Duke of fire Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Newsletter

  Other Books by Author

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Duke of Fire

  Regency Hearts

  Book 1

  Jennifer Monroe

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  The Defiant Brides Series

  The Duke’s Wager

  The Spinster’s Secret

  The Duchess Remembers

  The Earl’s Mission

  Duke of Thorns

  Chapter One

  Though the sun shining through the large glass window cast its cozy warmth into the room, Miss Jane Harcourt felt anything but warm and cozy. It had been fourteen months since she had first arrived to accept the position as governess to Arthur Clarkson, and she found herself having grown quite fond of the boy.

  “I’m going to miss you, Miss Jane,” the boy said, his lower lip quivering and his eyes blinking back tears. “It will not be the same without you here.”

  Jane smiled at him. “And I will miss you,” she replied. “I want you to promise me that you will continue working on your writing; that way, when you write your first book, I will be able to enjoy it.”

  This made Arthur produce a wide and proud grin, and Jane felt a surge of pride for the boy who had stolen her heart. In just over an hour’s time, Jane would be leaving Poplar Estate to go to her cousin’s house and search for a new place of employment. Although she wished more than anything to remain in her current position and continue lessons with the precocious child, she knew that to be impossible. Particular issues had arisen with the Earl of Waterwood as of late, which were only complicated that much more by the sharp looks Jane received from his wife, Lady Margaret Clarkson.

  It was well known that the Earl indulged himself in gambling, spirits, and any woman who caught his eye, and the appreciative glances and silky words he had for Jane in the past months had forced Jane to offer her resignation a fortnight ago. Jane wished with all her heart she could remain with young Arthur, but she had heard too many tales of governesses falling prey to men such as Lord Clarkson, and she did not wish to be the object of such tales.

  The door opened behind her, and the cold presence of the Earl greeted her before his voice echoed in the room.

  “Arthur, leave us.”

  “Yes, Father,” the boy responded in a quiet voice.

  Jane turned and watched the boy leave, her heart breaking knowing it would be the last she would see of him.

  The Earl stood as rigid as always, his head held high and a sneer on his lips that Jane assumed was permanently in place. The man was not a handsome man with his pointed features and overly-waxed hair, but he held himself with an arrogance that could not be denied. His eyes roamed over her, appraising her as if he were a choice cut of meat, causing Jane’s stomach to churn.

  “It continues to dismay me that you have chosen to leave me,” he said in an oily voice that made Jane shiver in disgust. He took a step forward and stared down at her, his beady eyes boring into her. “I wonder, do you find yourself better than I?”

  “No, My Lord,” Jane replied. He was now standing directly before her, and although he meant to intimidate her, she refused to balk. The urge to recoil, however, was difficult to fight.

  “Then, why are you leaving?”

  “I feel my time here has come to an end,” she explained, just as she had every day since giving notice. “I must move on to find work elsewhere.”

  The Earl moved forward again, forcing Jane to take a step back, bumping into a small cabinet, which hindered her retreat.

  “I believe I know why you wish to leave,” he whispered. “Yes, in all actuality, I do know the reason.”

  Jane lowered her head. The sight of him had become all that much more revolting over the past weeks since giving her notice as he increased his vile behavior toward her, his whispered comments in her ear became sickeningly sweet and on two occasions he had even pushed her into a dark corner and attempted to kiss her. Each time, Jane had refused his advances and hoped that her firm denials would make his stop. However, he did not. Instead, his desirous pursuits increased, much like a cat hunting a mouse, and Jane caught him ogling, as if undressing her with his eyes. He made excuses to visit as she tutored Arthur, his hand resting on her shoulder in a familiar way or moving down her back.

  She wished to put a stop to it, but the man was an Earl and she just a governess. If he were to have his way with her, which Jane had no doubt he would in due time, she could do nothing to stop him. His word would be taken over hers any day of the week.

  “My Lord,” Jane said in almost a whimper, “it has been a great honor to work in your home; however,…”

  His fingers moved to her chin, and he lightly pulled her face up to look at him. “Jane, my dear,” he whispered, preferring to call her by her Christian name without asking her permission first, “do not deny what you desire.”

  “Desire?” she asked. If desire felt like fear, then that was what she was feeling at this very moment. How she wished he would move away from her; she felt like a deer trapped by a wolf and at any moment that wolf would devour her.

  “Yes,” he replied, his voice still silky smooth, though it grated on her nerves. “It is what I desire, as well.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers and her stomach threatened to bring up every meal she had eaten. If this was what it was like to kiss a man, she wanted nothing of it. His body pressed against hers, making breathing difficult, and she pushed against his chest, but the man was far too strong to be budged. At least the kiss had ended and she struggled to gasp in as much air as she could.

