A Duke She Can't Refuse Read online

  A Duke She Can’t Refuse

  Gemma Blackwood

  Copyright © by Gemma Blackwood

  All rights reserved.

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  About Gemma Blackwood

  I love hearing from my readers! If you have any questions, comments, or just want to get in touch, please email me at

  [email protected].

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  Standalones

  The Duke’s Defiant Debutante

  Destiny’s Duchess

  Redeeming the Rakes Series

  The Duke Suggests a Scandal

  Taming the Wild Captain

  Let the Lady Decide

  Make Me a Marchioness

  Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall

  The Earl’s Secret Passion

  The Duke’s Hidden Desire

  The Lady He Longed For

  The Baron’s Inconvenient Bride

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Free Reads from Gemma Blackwood!

  Also by Gemma Blackwood

  1

  Daisy Morton was standing in the one of the most magnificent rooms she had ever seen, but she refused to let her admiration show. She was a Morton of Shipwood Hall, after all, the sister of a baron and the stepdaughter of the Earl of Peyton, and if she was not used to grand houses by now, she never would be.

  Besides, this was only the second drawing room in the Duke of Loxwell’s London residence. Apparently, there was another, still more impressive room where the duke received the really important guests. And Daisy was certainly not one of those.

  “What do you think of our new place?” whispered Edith, Daisy’s closest friend. When her brother inherited the dukedom, Miss Edith Balfour had become Lady Edith Balfour, but she had not picked up much refinement along the way. She clutched Daisy’s hand, grinned up at the intricately moulded ceiling, and gave a sigh of delight. “I cannot get used to it. So many rooms! I thought I would get lost when the housekeeper showed us around. You must come and stay with us soon, Daisy, you simply must.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Daisy breathed. “But…”

  Edith’s face fell. “But what?”

  Daisy glanced towards Alexander Balfour, Duke of Loxwell, who was talking solemnly with the late duke’s widow and her lawyer. Daisy could not imagine that he would approve of her as a houseguest. Alexander was a stern young man with a legendary regard for the rules, and Daisy and her family were somewhat less conventional – to put it mildly. She was sure that he no more than tolerated her friendship with his sisters, and she had no desire to test his limits.

  As she searched for a delicate way to decline Edith’s invitation, her eyes lingered on the duke’s chiselled face a moment too long. Not for the first time – though, if she had any sense at all, it would be the last. Alexander had been a duke for a matter of months, but Daisy’s fascination with him had begun over a year before. There was something about a man with the broad shoulders of a prize-fighter and the impeccable dress of a gentleman, the tousled dark hair of a poet and the stern manners of a schoolmaster, that could not help but catch her attention.

  She tore her gaze away before her foolishness was noticed. Edith was waiting for an answer. And Edith, of all people, was the most liable to run away with a wild idea if she had the faintest suspicion that Daisy had taken a fancy to her brother.

  “There is no need for me to stay with you,” said Daisy, with a smile. “As soon as my stepfather returns from the country, my mother and I will move into his house in Mayfair. You and I will practically be neighbours! We can open our bedroom windows and shout good morning to each other as soon as we wake each day.”

  Edith bounced on the balls of her feet. “You must write to Lord Peyton and tell him to return from the country at once!”

  “Lord Peyton is not quite the slave to my whims that you imagine.” And her stepfather’s house did not have a single room to match the opulence of this one, with its huge fireplace of white marble, the beautiful harp from which Isobel Balfour was plucking honey-toned music, and the bay window so large that its curtains were fit for the stage at the Theatre Royal. The rug – Turkish, naturally, and no doubt imported at great expense – was so exquisite that Daisy was afraid to walk on it.

  It would be wonderful to live in a house like this, but she would be more than content as a frequent guest.

  “I am going to slip upstairs and explore some more,” murmured Edith, squeezing Daisy’s hand and letting it go. “I am desperate to look around by myself! If you wait a few moments, you will be able to follow me without anybody noticing. I’ll meet you by the grandfather clock on the first landing.” She waggled her eyebrows conspiratorially. “Perhaps we shall find a secret passageway!”

  “Edith, your family will want you to stay and entertain the guests.” It was a small gathering, but one composed of guests it was better not to offend. The Balfours were throwing a tea party to bid the old duchess farewell before she retired to the dower house at Loxwell Park. The duchess had invited her close friend, Lady Shrewsbury, a renowned gossip who wielded a great deal more influence in society than Daisy thought she deserved. Worse still, Lady Shrewsbury had brought her son, the Earl of Shrewsbury, who seemed unable to decide whether he was more tempted by the array of cakes on the refreshment table or the charms – and fortune – of Edith and her sisters.

  Daisy was not there as a particular friend of the duchess, though she liked the old lady well enough. She had been invited to accompany her sister-in-law, Jemima, who was once the late duke’s ward. Jemima was standing by the window with Daisy’s brother, Ralph, laughing quietly over some private joke he had whispered in her ear. Even after a year of marriage, they still managed to behave like newlyweds.

