort of attachment to one another, though Asher would have never guessed it to be love until some weeks later.

  He’d had one conversation with Lore about Brinley. He’d even encouraged his brother to go after her if it would make him happy. But his encouragement had only come after doing his own research into the woman.

  Brinley had helped Lore become focused in a way that Asher had failed to. Now, Lore was hoping to start his own horse-breeding empire, a field his brother knew everything about just from his sheer love of horses.

  Asher was happy for them.

  He wished to keep them happy. “I’ll speak to the blacksmith, if it will please you.” He’d do anything to ensure that Lore and Brinley’s child arrived whole and well.

  Brinley smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Valiant remained home, since she was still in mourning, but Beatrix joined them for the journey into town.

  The town of Ayers was small compared to London or even Bath, but much larger than most villages. A main road, paved with brick, led out toward others. With an ever-growing number of wealthy families, the streets remained busy during the day, which was reason enough for Asher to avoid coming often.

  Everyone stared at his carriage as they passed.

  “What will you say to the blacksmith?” Brinley asked brightly.

  “Or do you just plan to give him one of your most withering stares?” Beatrix added with a grin.

  Every time he was in Lady Beatrix’s company, he learned more about her. The more he learned, the more he was glad that she and his brother Lord Hero had found one another.

  And for very selfish reasons of his own.

  Their son John secured the family line. When Asher died, Hero would become duke and then John, since Asher had no ambitions to remarry.

  John had been named after their eldest brother, who’d died when he’d been a boy. Only Asher had known him, but he was glad that Hero had devised a way for him to be remembered by all.

  John’s passing had damaged a part of Asher’s soul.

  The passing of his first wife had sealed the decision to not entangle himself with anyone else again.

  When the carriage stopped, a footman assisted the women out and then Asher followed.

  The air smelled of iron. The blacksmith’s shop was made of the same stone as the road. A reddish brick with large open windows that allowed the heat from the ovens to escape. Tools of his trade lined the far side of the room, the metal stark against the walls. Firewood sat in a tall hill in the corner.

  Mr. Goodman, the blacksmith, recognized Asher on sight and smiled, but then he saw Brinley and his expression hardened. It seemed a true disagreement had taken place between these two.

  Brinley, who Asher had never known to lower her chin, lifted it higher, becoming quite haughty. “I suppose you’ll allow me to get what I want now.”

  “I see no husband present,” Mr. Goodman said.

  “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for,” Brinley said.

  “Stay as long as you wish, but my answer remains the same,” Goodman replied, right before he turned to the duke. He bowed. “Your Grace. How may I be of service to you?”

  Brinley was turning red.

  Beatrix grabbed her arm and began to whisper what Asher thought were soothing words.

  Asher only hoped this event did not spread through town. Mr. Goodman was well known and respected by nearly everyone around.

  For Brinley’s sake, he thought it best to keep it civil.

  “Mr. Goodman,” Asher began. “Give this lady whatever it is she asked for.”

  Mr. Goodman blinked and then bowed again. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Asher turned to Brinley. “Purchase what you want.”

  Brinley’s shoulders fell. “Is that all?”

  Asher nodded once. “What else would you have me do?”

  “Make him apologize,” Beatrix said. “He truly upset her.”

  Mr. Goodman began to shift from one foot to the other but kept his shoulders firm.

  “The man was only doing his job,” Asher said.

  “And is his job to make ladies feel small?” a feminine voice asked from the door.

  Asher spun around and nearly groaned at the sight of Lady Everly Wycliff. She was the very last woman Asher wished to see in a situation such as this. Or at all, really.

  “Everly!” Brinley beamed. She and Beatrix rushed to the woman as though it weren’t just a few weeks ago that they’d seen one another.

  “Oh, Everly,” Brinley said. “I should have brought you with me when I came earlier.”

  “Is there a problem?” Everly asked.

  “No problem,” Asher said. “Lady Brinley is just about to make her purchase and then we are leaving.”

  Everly’s golden gaze lifted to his. “Likely not for you, Your Grace. After all, you are not only a duke but a man.” She said the last word as though it were a plague, a disease that had taken hold of him.

  That always bothered Asher, her negative view of men in power. It was not Asher who’d made the laws of their land or the laws of nature even.

  He often wondered if she understood the value of the stronger sex and how men, even the men of his own bloodline, had lived and died to give her everything she possessed.

  He often wanted to teach the woman a lesson on the values of men, but then, where to start?

  She started toward him.

  She wore green today, a striking color that made her red curls seem like living flames. The jade muslin bodice cupped her well-endowed figure to the point of near offering.

  He easily imagined taking her breasts within his palms.