  “Do not resist me,” he said, his voice now husky. “I know what you need.”

  “Please!” she cried, though the words only came out in a whimper. “Let me go!”

  He did not heed her; instead, his lips found hers once again, and the sickness returned sevenfold as his hand moved down her side to her hips.

  “Henry!” a voice called from down the hall, making the man stop suddenly. “Henry, answer me at once!”

  Lord Clarkson pushed away from Jane, whispering a threat of what had happened if she uttered a word, and relief washed over her.

  She could hear Lady Clarkson mumbling to herself. “Where is that man?”

  The Earl was moving toward the door, but before he was able to touch th
e doorknob, the door flew open and Lady Clarkson stood in the doorway. Her eyes fell on Jane and gave her one of the coldest looks Jane had ever seen, cold enough to have congealed her on the spot, if that were possible.

  “Henry, you have a guest to see you in the study.” Lady Clarkson never took her eyes off Jane as she spoke, and her husband did not seem to notice.

  “Ah, Wadsworth is on time for once,” Lord Clarkson said with a chuckle. He made no effort to turn to speak or acknowledge Jane before he walked past his wife and down the hall.

  Lady Clarkson closed the door behind her husband and turned so quickly, Jane considered the woman may have damaged the rug beneath her feet. “I have asked that our carriage to be brought around and it will be here shortly,” the woman said in a tight voice. “A kind gesture on my part, is it not?” The woman had been lovely at one time, Jane imagined, but she had not aged well. Lady Clarkson was only ten years Jane’s elder, but she appeared much older than that. Her face was bedaubed with white face powder to such a point as to appear painted on, so much so that Jane was reminded of the attempts of a grandmother to keep her youthful looks as practiced in the last generation.

  From the first day of arrival to Poplar Estate the Lady Clarkson had been nothing but dismissive of the new governess. However, she did not miss the lingering eye her husband had for Jane, and over time, the treatment the Countess had for Jane became sharper and crueler. Jane, however, found young Arthur a delight, despite the ill manners of his parents, and she abode their behavior so as to be allowed to stay on as governess to the boy.

  It was true that the Countess offering a carriage to Jane was a kind gesture. In all honesty, the woman could have simply opened the door and forced Jane to walk to Bridgewater where her cousin Anne lived. Jane was certain the woman cared nothing for the fact it would have taken Jane two full days to make the trek. Perhaps Lady Clarkson did not hate her as much as she seemed.

  “I am much appreciative of the kindness you and Lord Clarkson have shown me during my time here,” Jane said.

  Lady Clarkson stepped up in front of Jane and stopped only inches from her, her smile never reaching her eyes as she laid a hand on Jane’s chest. “Why does your heart beat so?” she asked.

  “Eagerness for the next part of my life, I presume,” Jane lied, wondering if the Countess knew the Earl had just kissed her. Perhaps the guilt could be seen in Jane’s eyes, for it certainly played in her soul despite the fact that she had done nothing to encourage the man’s behavior.

  “I do not presume many things, Jane,” the Countess said in a low hiss. “I only deal in facts, and it is a fact that you have made advances toward my husband.”

  Jane shook her head adamantly, the accusation far from the truth. “That is not…”

  Lady Clarkson forestalled her with a raise of her hand. “Do not forget your place or to whom you speak. Remember the education that was given you out of mercy.” A look of amusement crossed the woman’s face as she lifted a single brow. “Unless your mother was like you, one who pleased her employer in more ways than one.” She nodded as if a realization had just come over her. “Yes, now I understand what she taught you, and she taught you well.”

  Anger and heartache rushed through Jane. Her mother had been a scullery maid, and the Marquess for whom she worked took pity on her, a young widow with a child. He had graciously allowed Jane to attend the same lessons his children received and not once, to Jane’s recollection, had he ever asked for anything in return.

  “My mother was a good woman,” Jane said firmly, knowing that the words would only anger the Countess that much more but not caring if they did so.

  “Perhaps she was,” Lady Clarkson deigned, “but you are not. When you leave today, never mention having been employed here.”

  Jane stared at the Countess aghast. “I cannot have your reference?” she asked, unable to believe the antagonism of this woman. “What will I do when asked?”

  “Oh, you may reference us, if you would like,” Lady Clarkson replied in her regal tone. “However, if anyone asks, I will inform them how you have used your feminine wiles to tempt my husband and get him to take you to his bed. Or perhaps a tale of how you spent time with various male servants without regard for what such acts would do to my reputation, let alone your own.” The maliciousness behind her smile matched the words she spoke and sent a shiver down Jane’s spine. She had no doubt the woman spoke the truth. The Countess must have learned about her husband’s advances, but as was common to those of the ton, the woman refused to place blame where it should have been placed—on the Earl himself.

