Deceiving the Duke of Kerrington Read online



  Deceiving the Duke of Kerrington

  Ladies of Deception Book 1

  A Novel

  Ginny Hartman

  Copyright 2013 by Ginny Hartman

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Ginny Hartman

  Book design by Ginny Hartman

  To Kim, who was there when my imagination took flight and encouraged me all the way.

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Pierce Chadwick, the Duke of Kerrington, observed his surroundings with disdain. Once again he found himself at another monotonous ball given by another over indulged lady of society with too much money on her hands. The ballroom was filled with white hothouse roses and a plethora of members of the ton, making this event a veritable crush. Lady Sedgewick would be pleased. Pierce grabbed another glass of champagne off the tray passing by, quickly downing its contents in one large gulp. It was his third glass and so far it was proving not nearly effective enough to dull his senses. He’d have to go in search of something stronger if he had any hopes of making it through the rest of the evening.

  The endless stream of assemblies and routs were wearing on his nerves. He had never been prone to enjoying the festivities of the ton, often finding the endless dancing and keeping up pretenses wearisome and tedious but growing up as the Duke of Kerrington’s heir he had all but been required to attend, to keep up appearances and of course, to look for a bride. He had often been rebellious in his youth, spending more time at his club, White’s, or gallivanting around with his cronies than taking the marriage mart seriously. But since the death of his father two years past and since taking on the title of duke himself he was being forced to take his duties more seriously.

  The duty that was forefront of his mind was taking a wife and producing an heir. Not a desirable task if you asked him, but seems that no one cared much about what he thought anyway. There may have been a time in his life when he wouldn’t have minded the prospect of falling in love, getting married and starting a family of his own, but that was all in the past. For season after season he had attended every monotonous ball, every wearisome garden party, and every dull rout in hopes of finding that elusive lady with whom he would fall madly in love. But season after season proved just as ineffective as the last.

  The ladies of the ton bored him. He had grown tired years ago of fortune-hunting, title-seeking ladies and their over anxious mama’s, and found he could hardly tolerate their idle chatter long enough to endure a single dance with any of them. He knew his aloofness only added fuel to the already burning fires regarding his reputation as a notorious rake but he didn’t care. Let them think what they may, for the ton often did whatever they wanted in that regards anyway.

  Setting his glass down on the table he looked up in time to see a girl looking at him coyly. Not just any girl however but a debutant clad in a white dress, her hair expertly coiffed like almost every other girl in attendance. Pierce wanted to groan in frustration. He supposed she was pleasant enough to look at, with her ebony hair piled high on her head and her lips the color of crushed berries, but it would take more than an attractive face to lure him in. He knew there was one thing only on the minds of any debutante and that was catching a husband, the bigger the title the better. He quickly turned on his heel, heading in the opposite direction before the girl could get close enough to trap him into what would inevitably be a never ending dance filled with pathetic attempts at flirtation.

  Pierce exited the ballroom, relieved to get out of the stifling heat and began wandering down the long hall seeking other distractions to take his mind off his current search for an acceptable wife. He poked his head into a room that had been set up for gaming and quickly entered, knowing that a game or two of piquet would be the perfect diversion.

  “Well if it isn’t the Duke of Kerrington,” Pierce’s good friend Elliot, the Viscount Martineau sauntered towards Pierce, a drink in one hand and his other arm going clumsily around the Duke’s shoulders, obviously already deep in his cups. If there was one person who hated parties more than him it was Lord Martineau. He was constantly sought out by various women of the ton who thought it was tragically romantic that he had vowed to never fall in love again after his first and only love had disappeared mysteriously. They found him a challenge and often made bets to see who could get him to fall in love with them first. So far there had been no winners.

  “Let me guess Martineau, you’ve already gambled away your vast fortune and entire estate and are looking for me to bail you out?” Kerrington asked facetiously, thumping the other man good-naturedly on the back as he spoke.

  “Hardly your grace, though I do admit that the Earl of Brattondale is playing a fine hand tonight. I’ve already lost to him twice.”

  Suddenly Pierce’s interest was piqued, Elliot rarely gambled and when he did he rarely lost. “Really?” he asked, one dark eyebrow raised. “Which one is Lord Brattondale?”

  “The nearly bald man in the corner,” Lord Martineau replied.

  Pierce quickly scanned the dim room, his eyes landing on the portly bald man sitting rigidly in his chair, intent on the game before him. Pierce instantly decided he’d be his next opponent, feeling more enlivened by the prospect of a rousing card game than of entering the crowded ballroom once again. His feet ached at the prospect of finding himself subject to more tiresome dancing. He made his way across the room and waited patiently for Lord Brattondale to finish his hand before sitting down in the empty chair at the table across from him and offering to play.

  “Ah, think you can best me now do you?” Lord Brattondale’s chest puffed out in conceit as he poured himself a measure of brandy from the crystal decanter sitting on the table next to him.

  “I’d say I’m willing to give it a try.” Pierce replied nonchalantly.