  The only other guest was Mr Kettleburn, the lawyer, who was there to see that some small personal items were distributed according to the late duke’s will. Together with Edith’s three sisters, Selina, Anthea, and Isobel, the party filled almost a quarter of the space in the enormous room.

  “Edith, you know who will be blamed if we are caught wandering the house,” said Daisy. “Your brother already thinks I am leading you astray!”

  “As if you care what my brother thinks!” laughed Edith. “Well, stay if you like, but do think up a good excuse for why I have gone! Selina made me promise to play the hostess, but I have never been any good at that. I am counting on you to save me from her wrath!”

  Edith slipped out of a side door before Daisy could object any further.

  Lady Selina was far from the ogre Edith pretended she was. The eldest Balfour sibling, she presided over their little family with equal parts severity and fondness. The slightest rise of her finely arched eyebrow was enough to have Edith begging
for forgiveness. She turned from her conversation with Lady Shrewsbury long enough to notice that Edith had gone, gave Daisy a rueful smile as though she had expected it all along, and returned her attention to her guest.

  Relieved that she would not be forced to invent a reason for Edith’s disappearance, Daisy went to cut herself another slice of cake. Just before she reached the table laden with delicacies, she caught the eye of Lady Anthea, easily the most outspoken Balfour girl. Anthea was engaged in a one-sided conversation with the hapless Lord Shrewsbury and was gesticulating so wildly that he was forced to duck.

  “Daisy!” she called, catching at Daisy’s arm. “I know you feel as I do about those dreadful Corn Laws. Please tell Lord Shrewsbury that you, too, are longing to see them repealed!”

  Daisy offered Lord Shrewsbury a smile he did not return. “Let me have something to eat,” she said, “and I am at your disposal. My lord, we will have you campaigning for repeal with the rest of us before the afternoon is through!”

  Lord Shrewsbury’s grimace was not quite enough to overcome the hungry look in his eyes as they raked over Anthea. Daisy wondered whether he had mistaken the passion glowing in Anthea’s cheeks for amour. An awkward situation might be developing there.

  Well, there was no need for Daisy to disabuse Lord Shrewsbury of his delusions. Anthea was more than capable of handling him herself. Daisy nodded politely to the unfortunate lord and stepped around him to the refreshment table.

  As she pulled her glove from her fingers to cut a slice of cake, a low voice spoke behind her. Aristocratic and formal, yet not without warmth.

  “Allow me.”

  Alexander’s hand overtook hers as she reached for the knife, his fingers brushing for just a moment against the back of her hand. His hand was larger than hers, warm, tanned as though he didn’t care to wear gloves when he went riding. That illicit touch sent a jolt of warmth all the way up Daisy’s arm.

  She took a step back as Alexander cut the slice of cake, giving herself space to breathe.

  It wasn’t fair that her friends had such a handsome brother. So handsome, so aloof, so disinterested. He would certainly not feel any pleasant tingling where his hand had unwittingly brushed hers.

  “Thank you, Mr Balfour,” said Daisy, and winced. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Your Grace. I meant Your Grace.”

  A smile lifted the corner of Alexander’s mouth, slowly and carefully, as though allowed there only on sufferance. “Don’t apologise. I am not yet used to the title myself.” He twisted the knife, knocking the cake neatly onto a bone china plate, and held it towards her.

  Daisy racked her mind for a clever response. She could play the coquette with any gentleman brave enough to flirt with her, but Alexander never failed to steal the wit from her tongue.

  “Thank you,” she said. Drat. Was that all she had in her?

  Alexander bowed, already preparing to move on. Daisy was reminding herself of all the outrageous words of advice her marriage-mad mother had given her – Smile! But don’t show your teeth! Be witty, but don’t try to be smart! – when her attention was abruptly jerked away by Edith’s frantic waving from the doorway on the other side of the room.

  Daisy nodded politely to Alexander, glanced about to check that no one else had noticed Edith’s distress, and left the cake on the table as she hurried towards her friend.

  Edith caught her by the arm and dragged her out into the corridor, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

  “What is the matter?” Daisy asked. She pressed a hand to Edith’s forehead. “Are you ill?”

  “If only!” Edith gasped. She linked her arm through Daisy’s and hustled her towards the wide spiral staircase. “You must help me, Daisy – you must! I don’t know what I’ll do if Alex finds out!”

  “Finds out what?” But no more explanation was forthcoming. Edith led her upstairs, down a long corridor, and into a large bedroom containing a four-poster bed, an exquisite mahogany writing desk, and a lovely antique vase lying in pieces on the floor.

  “I smashed it!” Edith blurted out, clapping a hand over her mouth the moment the words left it.

  Daisy bent to touch one of the larger pieces of the vase. It had been delicately painted with a pattern of blue flowers and orange fish. “Is it expensive?” she asked.