  He cut his gaze away to quiet the growing want inside him, a want that would do neither of them any good.

  She was beautiful and looked nearly a decade younger than she truly was, yet her mind was that of a woman of many years. One clearly set in her ways.

  Asher kept his eyes above the creamy swell of flesh as she neared him and the blacksmith. Her sensual strut had the power to gain the attention of a man on death’s door. He fought the need to take a step away at the last minute.

  “Mr. Goodman,” Everly purred. “I believe I came to you with the order of dull swords for the masquerade next week. It was a grand order, is that correct?”

  “That is correct, my lady,” Mr. Goodman said nervously. “The order is almost complete.” His treatment of Everly was clearly different than that of Brinley. “I can show you—”

  “Well, I cannot abide a man who mistreats women, especially women who are with child. Truly, I cannot bear the thought.” Ever
ly looked down as if to consider her words. “I may have to cancel my order altogether.”

  Asher was shocked at the turn of events.

  As was Goodman. His hands came up. “My lady, please. The order is nearly complete.” And if she didn’t pay, he’d have lost valuable time and thus money. He turned to Asher for aid, which Asher knew to be the very worst thing to do.

  If there was one thing Everly detested, it was having her power taken.

  “I shall get swords elsewhere,” she declared.

  “Wait! No! My lady.” He turned to Asher again.

  And again, it was the wrong decision.

  Everly balled her fists.

  Asher cleared his throat. “Lady Wycliff, perhaps—”

  Fire blazed in her eyes. “Don’t you dare!”

  Asher should have known better than to step into this battle, but like a fool, he’d done it anyway. He was not afraid of Lady Everly, he simply knew that with a woman like her, there was no winning.

  She spun toward the door.

  “My lady, please,” Mr. Goodman begged.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  “Apologize to Lady Brinley,” Asher demanded.

  The shop went quiet.

  Goodman looked amazed.

  “Lady Wycliff is right,” Asher went on. “You should have treated Lady Brinley with the respect she deserved as a patron of your shop.”

  “But, Your Grace,” Mr. Goodman said. “I was only doing my job.”

  “And now your job is to apologize to the ladies in this room,” Asher said, making it clear he’d allow no further protest.

  Mr. Goodman looked away and then frowned at Brinley. “My sincere apologies.”

  “And you’ll inform the other shop owners that Lady Brinley is allowed to do whatever she wishes with her funds,” Asher continued. “I’ll not hear word of a similar incident again. No one is to make life hard for her. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  He turned to Brinley. “What is it that you wished to buy?” He was ready to leave.

  Brinley was beaming brightly at him. “A battle ax in the Norse style, like used by the Vikings. I want an inscription as well.” Rumor had it that Viking blood coursed through the Curbains. Lore’s estate held much of that history. The battle ax was fitting and a good gift.

  Mr. Goodman directed Brinley where she may write her inscription. Beatrix went to help and, as they did so, Asher stepped away.

  Toward Everly.

  She stood like an unyielding centurion at the door with a near military look in her eyes.

  * * *

  “I take it you’ve not changed your mind,” Asher said in a low voice at her side.

  Everly was as startled by his approach as she’d been when he’d taken her side on the matter with Mr. Goodman.

  And now he was speaking directly to her.

  Had she changed her mind?

  No, she would not. “I can get swords elsewhere.”

  “The next blacksmith is miles from here. It would take you the rest of the day to get there, and there is no way he’d finish your order in time for the party.”

  Ah. So, he’d approached not for the pleasure of her company but to rescue the blacksmith.

  She was not surprised at all by that. Though she thought Asher dull, she couldn’t claim him to be anything but a good man. She knew he was protective of his family from what Brinley and Beatrix told her. Even now, he stood in the blacksmith’s shop because Brinley had clearly needed assistance.

  Another lord would have sent a servant. Asher had come himself.

  Because he cared?

  She didn’t know. Perhaps, this had everything to do with duty and nothing more.

  “Forgive Mr. Goodman and pay him what he’s owed,” Asher urged.

  “What he’s owed?” She turned to him then. “What about what I’m owed?”

  “And what are you owed?” he asked, giving her his focused and undivided attention.

  Everly found herself upset at his unruffled nature. As usual, there was an eternal calm air about the great Duke of Ayers. Looking into his blue gaze reminded her of the tranquil waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

  Tranquil and picturesque.

  She lost her train of thought.

  He was not the most handsome man she knew. In fact, of the three Curbain men, Lore was the charmer. Then Hero.

  Still, there was something about the duke that always led Everly to believe that had he been any other man, Asher would have been a very dangerous rake.