  Lady Clarkson moved aside. “Now, leave my house and wait outside for the carriage; I do not wish to lay eyes on you anymore.” As Jane picked up her bag and made her way to the door, the Countess grabbed her arm. “And you had better pray our paths never cross again.”

  Jane gave the Countess a small curtsy, though the woman did not deserve such reverence, and walked out the door. She would miss Arthur so much it hurt, and she prayed the boy would remember the lessons of kindness she had taught him and never become like his parents. For the world did not need another self-absorbed, spoiled member of the ton.

  ***

  The carriage moved along the road with a slight jostle as Jane looked out the window onto the fields of green passing by her. Her cousin Anne and her husband David would be welcoming her to their home within a few hours, a place meant for a short reprieve before she found new employment. However, without a reference, she feared that the time there would be much longer than she had originally planned. It was not that Anne, or her husband for that matter, would throw her out when they tired of her; they were not the type to turn away from helping a member of the family. Yet, Jane had never been one to impose herself on anyone, and her cousins did not have all that much money themselves.

  Only a fool would attempt to reference the Earl after the threat Lady Clarkson gave, and Jane was far from a fool. Anger filled her as her mind replayed the Earl accosting her with his kisses and his roaming hands. Did he believe he had the right to treat her thus simply because he was titled? Or was it because he was a man? Jane was not sure which was true, perhaps both when it came to Lord Clarkson, but this was not the first time she had been propositioned in such a way by a man.

  Her employer before the Earl and Duchess of Waterwood had been a kind soul; however, his cousin, a man who would often visit, had made it known early on that he wanted her to visit his bed. Like Lord Clarkson, the man had commented on her beauty, saying that it was something that drove a man wild.

  Jane found the idea completely preposterous. She was no beauty, not like the blond Venuses who wore their hair in tight curls and displayed deep-colored eyes of blue, green, or brown. No, her light gray eyes, in contrast, were almost transparent, a feature that had led to her to be ridiculed by other young girls, who spread rumors of her being in league with Lucifer himself. Her hair was the color of dark ash, a rather lackluster color in her opinion, and added to the jeers that were heaped upon her.

  At the time, Jane did not understand what had been behind the cruel words of the other children. However, once she was grown, it occurred to her that perhaps it was more jealousy of her mental capabilities rather than how she looked that raised their ire. Regardless, they were correct in their assessment of her overall; she was a very plain woman. Every man who turned his head caused her to turn to see at whom he was smiling; it most certainly could not have been her.

  Yet, her plainness did not matter in the end, for she had witnessed all too often during her time in the few households in which she had been employed, men only wanted one thing from a woman. Her innocence.

  Men were like mad wolves frothing at the mouth, and once they had a woman in their teeth, such as Lord Clarkson had the Countess, they became bored and began to hunt for someone new. Jane had vowed never to partake in such a game, and as she approached spinsterhood, she welcomed it, for a life alone was far better than a life of watching som
eone you loved destroy you. The hassle alone of dismissing staff to keep them away from a husband would be enough in itself, but the heartache would be worse.

  Jane had never known the love of a man. The only love she had ever encountered was that of her mother, who died six summers ago when Jane was sixteen. Though her mother’s employer, the Marquess of Slipstone, had every right to throw Jane out, he had, in fact, done the opposite, allowing her to train with the governess to his young children. Remembering the kindness the man had shown her brought a smile to Jane’s face. How she wished the Marquess were still alive and had not succumbed to illness this past year, for he would have taken her in without hesitation.

  The carriage lurched, pulling Jane back to the present. She had not realized they had arrived in Bridgewater and the traffic had increased considerably. People strolled across the cobblestone streets, mindless of the many carriages that ambled along, and more than one driver spewed words at those who got in their way that made Jane’s ears burn.

  Not everyone had a destination, however. Upon hearing a child’s cry, Jane shook her head as she looked out at a mother holding a child in her arms no older than five. Jane rang the bell to signal the driver to stop, and the man did so immediately, bringing another bout of curses from the driver behind them as that man made his way around the now halted carriage.

  Jane stepped from the carriage before the driver had a chance to jump down to help her.

  “Miss?” he said, clearly worried that she had asked him to stop. “Are ye all right?”

  Jane gave him a quick smile. “I am fine. Just one moment, please.” She beckoned to the woman, who approached timidly. Both she and the child beside her wore dresses made from what once had been burlap sacks and had so much dirt on their faces that, when the young girl turned, white streaks lined her cheeks where her tears had cleaned off the filth. Jane was uncertain what color the child’s hair was, it was so matted and needed a thorough brushing. Her heart broke as she remembered being of the same age as the girl when her own father had died.