  “I don’t know!” Edith wailed. “It isn’t Alex’s – it must have belonged to the old duke! Oh, heavens, how much do you think it was worth?”

  “I am not an expert on vases.” Daisy glanced up at the wardrobe, which was part open. A series of black topcoats and smart white shirts were hanging up inside. “This is your brother’s room?”

  Edith nodded, blinking fast to stop the tears falling. “I was only exploring. I was knocking the wood panels on the walls – there are always secret passages behind the wood panelling in novels – and I climbed up on the bed to tap the wall above the headboard, but I slipped and knocked into the bedside table, and –”

  “Yes, I see what happened.” Daisy sighed. Edith suffered from an excessive thirst for adventure – something her older siblings had never understood. It fell to Daisy, as usual, to rescue her from the consequences. “There is no use panicking. The best thing you can do is go to the duke and tell him what happened. If you are honest, he may be more understanding.”

  Edith clamped her hand back over her mouth and shook her head, eyes wide.

  “He will find out eventually,” Daisy pointed out.

  Edith lifted her hand enough to let out a whisper. “But after I broke the milk jug at breakfast this morning, I can’t bear it. Selina will call me a silly, careless girl again!”

  Daisy raised an imperious eyebrow in a decent approximation of Selina’s disappointment. “But that is precisely what you are, Edith,” she intoned. “The price of the vase will come out of your allowance, to teach you a lesson.”

  “Please don’t joke, Daisy!” said Edith, though she was struggling not to laugh. “I am not even supposed to be in here. There must be some other way!”

  Daisy bent down and picked up a couple of pieces of the vase. It had not been very large. If she were careful, she might fit them all into her reticule. “Go downstairs so that you are not missed,” she said. “You are so shaken that you might cut yourself if you try clearing this up. I will collect all the pieces and hide them. Perhaps the vase can be repaired, or a replacement bought. I’ll ask my brother tonight. With any luck, no one but us will ever know it is missing.”

  “Thank you!” gasped Edith. “I knew you would save me!”

  “That’s enough of that!” Daisy could not help but smile. “Go back to the party quickly. If anyone notices that we are both out of the room, they will send out a search party!” She winked. “They do not trust us to behave, you know.”

  “With good reason!” Edith glanced at herself in the large mirror hanging on the wall and pinched her cheeks to bring back her usual rosy colour. “Daisy, you are the best friend I could ever want!” She blew her a kiss and scurried out of the bedroom, holding up great fistfuls of her skirt to keep it out of the way.

  Alone in Alexander’s bedroom, Daisy blew out a sigh of relief. Edith was as clumsy as she was intrepid, and it often made for a bad combination.

  Thankfully, the vase had not shattered so much as cracked into large pieces. Repair might still be possible, if she were sure to collect every piece. Daisy worked her way methodically across the floor on her hands and knees, collecting the shards as she went. A few smaller pieces had skittered across to the other side of the bed, so she crawled around it and lifted the overhanging covers to check for more.

  The light gleamed off something just out of her reach. Daisy squinted, trying to make out what it was.

  A large silver key, lying precisely in the centre of the floor under the bed. It was teetering on the edge of a crack in the floorboards. Daisy lowered herself down onto her chest and stretched her fingers towards it.

  Heavy footsteps – men’s boots, two pairs – tramped down
the corridor towards the bedroom.

  Daisy’s arm jerked in shock. Her fingers knocked against the key and sent it falling through the crack in the floorboards, out of her sight, just as the owner of the first pair of boots entered the room.

  The room which now contained a pair of stockinged legs sticking out from beneath the duke’s bed.

  Daisy closed her eyes. If the men happened to walk to the window, or to glance over at the floor on her side of the bed, she would be caught in an extremely embarrassing position. Her one hope was that Alexander and his companion were making a brief stop before returning to their guests.

  “It’s in here.” The voice was unmistakably that of Mr Kettleburn, the lawyer. Daisy frowned at the bed post beside her head. What was he doing in Alexander’s bedchamber?

  The second man walked past Kettleburn and went to the writing desk. He began opening and closing the drawers. Daisy was frozen, the outstretched arm she dared not move beginning to ache. The man’s breathing had an unfamiliar rhythm to it.

  Her heart juddered. Whoever it was, it was not Alexander.

  “Nothing here,” said the strange man.

  “Don’t worry,” Kettleburn answered. “Somewhere in this room is a particular vase…” His black boots moved in a wide circle around the room. Daisy held her breath.

  “Nowhere to be seen!” Kettleburn’s voice rose with frustration. “Did the old man lie to me?”

  “Perhaps the Balfours have already done away with it,” said the stranger. “If they are what you say they are.”

  “The old duke swore to me he was the only one who knew where to find it,” said Kettleburn. “More likely, his brains were addled and he left the vase elsewhere.”