  It was his eyes and the way he looked at her, as though he could see past her skin and to the heart of a woman, knowing exactly what would please her most.

  But that man was not Asher, Everly reminded herself. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never so much as taken a mistress… unless, of course, he was being very discreet.

  How honorable.

  Diana and Abigail were right.

  There was a regalness about him.

  His face was almost too masculine. His strong nose was a remnant of the Roman blood that pumped through his veins along with his hard mouth and the waves of golden locks that she knew were hidden under his hat. Years ago, he’d smiled often, but not anymore.

  Why had he not remarried? It was as fine a question as any. Though Asher was far from the sort of man who drew Everly, he was perfect for others.

  “My lady?” Asher asked.

  Everly took an even breath. “Respect. I deserve respect, as does Brinley.”

  “You may have forgotten,” he began. “But it was just last autumn that a certain lady made a very large purchase in this town. The money, as it would happen, didn’t belong to her.”

  Everly recognized the story immediately.

  The lady in question had been Brinley’s sister, Lady Arabella, who’d stolen a great sum from Brinley in order to buy her husband a phaeton with beautiful black horses. Everything had been trimmed with gold and sold once again when the truth came out.

  Arabella and Brinley had since become friends once more, but it appeared the town had not forgotten that particular incident.

  It lowered Everly’s anger a little. “One never stops a man from spending stolen coin. It’s still not fair.”

  “You are correct,” Asher said, surprising her with his agreement.

  They rarely spoke. Sometimes, Everly believed him to be avoiding her, but then she thought that silly. Nothing scared the Duke of Ayers.

  “However,” Asher went on. “There is no reason to make Mr. Goodman your enemy, is there? He has apologized, has he not?”

  “But did he mean it?” she asked.

  “Must you always ride in the Calvary?” he asked. “There is no war to be had here.”

  “But there is.” How could he not see it? It was because he was a man, a duke, one of the most powerful men in London. He didn’t know what it was to depend on someone else for everything.

  She swallowed as she thought about her father.

  Never had there been a harder dictator than he.

  Asher gaze became hooded in an almost exasperating way, but he said nothing.

  The room felt hot to Everly suddenly. She needed air.

  She turned to Mr. Goodman. “I’ll expect my order on time.”

  Mr. Goodman’s smile split his face. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsey before stepping out the door.

  She’d barely crossed the threshold when Diana arrived. “Everly! I thought I saw you slip into the blacksmith’s shop, but I wasn’t sure.” She looked past her at Asher. “Your Grace. You will come to the masquerade, won’t you?”

  “Diana,” Everly said. “I already told you that His Grace doesn’t attend such events.”

  “I will be there.”

  Asher’s words made Everly gasp.

  She turned to him and looked him in the eyes. “And exactly what do you plan to dress as?”

  Asher’s expression was unchanged. “
I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see like everyone else. Won’t you?”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 4

  How dare she try to speak for him? As if she knew him. It didn’t matter that Asher had already declined her invitation and placed it into a pile to be sent out with other missives. Everly did not know him.

  He’d made sure of that.

  There was so much about him she didn’t know, that she’d never know.

  Like the fact that years ago, she’d almost found herself to be his wife.

  As Asher searched his closets for something that would be appropriate for a masquerade, he thought about the night he’d found his and Everly’s fathers finalizing the match at a Reddington Ball.

  For years, their fathers had spoken of it, mostly in jest, Asher had thought, but apparently not. Young Everly was to become the Duchess of Ayers, but Asher hadn’t taken it too seriously until the night of the Reddington Ball.

  Everly had been so young at fifteen, yet even then it had been clear that the last thing she wished to become was a duchess. She’d craved her freedom and Asher, even at twenty-three, knew it was wise to not take a wife who wished to be free of him.

  He’d married Lady Mary Sommer instead, with his father’s permission, of course.

  Lord Ellervear, Everly’s father, had not been pleased, but there had been nothing he could do about it.

  And then the man had died, and Everly had truly been liberated.

  He often wondered how she’d have reacted to the truth.

  That he’d almost been her husband.

  And that a few years ago, after the death of his wife, he’d begun to look at Everly differently.

  By her twentieth year, she’d stopped looking so very much like a child. Her body had grown to that of a woman.

  And Asher’s infatuation had grown, a craving that burned deep within.

  Even now, he sometimes imagined that she was his.

  And the hunger to possess her grew with each passing glance.

  She’d likely plot his murder if she were to ever hear his thoughts.

  He’d done his best to avoid her, which was now becoming harder. She’d been invited by Lore and Valiant to their country party last year. Asher had spoken to her as little as possible, but now with Brinley for a sister-in-law and Everly the godmother of the coming child, it would be impossible.