  “Well then, what say we make this exciting your grace. I’m finding I’m growing tired of these conservative wagers, how about a hundred pounds?”

  Pierce sat back casually in his chair crossing his legs and putting his hands behind his head. “I’m not destitute, I dare say I find a hundred pounds doesn’t quite pique my interest.” He watched as the Earl’s eyes took on a greedy glint.

  “Two hundred then?” he asked hopefully, clearly confident in his ability to best the duke.

  “Your paltry sums don’t interest me, I’m a man of great wealth or have you forgotten?” Pierce knew he sounded conceited but he didn’t care. He may not be personally acquainted with every member of the ton, but he was well aware that most every one of them knew who he was. His father had been one of the wealthiest men in London and Pierce had inherited all of his father’s wealth along with his title two years prior. Besides, something had come over him and he suddenly found himself much more interested in goading the earl than winning a few extra pounds.

  The earl sat quietly for a few moments, the wheels in his brain working furiously. Pierce watched his eyes narrow as he leaned forward and spoke animatedly, “I think I may have come up with an interesting solution your grace.”

  Pierce leaned forward, their heads meeting closely over the table. This could get interesting. “I’m listening.”

  “I happen to know you’re in need of a wife and an heir.”

  “That’s no secret, all of London is aware of that,” Pierce snapped.

  “Well I happen to have a lovely daughter—”

  “You and every other peer of the realm,” Pierce interrupted him before he could go any further, pushing back from the table and standing abruptly.

  The earl barked back, “You were the one who wanted to make this interesting. The way I see it is that we both have a problem the other one could solve. You have
plenty of blunt that could come in handy to a man in my position, and I have a lovely daughter who could come in handy to you. What do you say we set the stakes at this; if I win I get your two hundred pounds, if you win, you get my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  If the earl hadn’t been completely serious Pierce would’ve laughed. What kind of man wagered his daughter’s hand in marriage in a game of cards? His first thoughts were that she must be homely, and probably firmly on the shelf for him to be willing to bet her hand in a card game. If the chit was beautiful or came with any sort of sizable dowry the man shouldn’t have any problem getting the girl married off. No, something had to be wrong with the girl.

  Slowly Pierce resumed sitting, “What’s wrong with her? Is she here tonight? Can I get a look at the merchandise before agreeing to the stakes?” Pierce couldn’t believe he was asking the questions, knowing he should’ve just scoffed at the earl and his ridiculous wager but feeling oddly compelled instead.

  “Regretfully she is not, she took to bed with the megrim.” Pierce rolled his eyes. Great, not only was the girl most likely ugly and a bore, but she had a weak constitution as well. He knew he should just refuse to play this silly game but he was suddenly intrigued by the impudent earl and his asinine ideas. His mother, the Dowager Kerrington was being rather insistent that he marry and give her grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them and suddenly the thought of attending many more of these events trying to pick out an eligible lady to court amongst the slew of spoiled girls seemed overwhelmingly unappetizing.

  Without another thought he quickly agreed to the preposterous bet, “Well Lord Brattondale, it looks as if you have yourself a deal.”

  The game started slowly, Pierce was fully planning on letting Lord Brattondale win. The earl had drawn the highest card during the initial cut therefore allowing him to deal first so he was already off to a strong start. Pierce figured it would be much less painful to give up a couple hundred pounds to the foolish man than it would be to have to marry his daughter. It didn’t take long, however, for his competitive nature to kick in. He had never been one prone to loosing at the tables, and the arrogant manor of Lord Brattondale rubbed him wrong. He soon decided that it would do the man good to be beat. And the more Pierce thought about the stakes of the bet, the more it started to make a sick sort of sense to him.

  He had long ago abandoned the idea of marrying for love. He now realized the idea had been childish and farfetched, especially among members of the ton. And unless he wanted to spend endless evenings attending the various society events in hopes of finding a suitable companion he might as well win the game and the earl’s daughter in the bargain. Besides, it would be better for him to marry someone who was fully aware that the match was made based on the outcome of a card game and had no pretense of love being a part of the bargain. The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. Thus began his motivation to concentrate and win the game of piquet he was playing.

  He forced himself to be patient and allowed the earl to win the first three deals leading him into a false sense of security. Just when the earl began getting comfortable and started to relax, Pierce stepped up his game and began winning his hands. By the end of the sixth deal Pierce had very clearly won leaving a stunned and angry earl in his wake. Lord Brattondale threw his cards angrily onto the table, his face an odd shade of purple. Pierce wasn’t sure if he was angrier about not winning the two hundred pounds he so desperately needed or about having to forfeit his daughter’s hand to the man who had just played him for the fool— apparently the first person to beat him in a game all night.

  “Well Lord Brattondale, it appears your daughter has a wedding to plan.” Pierce spoke flippantly. “I have business to attend to and regretfully won’t be able to meet my new fiancé for a se’nnight but you can inform her that I’ll be paying her a call as soon as I’m back in town.” With that the Duke of Kerrington straightened and sauntered out of the room, leaving a stunned Lord Brattondale gaping after him.